We made it through the summer. That was huge, he played in the travel ball world series in Tennessee, pitched again, and I think we all gained a new perspective on life. Senior year started and we were on track to closing one of the largest chapters and begin a new one. However as the new school year started that meant fall was coming and with every day that the weather began to change I grew more and more anxious, afraid that it would all happen all over again. But he beat it right, so it can't just happen again. That's what I kept telling myself, "he beat it remember. He beat it, he beat it, he beat it, he'll be okay." Though I was wrong and in October of 2015 the mystery disease decided to make its reappearance.
Devastated and terrified it felt unreal. This time around it came about more gradually and once again there were more doctor visits, tests, and days where he just hurt terribly. Still we went to homecoming and made the best out of his birthday, although the pain had grown to be so intense he wasn't able to enjoy any of it; and for our one year anniversary we laid in bed watching movies because the day before was spent getting yet again another EMG (although it was still a very happy day). I still thought this was only going to last a week or two, that maybe just maybe this wasn't a repeat of last winter, because I wasn't sure if he could handle doing it all over again, or if I even could.
More days came along where he wasn't going to school and although he told me every day that he was fine things just got worse and worse and worse. And finally it reached the point where none of us knew what to do anymore. Doctors weren't helping and trying to fix him felt like the blind leading the blind, how in the world did this happen again?
He started a new treatment and God did he get sick. There were days that he would just lay on me, too weak to move. I watched him wither away. He didn't eat as much and was constantly throwing up, he slept until 4 every day and there were times I would often just sit there and hold back tears. I was losing him, my best friend. The entire time I just felt like I was losing him, and in this whole ordeal I also lost myself. I fell into a depression and from there it was an unstoppable disaster. I stopped sleeping and eating and had no motivation to move from my bed. I skipped classes because I couldn't focus anyway so what was the point in going, and ended up failing the fall semester of my senior year. My anxiety grew and honestly I got to the point where I just felt like a zombie. But we got through the year and come January we found out the treatment Tyler had been on wasn't working.
Saying this simply frustrated me is in some ways and understatement, it infuriated me because it felt like he got that sick for nothing. That he was put through more pain and given more issues and was miserable for nothing once again. I also think it hurt me because I wanted so badly to believe that this was it. That we had finally figured out something to help him. It just felt like everything I had hoped for was ripped away from me. However we did find some guidance in starting his recovery once again, he was put on vitamins and supplements and started getting IV treatments once or twice a week that don't necessarily help with his legs but make everything else feel better. Then in February he started physical therapy, but this time in water and every day he works toward getting better.
At this point, my boy has been healthy for only two out of the 19 months we've been together. And though progress is slow, we're getting there.
