Ever since I had decided the Greek life was for me, all I could think about was getting a bid, then getting a big, then all the fun events I would attend. I dreamed about laughing with these random girls who would become my future brides maids and I dreamed of sharing giggles while working towards a cause doing philanthropy. My freshman year of college quickly approached and my anticipation for this magical event grew.
Going to a Big Ten school, my college’s sorority recruitment began after the first week and lasted two weekends. This meant the first weekend was full of visits to houses I would never consider and the second weekend consisted of heartfelt visits with my future sisters. My sorority recruitment began on a rocky road—I lost my voice and with it my witty sense of humor—but I insisted on pushing forward. I met amazing woman and had conversations that further proved that the sorority life was for me. As I looked around certain homes, I envisioned myself among the girls. I sung their tunes along with them and attempted to mimic their chants. I could do this. I was one of them. But, my sorority recruitment experience took a turn for the worse.
Before college, I had underwent a pectus excavatum repair surgery to fix a birth condition that caused my lungs to be unable to reach full capacity and my body to have poor circulation (meaning I was almost always cold). The surgery resulted in my sternum being broken in two places to fix the defect and a metal bar being put in place to insure that my ribs would grow back correctly. The bar was set to be taken out the following June, and my body was set to be recovered enough to have a fulfilling freshman year.
However, between the first and second weekends of recruitment, my chest pain level shot up. This was, as expected, alarming but not quite as alarming as was the outline of the metal bar that was ever so slightly poking out of the side of my boob. Being a pre-med student, I told myself to remain calm. I couldn’t go home because my future sisters were waiting and I didn’t want to mess that up. So I decided to take some Advil and put on a brave face until I got my bid. The next Saturday went well, I got houses I loved and the pain seemed to be able to be ignored. Sunday, preference round, went differently. I had woken up that morning gasping through the pain that had radiated through my side. My roommate lay asleep and I tried my hardest to suppress the pain-felt gasps. I rolled over and took three Advil. It was the last day, I could do this, I just had to suck it up. By the time my roommate woke up, my acting skills set in and my heavily made-up face hid my pain.
My roommate and I walked over to get our final lists and my act quickly faded. I continued to assure her through a plastered smile that I was just nervous and I was stopping to calm my nerves, not to breath through the pain. And then I got my final list in my hands. The pain hit full force and I knew I couldn’t hide it any longer. I tried not to cry on the way to my first house and sent a text to my mother. Come now. I am about to cry. Please come. She attempted to pull more out of me but I sent little to no answers until I made it back into my room after my third house. I called her bawling, telling her I need to go, and go now.
After about an hour, my parents arrived and took me to Chicago, where my surgeon was. Friends texted me and I tried to explain as best as I could that I wouldn’t be there for bid day and that I had to withdraw. It was even harder trying to wrap my mind around what was happening. I was a GDI, and there was nothing I could do. I wasn’t going to have sisters. I wasn’t going to have an amazing support system. I wasn’t going to have laughs and giggles with girls I barely knew. And I wasn’t going to have a big sister to look up to. I knew my health came first but damn did I wish it didn’t.
The next morning I was scheduled to have surgery to get my bar removed. The day went by in a daze as I did my best to avoid social media. But the curious human nature side of me would take over. I scrolled through photo after photo of girls happily laughing with their new family and tried my hardest to be happy that I would get to do that in the spring.
As I came back to campus I was greeted by my friends wearing letters of their new homes, letters I never got. I became a goddamn independent—not by choice—but by universal forces. Instead of going off with my new home and participating in their events, I was stuck in my dorm trying to get a grasp of the past 48 hours that had unfolded. Although I will be spending my first semester at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign as a GDI, I know that the gracious women in my friends’ homes will welcome me in open arms as I try and navigate the unclear path to informal recruitment.
