Sick doesn't take one single form. Sick doesn't always appear visible from the outside looking in. Sick is not a simple runny nose and fever. Sick doesn't go away by the end of the week. Whether it be age, race, gender, religion - sick doesn't discriminate.
On February 11, 2009, I was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease, an incurable autoimmune disease where the body views any segment of digestive tract as an invader and therefore fights back. But my story does not begin there.
When I was 4 years old, I came down with Rotavirus after a round of vaccinations with my annual checkup. While I don't recall the experience firsthand, I can say this much: doctors warned the wake of the virus would likely cause something in the future. And they were right.
My symptoms began in September of 2008. I was 11 years old. I had just started sixth grade. My symptoms manifested as extreme weight loss, an indescribable abdominal pain, energy levels so low I could hardly make it through the school day without falling asleep, and frequent bathroom trips - the not so desirable subject of this disease.
Test after test and failed treatment after failed treatment, my disease was finally under control by eighth grade graduation. All of this was made possible by Remicade/Infliximab, a rather extreme intravenous drug that requires a hospital visit every 8 weeks and features a laundry list of harsh side effects. I suppose the side effects are the lesser of two evils, right?
But remission is not synonymous to cured. There is no cure. There is only treat, manage, live with. Your disease does not define you. But your disease is what you make of it. You can let it consume you, or you can find the silver lining.
I, for one, chose the latter. Without my diagnosis, I may have never found my gift, my purpose, my passion, my drive. After my undergraduate, I have every intention of attending medical school and becoming a Pediatric Gastroenterology Specialist. With my diagnosis at such a young age, it was difficult enough for me to understand exactly what was happening to my body and even more difficult to talk about it. At the time, it would have been comforting to know that my doctor could empathize with what I felt from firsthand experience, not just what they read about in books or learned from other patients.
I've learned more about myself than I could ever put into words. I've learned that hiding things doesn't make them go away. I've learned that you are what you make of yourself, much like your disease is what you make of it. I've learned that things get better with time, even if it doesn't seem to be the case. I've learned that I may not look sick, but I am.
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