The first time I knew I almost died was the summer of 2012.

It was weird. The moment when they were about to put me on dialysis, when I was the farthest gone, was the most peaceful moment of my life.

Just leave me alone, I said, Let me sleep.

It started as a backache, and maybe a yeast infection. I wasn’t sure. All I knew is that things were itchy and it was July and hot as Satan’s butt crack and I was supposed to be going home for a visit before I started my new job.

My back hurt. I assumed I had strained it at work lifting too many gallons of milk. I took too many Ibuprofen and fell asleep. When I woke up, I felt better and made the three-hour drive home to my parent's house.

The next day I was supposed to work at my former coffee shop and I couldn’t. I was in too much pain, and even sitting on a stool dispensing coffee was too much for me. My mom picked me up, and I threw up leaning out of the car on the way home.

The next few days were a blur. I had a fever and intense pain. I remember being so thirsty and dreaming about drinking water, waking up parched, being too tired to drink and instantly falling back to sleep.

I have no concept of how long that went on. Eventually, my mom took me to the emergency room. I cried because she wouldn’t let me lay on the floor. Just let me lay down, I said. It hurts.

There was an IV drip. Pain medication. My nurse was the mom of someone I used to dance with. They asked if I was pregnant and I laughed and laughed. I experienced my first ambulance ride. The EMTs were hot and I told them about throwing up and being angry about it.

Then there was the hospital. Everyone was serious and my mom wouldn’t leave. The word biopsy drifted through the air. They put Dilaudid into my IV and I felt nothing-- nothing at all. Leave me alone, I said. I feel like a stone.

There were emails sent to my bosses. I’m in the hospital and can’t find coverage. Hahaha, I’m on pain medication, I said. I'm sorry.

I was on a gurney to get a CAT scan and I was lost. I told the nurse wheeling me around that I felt like I was in Labyrinth, and asked if they’d seen it. They hadn’t, and I remember rambling about the phallic imagery and how you can see David Bowie’s penis through his leggings.

As I healed and they weaned me off the pain medication, I slowly learned that I had a kidney infection that had led one of my kidneys to briefly fail. Worried about medical bills, I worked on designing enamel pins and stickers as rewards for a GoFundMe. My dad wouldn’t let me launch it.

I tried to take a lap around my floor in the hospital. I almost fell over and a nurse gave me her chair.

Maybe some friends had come to see me in the hospital. Only one came to see me during the weeks recovering at my parent's house. Eventually, I couldn’t stand it and went home to Portland.

Recovery was weird. The doctors had told me to expect five days of recovery time for every day spent in the hospital, but I’m an impatient person and wanted to get back to work and to my bike.

Instead, I spent the summer on my couch watching all ten seasons of Friends.

It took me months to accept the lost time. Summer is precious, and I felt cheated.

I grew up believing things happen for a reason. Bad things happen to people who are good and bad and everywhere in between and they happen for a reason-- but I was wrong.

Sometimes things just happen. Bad and good and everything in between. Things just happen, and then you cope with it.