A week into celebrating the new year and the one-year anniversary of my blog, I have decided I will be invincible as I enter 2018. This realization struck me over the last few weeks, one of my most crucial learning experiences of the past year. Having just returned home and recovered from finals, I was put to an even bigger test than any exam I had endured at the semester’s end.
My mom was undergoing a major dental surgery that left her bedridden with only ice cream, top-notch prescription painkillers, and other enticing treats in hand. I was her caretaker, there to fulfill her every request. A few days into my role, however, she was recovering at record speeds and gave me her blessing for an evening of freedom with my friends. Yet, when I awoke from my night of fun, things took a terrible turn. I found myself coughing up my insides, hacking and barking nearly nonstop. Headaches, body aches, throwing up, fatigue, sore throat, sweats, and chills were quick to follow. I would soon find out that I had been struck with the flu and bronchitis, an intense viral strain that was apparently sweeping sickbeds across the nation. Thus the caretaker script flipped in an instant. Still a patient herself, my mom became my bedside nurse, remaining faithfully by my side even in her frail convalescence—but only at a safe distance from the contagion.
At first, I expected to quickly bounce back into the plan-packed break that I had anticipated. However, I soon learned that my body’s demand for rest and recovery would span nearly two weeks, much longer than either the flu or bronchitis had ever kept me sick and shut in. It was rough on my lungs, and even rougher on my mind. I became upset because my immune system was under heavy artillery fire, but the healthy-eating, hand-washing stickler I thought I was had never enlisted in this war. Fighting my way through the semester did not prepare me for the final frontier of this raging virus. Yet I learned my latest life lessons not in the classroom but beneath the covers: perseverance, patience, and faith.
My persistent, 103-degree fever and the monster of a metabolism that came along with it stole my appetite for even my favorite holiday foods and had me gobbling extra-strength Tylenol to calm my temps instead. I was frustrated to see nearly ten pounds of my hard-earned gym gains being literally burnt up by my internal furnace during the prime comfort food season of the year. As my already asthmatic respiratory system struggled to overcome congestion, I began longing for the kiddie cough syrup of childhood that featured fun fruity flavors like mixed berry and grape. Instead, I had to force down spine-shivering shots of adult cough syrup that tasted more like household cleaner and sketchy alcohol for days on end.
The Minor Medical and pharmacy clinic physicians could only offer encouraging words and stronger prescriptions. But even they said there was little solution except letting my sickness “run its course.” My usual impatience wanted that course to be more of a sprint than a marathon, but I had to relinquish my ache for control over the situation and allow my body some much-needed human rest. My mind was so foggy that the stack of books I had been eager to dive into over the break lost its appeal. Even the straight-A term report that surprised me a few days in could hardly cheer me up. However, I did find solace in both sudoku and Hulu, filling my hours with mindless comfort. When I would finally fall asleep, I would tumble into elaborate dreams where I found relief in the fantasies of a symptom-free world.
Although my house was under Christmas quarantine, my best friends brought me homemade cookies (that I could barely eat with my lack of appetite, but the gift of their loving presence nourished me nonetheless). My cousin-sister Kirbi came bearing plenty of holiday cheer and remedies for the grey clouds of sadness that had escaped the sky and seeped into my spirits with her hilariousness as a welcome distraction. The Sads proved just as easy to catch as the flu bug itself, but she dragged me from my depressive slump with an impromptu faith healing that helped shake off the “devil” of my illness-induced despair.
Through much more perseverance, patience, and faith, I eventually recovered enough to end my hermitude and emerge back into life as usual. As my system continues to release its last bits of sickness, I have been reflecting on how deeply grateful I am. For the loved ones who provide support in my weakest moments. For finally waking up fever-free. For the privilege of having a family that can cover medical expenses for everything from doctors’ visits down to an endless supply of Kleenex and cough drops. Although we live amid a generation of instant gratification and immediacy, those closest to me (without venturing too close of course) instilled hope that I would truly “get well soon,” even when my misery felt like it would last for months. They helped me realize that I was so fortunate to be sick over break, because missing nearly two weeks of classes at school might have wiped out more than just my immune system. They reminded me to be thankful that I didn’t wake up with a terminal illness. Although I might have missed out on some festivities, I won’t be missing out on the rest of my life.
As I make my way into 2018, I give thanks for the all of the amazing blessings in my life that one microscopic pathogen helped me open my eyes to see. Health and love and light at the end of the tunnel—these are the kinds of gifts that aren’t found under the tree on Sickmas morning. My healthy time at home may have been short-lived, but at least I’m headed to the beach this week and then back to class at one of the top universities in the nation, all for free. It may feel more like I’m pushing the terrible twos than turning twenty this month, but I’m going to live up to my resolution of being the baddest toddler in the game. Why not? In 2018, I will be invincible. After illness and everything else I have endured thus far, I understand just how strong and capable I am of facing any challenge that dares to even look my way. I still plan on taking some invincible steps down the health aisle for vitamins and next year’s flu shot, despite what the statistics say. If and when my health is somehow ambushed once again, I’ll reflect on my final battles of 2017, which equipped me with everything I’ll need for the next counterattack.
