I have official met my 1 year mark. March 30, 2015 was my first syncope episode. I had fainted occasionally before this date, but this was the real onset of my chronic syncope and the beginning of the end of normalcy. I fainted again April 1st, and then again on April 5 (Easter). After fainting in front of my mother, we started the long, drawn out process of a searching for a diagnosis.
It's fair to say that we still haven't gotten one. We've gotten 100, and none of them come with a treatment plan or a cure or a solution.
Dysautonomia, chronic hypotension, POTS, pituitary macro-adenoma, prolactinoma, neurocardiogenic syncope...the list goes on. But it never reaches a point of progress towards health.
I'm still waiting to hear back from Vanderbilt. We were told that we would get a treatment plan within a week. Tomorrow it marks 3 weeks from our appointment and we are still waiting.
I still faint about 1-2 times a week. I still can't figure out how to stop it. I still don't know when or if it will go away. I'm in disability purgatory.
As I enter the last half of my last semester at WAC, I've been feeling very reflective and introspective. My time here wasn't at all how I thought it would be. I never got out of the country, like I thought I would. I never got involved in SGA, like I had in high school. I didn't spend my free time sailing or canoeing. I never had free time.
When I think back on the last year of my life, all I can remember is being sick. Canceling trips because I couldn't trust that my body could manage it. Bumming rides with people because I couldn't drive anymore. Struggling across campus in my wheelchair. Going to bed early because I had a migraine. Feeling isolated, because there aren't a lot of 20 year olds who answer "what are you doing after college?" with "It depends on my health."
So I'm back at the same circle of worry that I always am: the future. I know that it is perfectly normal to be afraid of graduating and nervous about entering the real world. And I know that I should look at this ending with excited wide eyes and eagerness for more opportunity. But that is a hard task when every possibility is tied to the condition of my unpredictable health. It is a puzzle no one can solve. Furthering my isolation is the bittersweet fact that I am graduating a year early and all my close friends will still be at WAC, together and without me. I know it's silly, but I know fully well that, come September, I will feel lonely, isolated, and more than a little bit envious.
When I think back on the last year, I don't feel any of the things I know I should. I don't feel proud, or grateful, or blessed, or satisfied. I feel overwhelmingly angry and bitter and exhausted. I feel lost and hopeless and spiteful.
Today, I'm not feeling very bright. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Until then, here's a song I've had on repeat today. Maybe I will reach the "And I'm finally ready to be here" part of my life someday.
It's fair to say that we still haven't gotten one. We've gotten 100, and none of them come with a treatment plan or a cure or a solution.
Dysautonomia, chronic hypotension, POTS, pituitary macro-adenoma, prolactinoma, neurocardiogenic syncope...the list goes on. But it never reaches a point of progress towards health.
I'm still waiting to hear back from Vanderbilt. We were told that we would get a treatment plan within a week. Tomorrow it marks 3 weeks from our appointment and we are still waiting.
I still faint about 1-2 times a week. I still can't figure out how to stop it. I still don't know when or if it will go away. I'm in disability purgatory.
As I enter the last half of my last semester at WAC, I've been feeling very reflective and introspective. My time here wasn't at all how I thought it would be. I never got out of the country, like I thought I would. I never got involved in SGA, like I had in high school. I didn't spend my free time sailing or canoeing. I never had free time.
When I think back on the last year of my life, all I can remember is being sick. Canceling trips because I couldn't trust that my body could manage it. Bumming rides with people because I couldn't drive anymore. Struggling across campus in my wheelchair. Going to bed early because I had a migraine. Feeling isolated, because there aren't a lot of 20 year olds who answer "what are you doing after college?" with "It depends on my health."
So I'm back at the same circle of worry that I always am: the future. I know that it is perfectly normal to be afraid of graduating and nervous about entering the real world. And I know that I should look at this ending with excited wide eyes and eagerness for more opportunity. But that is a hard task when every possibility is tied to the condition of my unpredictable health. It is a puzzle no one can solve. Furthering my isolation is the bittersweet fact that I am graduating a year early and all my close friends will still be at WAC, together and without me. I know it's silly, but I know fully well that, come September, I will feel lonely, isolated, and more than a little bit envious.
When I think back on the last year, I don't feel any of the things I know I should. I don't feel proud, or grateful, or blessed, or satisfied. I feel overwhelmingly angry and bitter and exhausted. I feel lost and hopeless and spiteful.
Today, I'm not feeling very bright. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Until then, here's a song I've had on repeat today. Maybe I will reach the "And I'm finally ready to be here" part of my life someday.
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