After struggling for what seems like many days, I finally throw down my notes. I realize this fantasy I am desperately hanging on to must end. This one dream, my only dream since I was three years old, has ended. I make the decision--it is time to give up and live with my parents.
It is a Saturday. I hope my mom is home. I place the call. The phone rings. My mom answers. I attempt to muster much grace and eloquence as I tell my mom the news. Instead, tears burst forth, and I sob, "Mom, I am coming home." It sounds as though my mom is crest fallen, but she also has a tone of resignation in her voice. She says, "I have known for a while--I was wondering when you were coming home."
Her words shock me. How did she know I would not be able to finish? Was I really that sick? Her words make me realize I have been living in a deep state of denial for a long time. I thought if I had enough determination, if I had the right attitude, I could do anything. Perhaps for some people, this is true. For someone with frail health, it does not matter how mentally tough you are. If your body is failing you, you cannot pursue a goal which requires you to stand for hours on end and endure on-call and overnight shifts. Even if your mind says, "Yes, I can!" Your body screams, "No! I can't!"
I notify my friends I am withdrawing from the program and going home. To my shock, my friends come immediately to comfort me. Their quick response has always made my heart swell with gratitude. To have such sweet, caring friends is such a rare thing to find. We talk. We laugh. They raid my belongings for food and anything else I will not be taking with me. All too quickly, the dream I have lived my whole life for evaporates into thin air. All that remains of this cherished time are memories...memories which are all too soon fading and disappearing.
The following week, I leave and return to live with my parents. For the next year, extreme adrenal exhaustion keeps me bedridden. I often resort to crawling on my stomach to the bathroom because any time I stand up, my heart races out of control, and I black out. I try desperately to recover. But healing never comes.
In the years to come, when I see old high school friends and other associates from long ago, I am continually confronted with the question, "Why are you back here? I thought you had big dreams and high aspirations." I explain I have developed a series of health complications, but I can see from their disdainful looks, they do not believe me. They simply reply, "Well, you did not try hard enough. It was too challenging for you. You did not give enough effort. You were lazy...etc., etc." Their words sting me to the core.
I want to scream out, "But you have not been through everything I have! I gave every ounce of energy to pursue my dream. God graciously allowed me to live out my dream until one day I started feeling sick. After three months of being gravely ill, I developed sepsis with organ failure. Then, three months after that, I suffered another round of sepsis. A month later I had an acute adrenal (Addisonian) crisis. Two months later I suffered a stroke. Every health crisis worsened many underlying health issues. Despite all this, I tried to continue on. Month after month, I pushed as hard as could, but in the end, it was simply not possible to continue. Moreover, as time has progressed, my health has only continued to decline." As much as I want to shout this response, I cannot for I am using all my energy to fight back the tears welling up in my eyes. I keep my eyes down. I flee away from the situation at the first opportunity.
As this tenth anniversary comes to pass, it is hard to comprehend I once lived a life so different from the one I live today--a life without a ventilator, wheelchair, infections, PICC lines, endless medicines, etc. There was once a time when nothing seemed impossible. There was once a time when the dreams I dreamt were my reality.
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