I was sent home with an impossible diagnosis. A lifetime of the life I was barely living. It was filled with limitations and stop signs. At the age of 17 I was diagnosed with two chronic lung diseases after having had pneumonia seven times and a lifetime of lung complications. From the ages of , my health deteriorated rapidly. It started with pneumonia. Although the pneumonia disappeared from my medical tests, my symptoms never cleared.
During that time, I had little-to-no energy, and lost most of my relationships because I was unable to invest in them. Since I was bedridden, I was forced to say no to opportunities day after day. Eventually, I was prescribed antibiotics for the rest of my life along with pulmonary steroids and breathing treatments.
A year went by and I saw minimal improvement, until one day, while on vacation, I felt astronomically worse. I was given a picc line for two weeks. Mine was inserted on the inside of my left bicep with a tube that ran directly to my heart. I had to administer medicine through it every eight hours for two weeks.
That was frightfully eye-opening to the severity of my situation. I had a home nurse who would check on me every few days and change my dressing. That image reflected stories I had heard about people enduring their last few days of life. I hit an emotional low. I decided after a deep emotional outbreak to block my emotions until the process was over. It was simply too much to handle. I began putting my energy into survival. I could feel parts of my body slowing and the possibility of never waking set in.
I handled it emotionless, simply pursuing survival tactics and getting through life hour by hour. After three rounds of meds failed to work, we tried a sinus surgery with the hopes that clearing the mucus from my head would stop it from getting into my lungs. I was rushed to the hospital for a second surgery and probably a blood transfusion. I ended up being an in-patient for a week. My doctors wanted to give me meds and perform tests, then monitor my response in order to create a treatment plan.
Upon arriving at the hospital, my Mom made a group on Facebook with close friends and family where she would post updates and prayer requests. I never anticipated the response from this group. Multiple times a day they would send prayers, songs, and prophetic words to call into action the plan of the Lord.
I had lost the will and the strength to fight. I was sick of being sick and I could feel that I was dying. That group of my friends and family stood in the gap. They took on my burden and fought for me. They saved my life. Even though I had an army of prayer warriors fighting for me, my time at the hospital was dehumanizing. That was Neverland. I was in constant physical pain and constant mental agony. I had nowhere to escape to and I was looked after like a science experiment. The memories I do have are memories of long, sleepless, and painful nights, care teams who treated me like a human without feelings or emotion, and overwhelming loneliness as I was seven hours away from most of my family and friends who gave me the will to fight on.
I found out later that those people thought they would never see me again. After a week, I was sent home with a life barely worth living. My doctors declared I had two separate lung diseases. These diseases were similar to Cystic Fibrosis. Basically, my lung function was compromised which resulted in a lifetime of fluids and bacteria ending up in there with no way to escape. I was given multiple non-medicine treatments to do multiple times per day resulting in two-three hours daily along with several oral and inhaled antibiotics.
In addition, I was to be hospitalized for weeks annually for the rest of my life. This diagnosis destroyed any dream or hope I had for my life. That was the end. My parents and I prayed for a path of peace. Help us improve. Follow us.
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