A Past Memory

January 24, 2011

Lately, I have been reflecting on my past and comparing it to my present, taking some peace and appreciation on how far I have traveled in life so far. Maybe it’s because of The New Years or maybe I’m just getting older, but I have been a lot reflective this month. I am remembering my past emotional hurts, the mental struggles, and damaging past relationships. But within the memories, I had one this weekend that I had completely forgotten, of my past physical pain.

Ever since I was little girl, I was prone to getting very sick… I mean, “hospital stay” sick. And in my teens, I began to get hit by this unknown infection. I don’t know what it was, the doctors were never able to explain it, but I remember the symptoms very well. Pain and lots of it!  In my chest, there was a sharp and pressing pain as if someone had stabbed me and then decided to sit on the knife.  And also there was a painful spasm in my stomach, which would cause me to puke non-stop, until I was empty. And even then, I would dry heave for hours on end, which was a lot painful. I would try to drink fluids, never able to keep it down, not even the ice-chips that nurses tried to feed me. :-(

I was in the most horrible pain, as doctors rushed to do tests, trying to figure out what was happening to me. They gave me multiple IV bags, of plain fluid to help flush out my system, and plenty of blood tests.  I’ve had x-rays and ultrasounds too. At one point, I was misdiagnosed with Diabetes, but the doctors later found out that my blood sugar was normal. It was just a fluke, from being sick, that I had a high level of ketones in my sample, which usually signifies a person may have Diabetes. In short, I was the “Dr. House” case, which the doctors were never able to solve. :-/

The first time it had happened, I was age fifteen and a lot scared, being rushed to the local ER in terrible pain. The nurse was a lot nice and comforting, as she gave me a purple and black zebra stripped hospital band, making things a little less scary. I had endured my first IV (Intravenous therapy) that night, which was a very big deal for a teenage girl. For those who don’t know, an IV needle is very long, and it’s inserted into the top of the wrist and directly into a vein. Then it is taped still on the wrist and stays in, as the fluid bags are draining into the vein. The needle stays in, until your hospital leave. And when it’s time to leave, a nurse will pull the needle out, along with the medical tape (which seems to take a layer of skin with it… ouch!), and then the bleeding needle mark is covered with a band-aid. It hurts like hell, or so it did the first few times I’ve had one. But for my many episodes, I’ve had an IV over twenty times, before I had lost count. That pain is too familiar to me now. =p

I have been in and out of hospitals from age fifteen, until age twenty-two. And my reflective moment starts on a memory of the last time I’ve been to ER so very sick. I remember it vividly… It was the same pain in my chest and stomach, the same uncontrollable puking, the same sadness and fear that I always felt. It was in the middle of summer, the sun was setting, and my mother had gotten us a ride to one of the better hospitals in the city. My oldest brother was at his home, but offered over the phone to stop by, after my stay was over.

We were all use to the routine, by now, of me suffering in agony for five -seven hours and only spending part of the night in the ER. There had been times, back when there use to be an ER a few streets from my home, that my mother and I would walk home in the early dawn hours. I would be so tired and weak, shuffling home with my wrist hurting and bandaged from the IV, my mother holding my arm. So, we were sure it would be the same story again. And it was, for the most part. I was given some IVs to flush out my system, the doctors were baffled again, and then I was released by 2am.

My brother took a cab over to the hospital, and then caught another one for me and my mother, riding back home with us. He was in the front passenger seat, talking with the cab diver, while my mother and I were in the back seat. It was late night and I remember that it had rained while I was in the ER, but by the time we left the hospital, it had stopped. It had left the otherwise hot and muggy weather to a nice a breezy summer night. I was a lot drained, from being sick for hours, weak and wobbly but trying to pretend that I was okay. My mother saw that I wasn’t, telling me to lay down in my seat. I did lay back and looked up through the car’s back window, watching the passing skyscrapers and the bright moon in the sky. Then I had the sudden thought of, “I think I’m going to be okay now.” I don’t know how or why I knew, but that was the last time I ever gotten so sick. :-)

And in remembering that night, I do wonder if someday I’ll get that feeling again, when it comes to my slight emotional suffering and past hiccups that bind me still. I wonder if one night, I’ll look up into the sky at the moon, and have that thought again of, “I think I’m going to be okay now.” But, for what it’s worth, I know that I’m fighting forward towards reaching that day… And I feel a lot close to it too. :-)




  1. I love this story! x

    • Thanks, Beadie! :-)

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