Science Books and Luncheon Meat

Time marched on, as it tends to do, and my confidence with regard to my studies began to grow. I knew I had to be strategic with regard to my future, always taking medical school into account when making decisions about my future. I knew that one who could pull off an ‘A’ in a science class such as biochemistry at a reputable school would be seen more favorably than one who obtained an ‘A’ at a less competitive school, and so I decidedly transferred to the University of Connecticut for the spring semester. It was a big change, as I also moved away from home, something I had not done since leaving Roberts Wesleyan and becoming sick. It was scary at first, not having the safety net. What if something happened to me? This wasn’t about ‘just missing mom and dad’. This was, my gosh, what if something really bad happens with my health? Panic gripped me more than I would admit at the time, but I also knew that those same fears would be there waiting, whether I left now or ten years from now. I breathed in deep. Part of the struggle of living with a chronic illness is also living with uncertainty with regard to the future. And I wasn’t about to let fear start making decisions for me. Lupus had already made too many of my decisions. This was not going to be another.

And so with that I moved my things into a dorm at UCONN. It wasn’t as nice as Roberts Wesleyan. The buildings were older, and I didn’t care for the smell. My roommate was a Muslim girl of few words and many rituals. My heart sunk in seeing her disinterest in becoming friends. She told me I was never to keep meat in the refrigerator and that she would be praying on her mat three times per day. I wasn’t hugely into meat anyway, and I really didn’t mind if she wanted to pray ten times per day. I just desperately needed a friend. Unfortunately, she was not in the market for new friends. And so, we became two strangers whom shared a room. And I was sadder than I had been in a while. I had been told UCONN was “such a fun school”. I wasn’t sure what that meant. I knew from growing up in Connecticut it was also considered a “party school”. I wasn’t sure where I would fit in.

I did a lot of people watching those first few weeks. Seeing so many roam so carefree across campus. I didn’t know what to think. I knew I wasn’t like them. I knew that part of my life had been taken from me. I felt damaged. I felt broken in some unrepairable way. I felt older now too. Older than I would have liked to feel and not just because of my stiff joints and constant fatigue. The jarring months of sickness and sense of loss had aged me somehow on an emotional level yielding a maturity I had only just realized. I would have preferred my prior blissfully unaware and likely insensitive self to this one if given the choice. But here I was. And what the heck was I supposed to do now?

It was the first week of classes, and my school work was already piling up to an overwhelming level. The prior semester I had been a part time student at Southern Connecticut. Now, as a full time student, I was beginning to feel the stress of it all, and my body began to feel it too. It scared me a little, not knowing how much I could take. I hoped the stress wouldn’t hurt me. My dorm happened to be at the top of a hill, and so every day after class I would walk that hill. I had to mentally pace myself to get up it. It didn’t take me long to realize I needed to leave my books in my dorm because there was no way I was able to walk myself and three ten-pound science textbooks up that hill. Waves of fatigue rolled over me which in turn rolled over my confidence. I was always so grateful to have just made it back to my room where I could rest. That afternoon I walked back from class thinking about my meds. It made me nauseous trying to balance it all. I still had moments of utter shock in thinking about being on immunosuppressive medications, steroids and more. My stomach flopped. and I felt myself panic for second. What was I doing to myself? Why was I here? Why was I torturing myself? I stopped myself. Where else would I go? I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel.

But a small part of me really just wanted to.