It's been too damn long, Fugue Fighter. Too damn long.
I'm going to cut myself some major slack, though, because the past four months have been some of (not even "some of", they HAVE BEEN) the craziest months of my life so far. I know that's not really saying much considering I've only been on this earth for 21 years...but still. They've been crazy.
As you know if you read this blog, follow me on Facebook, Snaphchat, Instagram, or just hardcore stalk me, from September through December, I lived in London. Without a doubt, it was the best three months of my life. The whole time I was there, I kept on trying to motivate myself to update the blog to describe just how amazing of a time I was having. Yet, every time I sat down to write, I became distracted by new places to see and visit, delicious food to eat, and wine & cheese parties with my flat mates. They were all amazing distractions.
I came to realize that although I'll kick myself in the future for not recording all of my experiences and adventures in a permanent form, for the first time in my life, I was living in the moment. As an obsessive planner and Type A personality, I had never done that before and I felt liberated.
Upon arriving home from London in mid-December, I knew I had to write at least something on here to accurately sum up what a truly amazing experience I had. Yet, every time I tried to sit down and write, I couldn't find the words to fully describe just how amazing my experience was.
As the days of my winter break went by, I felt exhausted every day. Honestly, I felt pretty depressed, too, which probably contributed to the exhaustion. Now, don't get me wrong: I loved being home. I missed my family like crazy while I was away, and being able to be with them again was a dream come true. But it also meant that my European adventure was over. And that was a big realization to accept.
As Christmas came and passed, what I pegged as being simple jet lag seemed to worsen. I was tired all of the time, yet I wasn't doing anything during the day to warrant my exhaustion. Soon, I began having bad flu-like symptoms and around December 27th, I accepted that I had the flu. I spent every day sleeping, pounding the DayQuil & NyQuil, and trying to get the damn virus out of my system. I had heard that the flu is awful this year, so as I experienced my horrible symptoms, I never questioned whether or not it was the flu, but rather a different virus.
The days progressed, and my appetite drastically decreased. I couldn't eat anything without instantly feeling nauseous. I developed awful migraines that made me so sensitive to light that I had to wear sunglasses while watching TV. And finally, at 4am on New Year's Day, I began uncontrollably vomiting.
Now, if you know me, you know that I never vomit unless it's alcohol-induced. Before this incident, the last time I remember vomiting was when I was 5 and decided to spin around in circles after inhaling a bowl of Cocoa Puffs. Sorry again for puking all over your bed 16 years ago, Sam...
My mom rushed up to my room to help me after I sent her a distress text message. After getting all of that out of my system, I fell back to sleep and woke up to my parent's decision to take me to the ER.
I'm just gonna say now, and please excuse my French: I fucking hate hospitals. I hate every part of them. All I could think as I waited in the waiting room with a Bane mask covering my face was "Why the fuck did I ever think I wanted to be a doctor?". I mean, I can't even look at a hospital building without beginning to feel queasy and uneasy. Being in the ER sucked, although I guess it's not exactly supposed to be a joyous occasion.
Two liters of IV fluids and multiple blood tests later revealed some weird results. After shoving a giant Qtip up my nose, scraping my brain, sticking a similar Qtip to the back of my throat causing me to gag, and stealing four tubes of my blood, the results showed that I actually tested negative for the flu and negative for strep throat.
Wait, what? If I didn't have the flu or strep throat, then what the hell did I have?
Now, I have to be honest: I always thought mono was the virus people got when they had loose lips (and I'm not talking about telling secrets). I know that's super judgmental of me, but all I knew of mono before being diagnosed with it was that it was commonly known as the "kissing disease" because it can only be passed through saliva.
To this day, I have no clue how I got this illness. Maybe someone sneezed near me while I was on the airplane home? Maybe I shared a drink with one of my friends who once had mono without knowing? Maybe the guy I had a thing with in London really did have mono at one point, but just didn't remember having it? Who knows. That wasn't the point. The point was, I did nothing wrong to get mono, nor do others. I felt awful for judging people in the past.
As I was at home after the ER, I did not begin to feel better at all. I continued vomiting a lot, I couldn't eat more than two or three bites of food before feeling overwhelming nausea, and I would drink around 6 liters of water a day and still constantly feel thirsty.
I truly was a fool for thinking I wouldn't have to go back to the ER. As I walked in for my post-ER appointment with my doctor, she took one look at me and insisted I go back to the ER. My blood pressure was dangerously low and apparently I looked like death.
A second visit to the ER means more and more tests. X-rays, ultrasounds of my spleen and liver, way too many blood and urine tests, and belly exams. The blood results again confirmed that I had mononucleosis, but this time there was more to the story. Apparently my body had been hit by the worst strain of mono that only occurs in 5% of mono patients. I had side effects of viral hepatitis, as the mono had trashed my liver. My liver enzymes were through the roof. My spleen hurt a lot and so did my liver. Also I had a full body rash, the worst sore throat ever that lasted a week, and much more, but I'll spare you the intimate details.
Bottom line was that I was the sickest I've ever been, ever. After two days, around 7 liters of IV fluid, and more tests than a class at Northwestern, I told my parents I had to get out of the depressing ER and recover at home.
It takes a lot for me to fully accept situations. Sometimes (most of the time) I need someone else to make me realize the reality of a situation. As I left the ER for a second time, I still felt like shit and my parents, my siblings, my ER doctors, and my regular doctor all worked tirelessly to convince me that there was no feasible way I could go back to Northwestern for Winter Quarter. I slept for 75% of a given 24 hours, couldn't read more than a few sentences of something without losing focus or falling asleep, I couldn't drive, let alone walk upstairs to my bedroom without holding onto my mom for support. I still couldn't eat anything without vomiting, and worst of all, I was in constant, excruciating pain that could only be temporarily appeased by an 800mg ibuprofen pill.
I really, really didn't want to accept it, but there was no way I could go back to Northwestern and survive. I had no choice: I had to make the toughest decision of my life and take medical leave of absence for the quarter.
As much as I complain about Northwestern, I really do love it so much. And I was especially excited to go back for Winter Quarter to see all of my friends I hadn't seen since June, to share all of my study abroad stories, and catch up on their lives. I was super excited to live in the Chi Omega house and grow closer in my relationships with my sisters. I was eager to get more involved in Chi O, as well as my other activities on campus. And for probably the first time ever, I was legitimately excited about all of the classes I was registered to take.
That's always how it seems to work though, right? Just as you think life is perfect and flawless, something gets thrown your way to mix things up. As I said previously, I am very much a Type A personality. Thankfully, as I've grown older, I've learned to roll with things and relax more (and anti-anxiety medicine helps with that a lot). But, accepting the fact that I would be away from campus for another quarter was very hard for me to grasp.
Now, here I am, almost a month after the worst of my illness, and I'm still having a hard time adjusting to this whole situation. Some days are better than others. Luckily, my worst symptoms are gone. I no longer vomit, I can eat full meals without nausea, I no longer have super intense pain, and I can happily watch TV without looking like Stevie Wonder. All that I'm dealing with now is extreme fatigue, exhaustion, and minor aches and pains.
What is probably the worst thing about mono is the fact that I have a million ideas in my head of things to do to keep myself occupied, but absolutely zero energy to do any of them. Every day gets better and every day I begin having more strength to do things, but the boredom still hits me. And that's very hard for me to deal with. I mean, for crying out loud, it's taken me three weeks to write this dang blog post.
I realize that this whole monologue has basically been a giant bitch fest, so I need to clear up a couple of things and apologize a bit.
I came to realize that although I'll kick myself in the future for not recording all of my experiences and adventures in a permanent form, for the first time in my life, I was living in the moment. As an obsessive planner and Type A personality, I had never done that before and I felt liberated.
Upon arriving home from London in mid-December, I knew I had to write at least something on here to accurately sum up what a truly amazing experience I had. Yet, every time I tried to sit down and write, I couldn't find the words to fully describe just how amazing my experience was.
As the days of my winter break went by, I felt exhausted every day. Honestly, I felt pretty depressed, too, which probably contributed to the exhaustion. Now, don't get me wrong: I loved being home. I missed my family like crazy while I was away, and being able to be with them again was a dream come true. But it also meant that my European adventure was over. And that was a big realization to accept.
As Christmas came and passed, what I pegged as being simple jet lag seemed to worsen. I was tired all of the time, yet I wasn't doing anything during the day to warrant my exhaustion. Soon, I began having bad flu-like symptoms and around December 27th, I accepted that I had the flu. I spent every day sleeping, pounding the DayQuil & NyQuil, and trying to get the damn virus out of my system. I had heard that the flu is awful this year, so as I experienced my horrible symptoms, I never questioned whether or not it was the flu, but rather a different virus.
The days progressed, and my appetite drastically decreased. I couldn't eat anything without instantly feeling nauseous. I developed awful migraines that made me so sensitive to light that I had to wear sunglasses while watching TV. And finally, at 4am on New Year's Day, I began uncontrollably vomiting.
Now, if you know me, you know that I never vomit unless it's alcohol-induced. Before this incident, the last time I remember vomiting was when I was 5 and decided to spin around in circles after inhaling a bowl of Cocoa Puffs. Sorry again for puking all over your bed 16 years ago, Sam...
My mom rushed up to my room to help me after I sent her a distress text message. After getting all of that out of my system, I fell back to sleep and woke up to my parent's decision to take me to the ER.
I'm just gonna say now, and please excuse my French: I fucking hate hospitals. I hate every part of them. All I could think as I waited in the waiting room with a Bane mask covering my face was "Why the fuck did I ever think I wanted to be a doctor?". I mean, I can't even look at a hospital building without beginning to feel queasy and uneasy. Being in the ER sucked, although I guess it's not exactly supposed to be a joyous occasion.
Two liters of IV fluids and multiple blood tests later revealed some weird results. After shoving a giant Qtip up my nose, scraping my brain, sticking a similar Qtip to the back of my throat causing me to gag, and stealing four tubes of my blood, the results showed that I actually tested negative for the flu and negative for strep throat.
Wait, what? If I didn't have the flu or strep throat, then what the hell did I have?
Mononucleosis.
Now, I have to be honest: I always thought mono was the virus people got when they had loose lips (and I'm not talking about telling secrets). I know that's super judgmental of me, but all I knew of mono before being diagnosed with it was that it was commonly known as the "kissing disease" because it can only be passed through saliva.
To this day, I have no clue how I got this illness. Maybe someone sneezed near me while I was on the airplane home? Maybe I shared a drink with one of my friends who once had mono without knowing? Maybe the guy I had a thing with in London really did have mono at one point, but just didn't remember having it? Who knows. That wasn't the point. The point was, I did nothing wrong to get mono, nor do others. I felt awful for judging people in the past.
As I was at home after the ER, I did not begin to feel better at all. I continued vomiting a lot, I couldn't eat more than two or three bites of food before feeling overwhelming nausea, and I would drink around 6 liters of water a day and still constantly feel thirsty.
I truly was a fool for thinking I wouldn't have to go back to the ER. As I walked in for my post-ER appointment with my doctor, she took one look at me and insisted I go back to the ER. My blood pressure was dangerously low and apparently I looked like death.
Well, shit.
A second visit to the ER means more and more tests. X-rays, ultrasounds of my spleen and liver, way too many blood and urine tests, and belly exams. The blood results again confirmed that I had mononucleosis, but this time there was more to the story. Apparently my body had been hit by the worst strain of mono that only occurs in 5% of mono patients. I had side effects of viral hepatitis, as the mono had trashed my liver. My liver enzymes were through the roof. My spleen hurt a lot and so did my liver. Also I had a full body rash, the worst sore throat ever that lasted a week, and much more, but I'll spare you the intimate details.
Bottom line was that I was the sickest I've ever been, ever. After two days, around 7 liters of IV fluid, and more tests than a class at Northwestern, I told my parents I had to get out of the depressing ER and recover at home.
It takes a lot for me to fully accept situations. Sometimes (most of the time) I need someone else to make me realize the reality of a situation. As I left the ER for a second time, I still felt like shit and my parents, my siblings, my ER doctors, and my regular doctor all worked tirelessly to convince me that there was no feasible way I could go back to Northwestern for Winter Quarter. I slept for 75% of a given 24 hours, couldn't read more than a few sentences of something without losing focus or falling asleep, I couldn't drive, let alone walk upstairs to my bedroom without holding onto my mom for support. I still couldn't eat anything without vomiting, and worst of all, I was in constant, excruciating pain that could only be temporarily appeased by an 800mg ibuprofen pill.
I really, really didn't want to accept it, but there was no way I could go back to Northwestern and survive. I had no choice: I had to make the toughest decision of my life and take medical leave of absence for the quarter.
As much as I complain about Northwestern, I really do love it so much. And I was especially excited to go back for Winter Quarter to see all of my friends I hadn't seen since June, to share all of my study abroad stories, and catch up on their lives. I was super excited to live in the Chi Omega house and grow closer in my relationships with my sisters. I was eager to get more involved in Chi O, as well as my other activities on campus. And for probably the first time ever, I was legitimately excited about all of the classes I was registered to take.
That's always how it seems to work though, right? Just as you think life is perfect and flawless, something gets thrown your way to mix things up. As I said previously, I am very much a Type A personality. Thankfully, as I've grown older, I've learned to roll with things and relax more (and anti-anxiety medicine helps with that a lot). But, accepting the fact that I would be away from campus for another quarter was very hard for me to grasp.
Now, here I am, almost a month after the worst of my illness, and I'm still having a hard time adjusting to this whole situation. Some days are better than others. Luckily, my worst symptoms are gone. I no longer vomit, I can eat full meals without nausea, I no longer have super intense pain, and I can happily watch TV without looking like Stevie Wonder. All that I'm dealing with now is extreme fatigue, exhaustion, and minor aches and pains.
What is probably the worst thing about mono is the fact that I have a million ideas in my head of things to do to keep myself occupied, but absolutely zero energy to do any of them. Every day gets better and every day I begin having more strength to do things, but the boredom still hits me. And that's very hard for me to deal with. I mean, for crying out loud, it's taken me three weeks to write this dang blog post.
I realize that this whole monologue has basically been a giant bitch fest, so I need to clear up a couple of things and apologize a bit.
First of all, I am extremely lucky that all I have is mononucleosis and not a more intense, life-threatening disease. Sure, mono sucks, but as long as I rest a lot and don't push my body for the next couple months, I'll be back to normal in no time. It could have been SO much worse.
Also, I'm incredibly lucky that I was at my most ill while at home and not while in London or Evanston. If the latter were the case, I probably wouldn't have known to go to the ER, and probably would've become even more ill than I was. I don't even wanna imagine that.
Also, I'm incredibly lucky that I was at my most ill while at home and not while in London or Evanston. If the latter were the case, I probably wouldn't have known to go to the ER, and probably would've become even more ill than I was. I don't even wanna imagine that.
So, at the end of the day, it's just mono. Granted it was the worst, most rare form of mono I could get, and it was the most ill I've ever felt, but it could have been much worse.
I'm extremely thankful that I have amazing parents who have taken such great care of me these past couple of weeks. I am so, so lucky. I am also so thankful for all of the well wishes, cards, text messages, flowers, random soup, Facebook messages, and emails I've received since being sick. All of your kind words have made me feel so much better.
The thing I've learned about life is that as much as we like to think we're in complete control of it, at the end of the day, anything could happen that's out of our control. I NEVER thought I would become this ill. I never thought I would have to miss a quarter of school. I never thought I would have to go to the ER. But it all happened, and that's life. You just gotta roll with it. As much as we try to control and direct our lives, there are just certain things that happen to us that are out of our hands.
And the sooner we learn to accept these inevitabilities, the sooner we will be happier and more accepting of our lives.
//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\
"Relax.
You will become an adult.
You will figure out your career.
You will find someone who loves you.
You have a whole lifetime; time takes time.
The only way to fail at life is to abstain."
"Relax.
You will become an adult.
You will figure out your career.
You will find someone who loves you.
You have a whole lifetime; time takes time.
The only way to fail at life is to abstain."
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