
Well, I did it. I actually managed to get through my first semester of college mostly unscathed. In just a few days, I’ll be on a plane back to south Florida, not worrying about homework or how many layers of clothing to wear. In accordance with the end of the semester, I was going to write this column about all of the trials and tribulations I’ve experienced over the past few months, how being in college away from home and without my mom has led me to grow as a person and whatever, which it has. Believe me, it has.
I’ve learned a lot about myself since that fateful day, Aug. 25, when I moved into my dorm early to do the First-Year Student Outreach Project, or FYSOP. I’ve learned that I really do work best under pressure, and that writing really is the thing that I want to do for the rest of my life. I’ve also learned that it is very important to check the weather app before leaving the dorm for the day, or else you’ll be caught in a dress on one of the windiest days of the year. I’ve learned more about the kind of friend that I am, and how close I am to becoming the kind of friend that I want to be.
But there is something that I’ve been saving for my last column, dear readers. You know how in middle school when class was back in session in September, you’d go around the room and talk about what you did over summer break? This is kind of my version of that, but about winter break: I am getting surgery, major, major surgery.
This is not exactly something that’s uncommon for me. I’ve been getting surgery pretty much every single school break for the past eight years. I’m basically desensitized to needles and blood at this point, though, which I guess is a good thing.
Let me rewind. When I was 11 years old, I was diagnosed with something called ulcerative colitis. This is an autoimmune disease, meaning that your body sends its own white blood cells to attack and attempt to destroy a certain part of your body — in my case, the large intestine. There is no cure for ulcerative colitis except for getting a colectomy, which is med-speak for removing one’s large intestine. And since my case of colitis progressed so quickly and intensely, a colectomy was my only option.
But my body never really healed. Over the past eight years, I’ve been subject to frequent hospital visits for things like chronic dehydration and severe, unexplainable pain. Some days, I feel like a totally normal person. Other days, it’s a struggle to make it out of bed. All in all, though, lately, I’ve felt better than I have in years. Which is why over winter break, I’ll be getting the second-biggest (maybe even the biggest) surgery I’ve ever gotten.
Basically, my surgeon will be taking muscle from my thigh and moving it somewhere it could be more useful, in hopes that healthy muscle will fuse to unhealthy muscle. Hopefully, this will allow my body to finally heal from the trauma that it has been through, what with all the surgeries and the eating disorder and the illness (even if the eating disorder part was a little bit my fault).
However, despite all the good that can come out of this surgery, I’m scared. Maybe even more scared than I was for my first-ever surgery all those years ago. Everyone — I wish I was exaggerating when I say “everyone” — around New York-Presbyterian Hospital knows me as the little blonde girl who is somehow still friendly and in good spirits before going into surgery and the girl who they can never get a good IV in on the first try.
But it doesn’t matter because I don’t mind being stuck again. But this time, it’s scary because this could be it. This could be the surgery that changes my life forever and makes me, after all of these years, healthy again.
It’s a lot of stress to put on a 19-year-old girl who’s already in the middle of studying for finals.
But something I’ve learned over the last 10 or so years of being sick is that you have to inevitably take the good with the bad, but make sure you recognize the good instead of dwelling on the bad. And sometimes it’s hard, but here goes: I’m thankful for my relative health lately, my circle of friends at BU and at home and my family. I’m also thankful for the fact that this campus has six Starbucks locations spread throughout it.
Mostly right now, I’m thankful that this semester is over — but I am going to miss writing this column. I was lucky enough to be chosen as an editor next semester (which I am so excited for), but maybe I’ll see you soon. Thank you to everyone who even reads one of these. You’ll seriously never know how grateful I am for it.