Strapped In
Biz Cuvelier
Biz Cuvelier
As I am writing this, there's a throbbing pain in my right lower part of my head that sends shooting pains down my neck and behind my eyes. This feeling isn’t always the same. Some days it is in my forehead, some days it is behind my eyes, some days in my temples, and even some days my whole head. As I sit here, my friend’s face turns to a blur, my computer screen turns into two computer screens, and even sometimes there are floating lights in the air around me.
I will be watching a video for Government Class or walking down the hall and BOOM a train hits me right in the head. I feel myself knocked backwards as I am trying to regain balance to continue on. As I am standing wide open on the three point line, with the ball, in a game against our town rival, about to shoot when I see three rims instead of one, and now I am trying to figure out one to shoot at. It wouldn’t be that bad if this happened maybe one or two days a month, but it is thirty one days of the month. Some days are better than others. Some days, my head just hurts in one spot so I can manage that, but some days it is like an ongoing roller coaster that I can’t get off and it won’t stop repeating.
My parent’s, doctor’s, and peer’s minds are just racing trying to figure out a way to get me off the roller coaster because they can tell how strapped in I am. With dark blue circles under my eyes and pale white face, I am trying to make sense of what is going on around me but can’t seem to take my mind off the fact like I am still recovering from that train that hit me a couple hours ago. It’s almost like this roller coaster defines me. My whole life is revolving around this one roller coaster, trying to get me off. My parents watch as I swallow another pill, crack more bones, throw up, lie there with IV’s sticking in my arm, be injected with another treatment, and not be able to help me at all. My family feels as if they are standing in line for the roller coaster and can feel the nauseas feeling of going over and under. It seems like everything I try is another setback because it just leads to more problems.
My visits to the Mayo Clinic for treatment provide me with momentary hope and relief. I spend the day with my family, and away from the anxieties of school and social life. We shop, eat, and enjoy the break from reality. It is a good day until I am in a hospital gown on a bed with two red stress balls in my hand. As I clench my fists, twenty seven needles are injected into my head, one by one. The sound and feeling of coldness rushing through my head as the medicine is inserted. I look at my parents with tears in my eyes as the pain is unexplainable. My parents continue to tell me that it will be worth it after it’s over. It does help in the long run, the roller coaster doesn’t go as fast anymore, but it’s still going.
Taking pain meds made blood come out of my mouth as I coughed, the IV’s made me not eat for a week, the seizure medication made me pass out and lose twenty pounds. By this time, I find myself shaking in fear everyday as my anxiety of helplessness kicks it. It’s like a dark cloud has covered the bright light of my personality. All I want is to be a normal high schooler who can do everything pain free. What is it like to go out to eat with your friends without a knife through your head? Classmates and teammates complain to me about writing that paper or running that extra sprint, but have you ever done it with a bowling ball on your head? Yes, I sympathize for them, but it’s hard to know what it’s like to do that without that bowling ball. How hard could it be?
I feel misunderstood. A deep feeling of mortification fills me as I try to go through my day trying to be normal. I look around and see people and friends laughing, having a good time, wondering what it would be like to have pure happiness. Even when happiness tries to come into my life, the train knocks it over and hits me again. “What are your plans for the future?” “What do you want to be when you grow up?” These are the questions myself and many other young adults get a lot. But, the difference between the other young adults and me, is that I have to think about something that I can do with this pain everyday. I lie awake some nights thinking about all the opportunities I could have had if I wasn’t stuck on this roller coaster. Would I be playing volleyball somewhere? Will I ever get to meet my husband, or will no one want to have to deal with someone that has what I have? Will I be able to play and enjoy time with my kids? Washed out and exhausted is what I feel every second of every day. Just think about how tired you get when you wake up, go to school or work, maybe go to a practice or a meeting after that, then go home to your family or friends? Now try doing that while being hit in the head with a hammer in intervals throughout the day. My dream is to one day be unbuckled from the straps and let free.
