I was sitting on the exam table, watched by the evaluating eyes of my doctor, surgeon, and concerned parents. “I just want it gone” I repeated for what was probably the tenth time in the conference. My parents sat side by side watching me, reading my face as they had learned to do after 18 years. But I could read theirs back. They were worried. It was time. Time for me to start making my own decisions. Even though they could talk to me and help in my decision making, ultimately the choice was up to their little girl. They could see that this was what I wanted; I could see this was what worried them most. In the medical world, once you turn 18, living with your parents isn’t enough for them to make decisions for you.
I had the spotlight, everyone was focused on me. It had been four grueling years of new medications, IV nutrition, central lines, surgeries and weeks missed of school. I was done. I didn’t want to save my colon any longer. Looking into my doctors eyes I realized I had streaks of tears running down my face. She looked defeated, disheartened by the idea that after four years in her care, we had exhausted all medical treatment. My stomach climbed into my throat and streams crawled down my face. I felt as though I was giving up, something I had a very little experience with. But I wasn’t giving up; I was making a decision necessary for me to live my life. “Improving my quality of life” is how the doctors referred to it. Getting rid of the problematic colon would give me the chance to be me. It wasn’t giving up, it was moving on. I was moving on from weeks of hospital stays, pain and the ever growing list of toxins being dumped into my body. I was moving on to be an adventurist, a student and a leader. I wasn’t giving up.
I knew what I wanted. Swallowing more chemicals and playing guessing games with medications wasn’t going to get me up a mountain. I knew the only thing that would give me the active life I wanted and make me happy was to undergo surgery. The mood shifted in the room as my audience came to terms with my decision. I was finally going to get rid of my large intestine.
The ticking began as my doctor started typing in her computer, filing forms to send me through to surgery. My surgeon pulled out consent forms, and my parents looked at me, knowing this was the decision I’d had coming for years. The pen was passed like the olympic torch as I signed my life into the hands of my surgeon. It was now up to his skilled hands to take me apart and put me back together in order for me to have the “quality of life” that I wanted to live by; the quality of life I had not had in over four years.
I sit here today, with what hardly seems to be an empty cavity in my stomach. Although six feet of my intestine are now incinerated and gone, I finally feel whole. I can finally be the active, energetic, leading person I have always wanted to be. I didn’t lose part of myself, I gained what I had been missing the whole time. My quality of life is where it is supposed to be for any nineteen year old college student. Yes, I am now missing six feet of what most people assume is a vital organ, but I have gained a life.
Thanks for reading!
<3 Holly
No comments:
Post a Comment