Winter
I was hunched over my stomach. I wanted to run to the bathroom which was right next to me, but my stomach pain only seemed to increase as I got closer to the toilet. When I finally reached the bathroom, I understood that it was more than just a stomach ache. The vomiting had only amplified the agony. Luckily, after a few minutes of struggling, my mom arrived home and heard my loud groans. She found me sitting on the bathroom floor with my fists clenched, and my face red as a tomato. The issue wasn’t going to be solved using some Tylenol, so she took me to the hospital.
On the way to the hospital, I was clouded by frustration. While the extreme stomach pain was the main source of it, I took into consideration a few things: I had a test coming up. Now any normal person would think to themselves, “At least if I’m stuck here for a few days I have an excuse to miss the exam,” except I wanted to take that exam. This strong urge to take the exam was overwhelming enough that I forgot I was headed to the hospital for a moment. Maybe it was just me trying to cope with the physical torment, nevertheless, I wanted to be back in school as soon as possible.
Once we got inside I scrammed towards the nurse, and I must’ve startled her a little since she took a tiny step back. She scanned me immediately and when she noticed me limping and the irritation in my eyes, she quickly asked what was wrong. I told her, “I don’t know, but I have to find a restroom, or else this whole floor will need a janitor on it.” She pointed me to the restroom and I bolted towards it. Meanwhile, my mom stayed to speak to the nurse about my problem. I returned after a few minutes and my mom was sat down in the lobby. Confused, I asked her why she was sat there. She had notified me that despite the urgency, I still needed to wait to be called in. I sat down on the chair next to her and prayed that I would not explode before the doctor called me in. I hoped that would be the last of the hapless events of that day.
After 30 minutes of desperately trying to avoid the bathroom, another nurse arrived calling out my name. Relieved, I followed her to my temporary hospital bed, while the doctor I was assigned got ready to diagnose me. After a few questions, he concluded that the main source of my pain was coming from my appendix. He told me that it must have burst and I would need surgery to remove it before I got an infection. Here’s the catch, I was in a queue of patients. Turned out that the hospital was full and had limited rooms to operate on. That meant I had to wait for my turn and had to allow others that needed more attention to be operated on first. To add on, I had also been told that it may take a week to recover well enough to leave the hospital. It was already Tuesday, and Friday was only three days away. I still had not let go of that test. The only way I could take that test was if I could arrive home by Thursday night. As irritating as the information was, I tried not to worry about it.
I was laying down trying to avoid moving or getting up. It was the only way I could minimize the torture I was in. Walking, coughing, sneezing, and even standing up would intensify the sharp pain in my appendix area. My mom by my side helped a little, but staring at the ceiling made time feel like a car trying to drive on mud. Each time I checked the clock hanging on the wall, only 2 minutes had gone by. By the time one hour passed by, I had multiple conversations with the ceiling. Oh poor me, I did not have the hindsight of knowing I was going to be stuck there for about 6 hours. Yes, I mean six hours of constantly checking the clock on intervals of about 2 to 5 minutes. Now, I understand that the other patients before me may have needed much more medical attention, but were there no other rooms available or not enough surgeons working that day? At the very least, they should have had informed me how long the wait would be.
Anyway, there’s not much to be said about the surgery itself. The surgeons put me to sleep and I woke up 2 hours later. It was 4 am when I woke up, and a nurse happened to be checking up on me. She noticed me and explained how my surgery went. Turns out that they only needed to open small incisions on my stomach and slowly remove the appendix, so it did not take much time. Naturally, my first instinct was to get up and find my mom. Unfortunately for me, the doctor was right. I was not going home right away.
My stomach was swollen, my body felt fragile, and there was still sharp pain in my stomach. My body needed to heal and get used to the aftermath of the surgery. Pushing my body up felt like I was being pulled back by a mattress with magnetic covers. I was struggling to get support from my legs. I knew that if I was ever going to get back to school by Friday, I would need to get my body comfortable enough to walk. I had optimism because it was just only 4 am on a Wednesday, I had two days to train my body. My first step was to get some sleep to give my body some extra energy. Also, I had found out that my mom went home and was going to return to the hospital later in the day so there was no need to try and look for her.
A few hours later, I checked the clock and it was only 9 am. I made it a goal to get myself to stand up and take a few steps by the end of the day. The intent would be that by the next day, I would only need to focus on walking. That was easier said than done. Relearning how to sit up, took about 2 hours to accomplish. I had to stretch my arms up as high as I could. Each time I would slowly try to push myself up. I would at most times immediately just go back down and clench my teeth. The pain was nearly unbearable, and it was so easy to want to give up and just take a nap all day. However, why would I want to take the easy route anyway? Sure, it would have made me suffer less. I always had the option to tell my teacher to assign me a makeup exam at a later date.
The thing is, determination had taken full control over my mind. I got stronger and stronger, and eventually, I found myself sitting up as frequently as I wanted. It only got easier from there. Standing up had taken me much less time to learn, that the nurse was impressed and encouraged me to try to walk a little more. This is when I realized the power of taking small steps. No matter how sore I felt, and how agonizing it was, each step I took got me closer to my goal. Fast forward to the end of the day, it wasn’t even Thursday yet and I managed to take a couple of walks. Thursday would just be a run at the park, I thought to myself.
Thursday had arrived, and my mom helped me get much more comfortable walking around. I was limping here and there, but it was enough to convince the doctor to send me home by the afternoon. I blinked, and already I found myself at my seat in class ready to take the exam. I did not care about what I would get as a score, or if I was even prepared for it. That wasn’t the point. The only thing that mattered to me, was that I had fulfilled my mission for that week.
What had started as a disgusting day full of vomit turned into a moment of reversal in the way I viewed myself. I was only 16 at that time and had a pessimistic mind. I had always thought that life was unfair, but it took some vomit and a stomach ache to conclude that I am my own enemy. I can’t explain why I cared so much about taking that test, because that test wasn’t anything special. I didn’t need to rush the recovery process either. I was simply driven by a spark of motivation that was derived from the pain I was feeling. In that small moment of my life, I did not discourage myself to throw away the towel. That sudden burst of frustration combined with ambition had made me reach a higher level of self-respect. I can tell you now that when I was in that classroom, my teacher and classmates looked at me like I was crazy. Asking the question, why? Yet, sometimes being questioned is all you need to feel accomplished. The real question here is, how much are you willing to sacrifice to achieve that goal in the back of your mind?
