When I was in the ICU, a woman the same age as me was admitted to the bed next to me. She also had an auto-immune disease, but when she came in, she was still breathing on her own, while I was already on a respirator. I remember wanting to be able to talk to her, but not being able to because of all the tubes and machines. She was eventually put on a respirator too and given the same treatment as me, but while I improved every day, her body did not respond well to the treatment. Her husband sat outside the ICU, just like mine, wondering every day if we would make it. I distinctly recall her panicking when the nurse would try to sedate her to help her to rest so that her body would respond to the treatment. It's amazing how strong the mind can be that our fears can overcome even the strongest of drugs. She refused to sleep, terrified that she would stop breathing. I knew that no matter what, I had to remain as calm as possible if I were to make it. I signalled the nurses each time my respirator would need to get suctioned so that I could breath easier. I counted each breath when they took me off the respirator, because after five days, I was afraid that my body would not breath on it's own.
When my respirator was removed I was unable to talk, but if I could have, I would have told the woman in the bed next to me not to give up. To keep on fighting. That life is worth living, and that no matter what, the pain would eventually pass. I was moved out of the ICU the following day, and when I was in my room receiving my first chemotherapy I heard that she had died.
Almost two a half years later, I sit here on my couch writing this as a drink a cup of tea. I'm not going to lie and say that the fear that I will stop breathing hasn't plagued me since I was taken off that respirator. It is always there, in the back of my mind. There have been days when my breathing is particularly bad and I have to consciously choose my actions just so that I can make it to the end of the day without being completely exhausted. On days like that, flights of stairs are my worst enemy and reading a book to my children while having to take deep breaths in the middle of sentences is more frustrating than I can even explain. But what is greater than the fear that I will stop breathing is the fear that because of it, I will stop really living.
You see, I made it out of that ICU, and the woman in the bed next to me didn't. One lived and one died. I was given another chance, and while my body is not what it once was, I know that the way that I choose to live now speaks volumes to the people around me. When I started teaching again my doctor wasn't very happy about my decision. She viewed me as her patient, and she cares for the physical well being of all of her patients. Being severely immune suppressed and deliberately putting myself into an environment like a school meant that I was knowingly putting myself at risk of infection - I knew that, and I understood why my doctor was unhappy with my decision. After the first few months of teaching, I had seen my doctor so many times for infections and viruses that I had picked up that she casually said that she wished I would stop working so that I could get better. I told her that staying at home for the rest of my life so that I don't get sick is not really living, but that if she thought that was the only way that I would get better, I would take her advice and put in my resignation.
A week later at my follow up appointment, my doctor seemed to have changed the way that she saw me. I was no longer just being treated as one of her patients that she wanted to keep alive at all costs, but as the patient that wanted to truly live, without fear of dying. She has always been an exceptional doctor, but that day, I saw something change in the way that she spoke to me. She is now my cheerleader. When the frustrations of the side effects of the drugs get too much, she tells me what I would have loved to say to that woman that day in the ICU: 'don't give up'.
In just six weeks time, my twelfth grade students will graduate from high school. It has been a difficult year for me, but the opportunity and privilege to speak into their lives is one that I will never be able to measure. I have seen students begin believing in themselves for the first time in a long time. I have seen them change the way that they see the world, but most importantly, the way in which they see themselves. If I can leave them with one message that they will take with them, I hope that it is this:
Never give up on yourselves - no matter what. You can make a difference, but you have to choose to. Do not be afraid to live your life - life will be hard sometimes, but you must choose to live it.
