Party Like It's 1999 (Part 1)

My mother reminded me that this week is the 10th anniversary of my first severe cholangitis episode. Although this isn't a fun anniversary where you get presents, it still marks a pretty significant time in my life. It was the probably the first time I felt that my disease actually affected my life. It was also the first time I heard the idea of a liver transplant as some doctors wanted me to have one right then and there.

I wrote a paper in college about this experience which I'll share with you over the next two days. It's not a complete story, detailing the entire three weeks stay in the hospital. It also doesn't cover the recovery period after. Mostly, I wrote it since I knew that no teacher could fail you if you write a sob story about how you are sick. I think it's probably a C+ paper but I got a B, clearly based on sympathy points. I have kept the paper as I wrote it freshman year, except I have removed doctors names because I never asked them for consent.

Tyler Durden teaches in "Fight Club" that "It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything." Only after hitting rock bottom did he begin to understand what made him tick, love, and cry. Colored purple, stuck in a bed, eating nothing, I too began to realize who I was. It most probably was forced on me, a circumstance of the sad situation, but I took the chance to find out my true self either way.

It’s fitting that it occurred the summer of eighth grade. The transition from the big kid in elementary school to the nothing in high school is always a challenge. No one knows where he or she will fit into, especially in such an overwhelming change of circumstances. I went from captain of the basketball team to not even trying out. I went from having a girlfriend, to not knowing half the girls in my grade. I went from being healthy to not knowing if I’d make it to school the next day. See, that summer was a time of change for everyone. But for me it wasn’t just a change of school or social aspects, but a change of self. Landing yourself in the hospital will do that for you. It’ll take your mind away from TV, friends, and girls, and place it in your heart, your subconscious, and possibly a liver.

I was relatively healthy before that period. I was diagnosed with Crohn’s early in my life, but hadn’t felt the effects of it in years. I routinely went in for a check-up or some blood work, and even less often had a stent placed in my bile duct. But as bad as that seems for the normal pre-teenager, it never bothered me. I wasn’t hindered in any way; in fact, I took advantage of the sickness more than was called for. I’d fake stomach aches to avoid tests, schedule appointments to avoid class, and complain to avoid gym. But in the summer that bad karma must have caught up with me, because I was rushed to the hospital. After a few days with a hundred and two fever, my parents admitted me into Beth Israel North, a beautiful hospital on the East Side over looking Gracie Mansion. I had been there before for a minor operation, and the hospital seemed to know how to handle my situation. But this time was an exception. Beth Israel North and a lot more people I depended on seemed to leave me on my own.