Stuff I Wrote For School

Diagnosed

So I have mentioned my Pulmonary Hypertension before, but this little blurb I wrote in Ninth Grade will explain it better. Also it might not be completely accurate because I was going from memory. 

In mid- December 2010, I am only seven years old. I'm supposed to be having my tonsils taken out due to breathing problems. I haven't been able to run around at recess lately without having to stop and gasp for air within two minutes. I'm struggling to sit still as I nervously wait in the waiting room of the Royal University Hospital, surrounded by my parents and my grandparents from my mom's side. I'm starting to get bored and want to take my mind off of my nerves, so I continuously ask my mom questions while clutching my favorite stuffed Hello Kitty.

"What are they going to do?" I ask curiously.

"They're going to put the mask on your face so you fall asleep and then they'll take out your tonsils," my mom answers for the tenth time.

"Oh," I reply simply, fiddling with the Hello Kitty's silk bow.

It has been sewn back on three times.

"Is it going to hurt?" I inquire worriedly.

"No, you won't be able to feel anything," my Grandma answers reassuringly.

"Am I still going to be able to talk after?" I wonder.

"Not at first, but you will be able to after you recover," my mom replies calmly.

The nurse calls my name and that's all I can remember before everything goes black.

I have so many questions for my mom. I have no idea where I am or how I got here. I want to know what time it is and what happened. My parents are in the room with me, so I start to ask them all of my questions.

"Where am I?" I question, looking around the drab hospital room.

"We're in the ICU," my mom states.

"What does that mean?" I ask, confused.

"It stands for Intensive Care Unit," my mom responds.

"Oh, okay." I reply, the seriousness of the situation not sinking into my young brain.

"I'm hungry," I say, "and bored."

Typical things for me to say at this age. My mom tells me I will have to wait for the nurse to come back to see when I can eat. As for my boredom, my mom suggests opening my Christmas presents. A wave of confusion washes over me. Christmas is still a week away, or so I thought. My mom explains to me that I was asleep during Christmas Eve.

I start to cry. I love Christmas and I am disappointed that I missed Christmas Eve, the big night for last minute Christmas preparations.

"Santa didn't come?" I ask through my tears, my little voice shaking.

My parents assure me that Santa still came, and I haven't missed Christmas. My Dad shows me pictures of myself sleeping with Santa standing next to my bed, posing for the picture with his trademark jolly smile. My mom tells me that it is Christmas Day, so I have not actually missed Christmas, and hands me presents to open, telling me who they are from.

Close friends and family come in and out to visit me during my extended stay in the hospital. I have been here for twenty one days, including the days I was sleeping!

I would find out some years later that my long sleep was actually a coma, and my heart had stopped. It was a true Christmas miracle when I woke up on that fateful December 25.

Even though most of what happened is kind of foggy, I remember my last few minutes in that hospital as if it happened yesterday.

The doctor comes into the room and drops a huge bomb on me and my family.

"Your daughter has an illness called Idiopathic Pulmonary Hypertension. It is very rare in children. It is caused by high blood pressure in the pulmonary artery, which is what carries blood from your heart to your lungs."

As a seven year old, I have no idea what any of this means. The doctor goes on to explain that the high blood pressure in my arteries is straining my heart, causing serious heart and lung problems. This means I won't be able to breathe properly and will have to use an oxygen tank for the rest of my life. I immediately begin to protest.

"No way! I'm not going to wear that! It's ugly! Everyone is going to make fun of me and nobody will want to play with me anymore!" I yell in fear, practically shrieking. I'm just about in full on tantrum mode.

The doctor calmly explains that if I don't wear it, I will have to stay in the hospital longer. Well, I'm bored of the hospital, so I agree to wear it. After my parents talk to the doctor for more painfully long minutes, we finally get to leave.

"I am never coming back here again!" I scream at no one in particular, blowing a raspberry at the hospital entrance.

Little did I know, I would have to come back for regular checkups every six months.

When I get home that night after a long, dull, drive, I'm relieved that I can finally sleep in my own bed with all of my old stuffed animals and the new ones I got for Christmas.

At this moment, I don't really think my life has changed that much, but I will later find out that it has.

At first, I think I must be the luckiest kid on the planet! I have to recover for awhile, meaning I don't have to go to school and I get to sit at home with my mom and read or watch T.V all day.

I stop going to school altogether, since the doctors think it will be better until I get more used to my new life. So I am educated in different ways at home for the next few years. I have tutors, Sylvan Learning, and workbooks to keep me caught up to, and even ahead of, my grade level.

Being a little kid, I don't like the homeschooling that much. I find it boring and a waste of time. I would rather be playing with my Barbies or reading. I'm also sad that I can't go to dance anymore because I can no longer do physical activity. I also really miss my friends from school. We would hang out everyday at recess and run off all of our energy, laughing and coming back inside with our faces red from exertion. Even though I can't do the running around part anymore, I am still super excited the day I find out I will be attending school again on the first day of fourth grade! I am only going to go for half of each day, in the morning. That way I will get my math and english. Then at lunchtime I will come home and stay at home for the rest of the day. I didn't care that it was only three hours, I was just so overjoyed to be back at school!

Unfortunately, my prediction of being made fun of came true. I had always been bullied about silly, childish things like what I watched on T.V or that one time in First Grade when I tried to fit myself inside my desk and everyone laughed at me. But now I am being made fun of for something that I can't control.

"You look funny!" People would say when I walked by.

"Haha you can't run!" They would taunt.

"Look at me I'm Olivia and I have an air tank!" They would say to mock me.

I'm not used to be ostracized like this. I am also not used to being stared at by younger kids whenever I went somewhere like to the park or to the store. These things are still happening today. Now, people usually say things such as,

"Go unplug yourself!"

"You're crippled!"

"Nobody will ever like you because you have an oxygen tank!"

Now that I'm older, and more used to it it usually doesn't bother me, but sometimes all of the things they say build up and it hurts. I just wish people could see this from my perspective. It isn't fair that I am being ridiculed for something that isn't my fault. I have days where I wish I didn't need an oxygen tank, days where I feel like life would be easier without it. But everything happens for a reason.

Having Pulmonary Hypertension has unquestionably changed my life, but it has made me a better, more productive person. I never say or do anything mean to anyone, because I know how crappy it feels to be poked at simply because of differences. Having this disease always has its ups and downs, but so does everything in life, you just have to stay positive. I think of how far I've come since that December, and I am so grateful that I woke up from that coma.