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Outside The Classroom is pleased to announce the 2008-2009 Student Voices on Alcohol bloggers. Each week this year, four of the winners from the essay division of the 2007-2008 AlcoholEdu Media Competition will post new thoughts on the culture of campus drinking. Check back each week to read the latest posting!
November 18, 2008
Jessica Erwin
Last night, I danced.
A Saturday night like any other: my friends and I let our complete lack of coordination shine through as the music coursed rhythmically through our un-inebriated veins, laughing whole-heartedly as we playfully mocked the less than debonair moves of our drunken counterparts. The forty-five minute wait in line and five dollar cover were both well worth the two hours spent on the dance floor.
So often we forget how precious these moments are.
Last night, I danced. And it meant the world to me, considering just three years earlier I would have been unable to get out of bed.
I was sixteen years old when my life changed forever. It was a Friday night in late November; my friend and I found ourselves in the same place we did most weekends, the old red sectional of my newly finished basement, preparing for yet another O.C. marathon. Interrupting Adam Brody's witty banter for a quick bathroom break, I got up to head for the stairs. As soon as I stood I felt incredibly dizzy and struggled to walk. My muscles went numb and I was over taken with a terrible headache, one which would not go away for the next eight months. That was just the beginning.
Typically junior year of high school is known for its standardized tests: the ACT and the SAT. My junior year was known for its medical tests: nineteen blood tests, a CT scan, and an MRI.
For the next six months, I lived life one day at a time, always unsure of what the next day held. It became a personal triumph to make it through the school day. Twenty-two and a half days of my junior year were spent at home on the couch in a state of fear and utter uncertainty. Having a fever, a headache, blurred vision, muscle aches, a sore throat and nausea would have been a good day compared to all I went through. All I had to keep me going was hope; hope and the occasional Gilmore Girls rerun.
Every day I pleaded with God for a second chance. Over and over I told him I would never again take anything for granted if I could just have my life back. But as time went on, I began to doubt I'd ever feel normal again. Doctor after doctor, appointment after appointment, diagnosis after diagnosis (migraines, mono, depression, peanut allergies, a calcium deficiency, one of those weird viruses, etc…) the prognosis was always the same: no one knew when I'd feel better. With just four months until the start of my senior cross country season my biggest fear became a reality. I was told I would have to "find a new hobby." Instead, I found a new doctor.
Finally, after six months, we received the diagnosis we'd been waiting for: I had contracted Lyme Disease. The excitement of finally knowing was soon overshadowed with the news that it was chronic and probably going to be with me for the rest of my life.
My senior year began and so did the adaptation to my morning routine. I still spent over an hour in the bathroom each morning before school (except this time it wasn't to put on makeup or do my hair), meals were now accompanied with an assortment of pills, I sat down more often, took breaks when walking long distances, and went to bed as early as six o'clock some nights, but made it to school each day nevertheless. I even managed to finish my last cross country season, just eight minutes slower each race than the year before. God had answered my prayers and over the course of the next two years I would continue to get better and finally regain the normal of which I had only dreamed.
Now, almost three years later, I still see these symptoms quite frequently, usually on the weekends; they're just not affecting me anymore, but rather whoever went out the night before. The nausea, the pounding headache, the dizziness, the sensitivity to light and sound… I've been there, and I know how it feels. Really, the only difference is my symptoms weren't self inflicted. No amount of "fun" could ever make me want to go back to where I've been, confined to a bed and forced to sleep all day. I prefer lying in bed watching a movie on a Saturday afternoon to be a choice, not a necessity. When people ask me about my experience I tell them - "It's like having a hangover everyday of your life for over a year." It's the simplest way for them to understand.
Last night, I danced. I wasn't drunk, nor did I need to be. I went home and got up the next morning, refreshed and ready for the day. I've been given a second chance, and I intend to use it.
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**Please note: The opinions expressed by the Student Voices on Alcohol writers are their sole opinions and do not represent the opinions of Outside The Classroom or any of its employees.
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