Posted by Sami Kennedy on June 19, 2013
Hey.
Breathe. I know you want to scream right now, because it hurts so bad. I'm sorry.
I know you struggled to sit through that presentation. I know you didn't leave because you were afraid you'd get in trouble. You didn't want to be embarrassed. You wouldn't know what to say. You have diarrhea and it's really bloody, and I know that scares you. I know there's no way to say that easily, so you keep quiet. Some days, it's just blood. I know you wish you could talk about it. One day, you will.
I know you're scared. Scared that next time, you won't make it. Scared that the line outside the stall will start to get impatient. Scared that everyone will notice it's you giving off that smell. I know you wish you had more hands, so you could plug your nose, grip the rail, and hold your aching belly at the same time. I know you worry that one day, the pain won't pass, and you won't be able to wipe and stand up and just leave. You don't know what you'll do then. You're scared to look down, afraid of what you'll see. It's getting worse. The doctor said it would get better. I know it doesn't make a lot of sense to you now. You're eating only the most basic foods. It's a bagel every day for lunch, maybe white rice and a banana for dinner. You're staying hydrated before you run. That was supposed to make it all better. No matter what you eat, the pain makes you moan and cry and scream, but you know you get through it every time. You're going to get a break soon. It will be okay.
You're going to face something even worse than that pain, too. Bad doubt, worse than the worst of your pain. It will hurt you more than anything. Trust yourself. Your pain is real, and you are not weak. You are loud and smart and spunky. Be that girl, even through the pain. I know you think letting people do nice things for you will make you not-a-grown-up, but let them. It's not baby-ish to need a hug or do a silly craft. Keep that in mind...say, two weeks from now. That was a hint. Hey. Really. You're being more of a grown-up than you know right now, even right within that stall.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry that the field trip you've been anticipating for months had to go this way. I'm sorry that you couldn't eat at lunch. I'm sorry that when you get on that school bus to go home, you're going to sit alone and lay your head against the window, clutching your stomach, wincing with every bump in the road, hoping you see the school before it's too late. I'm sorry that when you go to track practice, you're going to be the last runner to cross that finish line again. I'm sorry that you're going to have to keep running all the way inside to the field house bathroom. I'm sorry that you're going to have to get back in a car to go home. And come back tomorrow to go through the pain and confusion and loneliness again. I'm sorry that you haven't had the normal freshman year you so badly wanted.
I know you're not wondering why you, but you are wondering why, and I am sorry that even I can't tell you that. No one can. But, one day, you are going to dream of finding the answers to questions you don't even know to ask yet. You are going to read books and hear stories about cells and pathways in your body that sound too incredible to be real. But, they are. And you will love those stories so much that you will want to learn every detail of those stories and write your own, too. You will have dreams you cannot even fathom yet. Dreams bigger than the stories and bigger than the pain.
I know it bothers you that I'm apologizing. I know if you were feeling better, you'd probably even be angry that I'm being so unclear about everything. This is our story, and you have to live it out to become me. Believe me, you'll like who you become. I'm sorry that you have to feel this pain, and that it's worthy of a letter, but know this: one day, you will speak about this pain, and the crowd will stand up and applaud, and it will be one of the happiest moments of your young life.
Hey. Don't look down. Just this one time. You know what's there. Look up. You don't know what's ahead yet or even what your problem is, but one day, you're going to be part of the solution. I know.