As a just turned fourteen-year-old, I should not have understood about gastrointestinal inflammation and bleeding, severe malnutrition, fatigue, continuous vomiting, debilitating nausea, and nasogastric feeding tubes...but I did. As I lay on a thin lumpy mattress enduring endless alarms, hysterical children, the nauseating scents of alcohol, and chalky hospital mashed potatoes I wondered “why me?”, “Why now?” Instead of going to my first homecoming, I was going to hundreds of doctor’s appointments waiting for an answer. Rather than staying up late doing homework with friends, I was up all night in excruciating and inconsolable pain. After weeks of vomiting every bite of food, seeing black immediately after standing up, and being left with chunks of hair in my hands after showering I was feeling hopeless. My doctors struggled to find a reason for my symptoms yet, despite the exhaustive battery of tests performed, all of the results came back inconclusive. The “gray area of medicine” they claimed. I was sent to an outpatient program where they decided to label my chronic illness as an eating disorder. I was denied the pain medication for my stomach and anti-nausea meds, and put into isolation as an “incentive” to get better as if I was doing it to myself. The inability to hold down food as a result of stomach immobility turned into “bulimia”, avoiding eating so I wouldn't get sick turned into “anorexia” and suddenly it was all in my head. In reality, it wasn't. While I have yet to recieive an official diagnosis, we know my stomach digests more slowly than normal and as a result, I experience severe pain and nausea. The only positive thinking I found about being bed-bound and connected to multiple IVs and a feeding tube pump is the relationship I built with those taking care of me. Not the doctors so much, but the nurses. I vividly remember being woken up at five in the morning by my favorite nurse Bob asking me to “pee in the hat” to see if I could be disconnected from my iv... I couldn't. But it didn't matter. He was patient, funny, and talked to me like he saw the real me. I was (and am) so much more than a sick kid. Looking back at pictures from freshman year, with a thin transparent tube I called my “nose noodle” secured to my face by a heart-shaped piece of tape that my mom would cut out every day, I suddenly wish I could talk to my younger self, tell her everything is going to be ok. That I AM ok. That helplessness, confusion, pain, and trauma eased and today I am a senior applying to college to become a nurse. Today I can say that I became a certified nurse assistant as a high school student and that soon I will become a nurse. I want to use my experience as “the patient” for good. I want to make a difference in the medical field, and treat my patients the way nurse Bob treated me. Everything I have endured throughout my high school career has made me appreciate the small things in life, giving me a positive outlook. My pain is now my perseverance, helplessness is now my empathy. I have grown into a different person. I am no longer the timid girl who was afraid of her own shadow, I am openly myself and striving to put a smile on people's faces regardless of the circumstances. Self-placing NG tubes was fun and all, but I'm ready to put those skills to use in nursing school

A loving mother to a devoted husband, working as a nurse saving peoples lives.

As a just turned fourteen-year-old, I should not have understood about gastrointestinal inflammation and bleeding, severe malnutrition, fatigue, continuous vomiting, debilitating nausea, and nasogastric feeding tubes...but I did. My expectations of high school were formed by the countless teenage romantic comedy movies watched throughout my youth. This unrealistic dream was crushed when instead of going to my first homecoming, I was going to hundreds of doctor’s appointments waiting for an answer. Rather than staying up late doing homework with friends, I was awake all night in excruciating and inconsolable pain. After weeks of vomiting every bite of food, seeing black immediately after standing up, and being left with chunks of hair in my hands after showering I was feeling hopeless. My doctors struggled to find a reason for my symptoms yet, despite the exhaustive battery of tests performed, all of the results came back inconclusive. The “gray area of medicine” they claimed. I was sent to an outpatient program where they decided to label my chronic illness as an eating disorder. I was denied the pain medication for my stomach and anti-nausea meds, and put into isolation as an “incentive” to get better as if I was doing it to myself. The inability to hold down food as a result of stomach immobility turned into “bulimia”, avoiding eating so I wouldn't get sick turned into “anorexia” and suddenly it was all in my head. In reality, it wasn't. While I have yet to recieive an official diagnosis, we know my stomach digests more slowly than normal and as a result, I experience severe pain and nausea. The only positive thinking I found about being bed-bound and connected to multiple IVs and a feeding tube pump is the relationship I built with those taking care of me. Not the doctors so much, but the nurses. I vividly remember being woken up at five in the morning by my nurse Bob asking me to “pee in the hat” to see if I could be disconnected from my iv... I couldn't. But it didn't matter. He was patient, funny, and talked to me like he saw the real me. I was (and am) so much more than a sick kid. Looking at pictures from freshman year, with a thin transparent tube I called my “nose noodle” secured to my face by a heart-shaped piece of tape that my mom would cut out every day, I suddenly wish I could talk to my younger self, tell her everything is going to be ok. That I AM ok. That helplessness, confusion, pain, and trauma eased and today I am a senior applying to college to become a nurse. Today I can say that I became a certified nurse assistant as a high school student and that soon I will become a nurse. I want to use my experience as “the patient” for good. I want to make a difference in the medical field, and treat my patients the way nurse Bob treated me. Everything I have endured throughout my high school career has made me appreciate the small things in life, giving me a positive outlook. My pain is now my perseverance, helplessness is now my empathy. I have grown into a different person. I am no longer the timid girl who was afraid of her own shadow, I am a strong unique individual who is seen and heard. I am openly myself and striving to put a smile on people's faces regardless of the circumstances. Self-placing NG tubes was fun and all, but I'm ready to put those skills to use in nursing school.

As a just turned fourteen-year-old, I should not have understood about gastrointestinal inflammation and bleeding, severe malnutrition, fatigue, continuous vomiting, debilitating nausea, and nasogastric feeding tubes...but I did. My expectations of high school were formed by the countless teenage romantic comedy movies watched throughout my youth. This unrealistic dream was crushed, instead of going to my first homecoming, I was going to hundreds of doctor’s appointments waiting for an answer. Rather than staying up late doing homework with friends, I was awake all night in excruciating and inconsolable pain. After weeks of vomiting every bite of food, seeing black immediately after standing up, and being left with chunks of hair in my hands after showering I was feeling hopeless. My doctors struggled to find a reason for my symptoms yet, despite the exhaustive battery of tests performed, all of the results came back inconclusive. The “gray area of medicine” they claimed. I was sent to an outpatient program where they decided to label my chronic illness as an eating disorder. I was denied the pain medication for my stomach and anti-nausea meds, and put into isolation as an “incentive” to get better as if I was doing it to myself. The inability to hold down food as a result of stomach immobility turned into “bulimia”, avoiding eating so I wouldn't get sick turned into “anorexia” and suddenly it was all in my head. In reality, it wasn't. While I have yet to recieive an official diagnosis, we know my stomach digests more slowly than normal and as a result, I experience severe pain and nausea. The only positive thinking I found about being bed-bound and connected to multiple IVs and a feeding tube pump is the relationship I built with those taking care of me. Not the doctors so much, but the nurses. I vividly remember being woken up at five in the morning by my nurse Bob asking me to “pee in the hat” to see if I could be disconnected from my iv... I couldn't. But it didn't matter. He was patient, funny, and talked to me like he saw the real me. I was (and am) so much more than a sick kid. Looking back at pictures from freshman year, with a thin transparent tube I called my “nose noodle” secured to my face by a heart-shaped piece of tape that my mom would cut out every day, I suddenly wish I could talk to my younger self, tell her everything is going to be ok. That I AM ok. That helplessness, confusion, pain, and trauma eased and today I am a senior applying to college to become a nurse. Today I can say that I became a certified nurse assistant as a high school student and that soon I will become a nurse. I want to use my experience as “the patient” for good. I want to make a difference in the medical field, and treat my patients the way nurse Bob treated me. Everything I have endured throughout my high school career has made me appreciate the small things in life, giving me a positive outlook. My pain is now my perseverance, helplessness is now my empathy. I have grown into a different person. I am no longer the timid girl who was afraid of her own shadow, I am a strong unique individual who is seen and heard. I am openly myself and striving to put a smile on people's faces regardless of the circumstances. Self-placing NG tubes was fun and all, but I'm ready to put those skills to use in nursing school.

As a just turned fourteen-year-old, I should not have understood about gastrointestinal inflammation and bleeding, severe malnutrition, fatigue, continuous vomiting, debilitating nausea, and nasogastric feeding tubes...but I did. . My expectations of high school were formed by the countless teenage romantic comedy movies watched throughout my youth. This unrealistic dream was crushed when instead of going to my first homecoming, I was going to hundreds of doctor’s appointments waiting for an answer. Rather than staying up late doing homework with friends, I was awake night in excruciating and inconsolable pain. After weeks of vomiting every bite of food, seeing black immediately after standing up, and being left with chunks of hair in my hands after showering I was feeling hopeless. My doctors struggled to find a reason for my symptoms yet, despite the exhaustive battery of tests performed, all of the results came back inconclusive. The “gray area of medicine” they claimed. I was sent to an outpatient program where they decided to label my chronic illness as an eating disorder. I was denied the pain medication for my stomach and anti-nausea meds, and put into isolation as an “incentive” to get better as if I was doing it to myself. The inability to hold down food as a result of stomach immobility turned into “bulimia”, avoiding eating so I wouldn't get sick turned into “anorexia” and suddenly it was all in my head. In reality, it wasn't. While I have yet to recieive an official diagnosis, we know my stomach digests more slowly than normal and as a result, I experience severe pain and nausea. The only positive thinking I found about being bed-bound and connected to multiple IVs and a feeding tube pump is the relationship I built with those taking care of me. Not the doctors so much, but the nurses. I remember being woken up at five in the morning by my nurse Bob asking me to “pee in the hat” to see if I could be disconnected from my iv... I couldn't. But it didn't matter. He was patient, funny, and talked to me like he saw the real me. I was (and am) so much more than a sick kid. Looking back at pictures from freshman year, with a thin transparent tube I called my “nose noodle” secured to my face by a heart-shaped piece of tape that my mom would cut out every day, I suddenly wish I could talk to my younger self, tell her everything is going to be ok. That I AM ok. That helplessness, confusion, pain, and trauma eased and today I am a senior applying to college to become a nurse. Today I can say that I became a certified nurse assistant as a high school student and that soon I will become a nurse. I want to use my experience as “the patient” for good. I want to make a difference in the medical field, and treat my patients the way nurse Bob treated me. Everything I have endured throughout my high school career has made me appreciate the small things in life, giving me a positive outlook. My pain is now my perseverance, helplessness is now my empathy. I have grown into a different person. I am no longer the timid girl who was afraid of her own shadow, I am a strong unique individual who is seen and heard. I am openly myself and striving to put a smile on people's faces regardless of the circumstances. Self-placing NG tubes was fun and all, but I'm ready to put those skills to use in nursing school.