By Jamison Hill.
Tears are gushing out of my eyes, down my cheeks, dampening my shirt. These tears are a mix of joy and sadness. Joy for having just walked for the first time in half a decade. Sadness for having had to live through those five years.
I’ve been sick since 2010, but a few years into my illness things got really bad and I became bedridden. I was so weak I couldn’t speak. I had to drink my meals through a straw. Caregivers had to brush my teeth and bathe me. It was excruciatingly difficult. I wanted to give up so many times. And I almost did because, when life gets that bad, it feels like there’s no coming back.
It felt like the damage that had been done to my body and my life was irreversible. I was so sick, so immobile, trying to imagine walking, talking, or even eating again, was like trying to imagine life on another planet (real life, not sci-fi).
While it may have been impossible for me to imagine doing these things again, outside of my imagination they weren’t impossible. Over the five years that I was bedridden, I was on a roller coaster of progress and regression. I’d get a little better, then get sicker, until finally, I broke through and started eating and speaking again. Soon I was sitting on the side of my bed, even putting my feet on the ground.
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