“You know this is how you’ll die,” I thought to myself. I was lying flat on my back on the carpet just outside of my bathroom, sweating and starting to worry. It was getting so hot that I would momentarily lose vision before shaking my head furiously to restore my sight. My stomach was a boiling vat of acid and I wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball, but I knew that would only make the overheating worse. I tried to calm myself, but when things start to scare me I breathe faster and shorter, I panic. I started gulping for air and once again I was doing the mental life checklist I had done so many times before. This was ten minutes ago.

It wasn’t the first time I had experienced this. Actually, this was an occurrence that has happened fairly regularly over the past year and a half of my illness. Anyone who hasn’t seen one firsthand has only heard me refer to them as “bad days” and change the subject.

These subtly titled “bad days” are my current least favorite thing in the world. They hurt immensely and immediately end any other activities you plan on doing for a while. I even had one while staying at my friend’s house in a different city and it started when we were out at a bar. She had to drive me home and took care of me while the pain worsened and eventually subsided. The next day I was filled with both embarrassment and gratitude. That meant so much to me that someone would drop their plans on a Friday night to make sure I was alright. Today I was alone when it happened. As I was lying there, all I could think was “at least I’m still here,” and started thinking about why that was.

If this was the 1900s or 1950s even, I would no longer be around. I had lost thirty five pounds by the time I finally had to quit my job last year and was down forty five pounds at my lowest. Doctors have diagnosed me with Crohn’s Disease. Normally, being diagnosed is a good thing because it signals the starting of your recovery. However, my disease is incurable and can only be suppressed. This would lead some people to start questioning western medicine or doctors in general, and many people have questioned mine and suggested alternative treatments to me. While I won’t rule any alternative treatment out, I will say this with absolute certainty, western medicine saved my life. All of the herbs grown on the western slopes of Honduras or water blessed by a man wearing a robe in a language I don’t speak may very well help me or even eliminate my disease. But, when the time came, western medicine and trained doctors stepped in and reversed my medical problems before they could finish me.

I can see the point people are trying to make when they demonize the medical field or pharmaceutical companies, saying that they care more about profit than human life. It makes sense. A money making business is going to attract money hungry people. However, I didn’t die of Polio. I wasn’t told I was crazy because of undiagnosed Autism. I can handle my own health care, to some degree, at home because doctors and drug companies have tried and tested things and know what they can do for us. These same companies that are being hounded for only caring about the dollar were the people that mass produced penicillin and band-aids. Without them our life expectancy would be immensely lower and mine would definitely have ended before now.

I can’t hope for a cure for my disease by tomorrow, but I can hope that our grandchildren will think of cancer or AIDS like we think of the measles. I also hope that a few people will realize how helpful the medical field is before they are faced with a critical and immediate need for it. We can ask them for a cure for everything that ails us and blame them for the ones we don’t have yet, but in the end I’m thankful for everything they have given us.

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Filed under: Life, Thoughts by Cory