The best day of my life.
Before I begin my story, I would like to say a few things. Let it be known that I am proud of who I am, what I have achieved, the lives I have saved and touched and the countless smiles I have brought to people's faces. I am opening up to everyone on this website because I think, whilst my story is in no way special, I do believe it should be heard. People have said I am strong, but in reality I am simply being me, and doing what I do best in my own manner... which is being me. I know, you're probably thinking, "Man, this girl's obscure," but that's just how it is with me. But enough of that. Let's begin. Head's up... this is a long story, but bare with me....
My story begins at the age of 13. Well, one part of a larger picture, but I won't bore you with all those details. I was never exactly the sort of person you'd suspect that something would be "wrong" with them. I never got into trouble at school with schoolwork or other pupils, though I was bullied; I barely ever went to the doctors, and hospital appointments were an extremely rare occurrence, because my health was great! Or so I thought. After several months, I began to experience strange, sharp pains around my heart, and I remember how much it scared me. Looking back, I had a good reason to be fearful; what it was remained a mystery to me for many years... until today, the day I posted this story. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Now, I continued to have these pains every few months. After the first time, and the many times it happened afterwards, I started to anticipate it more. Eventually, having told my mum and dad what was happening, I went to the doctors. They checked me out, but said they couldn't see what could be causing it, and that it wasn't coming from my heart, after they did some testing. So they sent me on my way, and that was that. But the pain continued happening, and after many more months of unanswered questions and unhelpful doctors, we moved to a different doctors' surgery, and the doctor there soon after diagnosed me with a condition called Costochondritis, a painful inflammation of the costal cartilage around the sternum, a long-term chronic pain condition that usually went after 6-8 weeks after being discovered and treated appropriately. However, and this was the big however. I had to come to terms with the fact that, despite my age, I would be faced with a possible lifetime of pain, because there is no immediate cure. Only relief and alleviation. It took me at least 5 years, down the line, to finally accept I might have this permanently, because when I was 17, I attempted to join the navy to fight for my Queen and country in my own way. I wanted to be a nurse.
It was this "calling," this want, that drew me towards the end of my time at highschool to apply. And once my application was accepted and it became much more serious, I started working out like I never had done before. In the space of a year, I lost over 2 stone (about 25 pounds) and was well on my way to losing another large amount of weight. But I didn't realise how much it was affecting my body. And one night, 8 weeks into a training programme, I was on a machine when my chest gave way, I leaned back and an almighty CRACK resounded across my torso, followed by a breathless storm of agony. I'd never felt such pain as I did that day. I apologised to my instructor and had to leave. I managed to get back to my mum and dad, who'd come to pick me up that evening, and once they saw me, they knew something was wrong. So I told them, and my deepest fears were realised.
The pain got worse as the months passed. We tried everything we could to figure out what was going wrong. I don't remember exactly what happened, I suppose I don't really want to remember. I failed my Navy entry exam, and my application was terminated. Through my devastation, I decided to apply for university, to train as a nurse. I was probably foolish, but I wanted to be a nurse more than anything. I love people, despite what most do to each other and the ugly characteristics a lot possess, that at the same time sadden me. I wanted to care for others, help others. This was what I thought was my calling. I was so, so silly!
I got through an interview for university, and in February 2011 I was told I had been offered a conditional place as a student nurse at my local, yet firstly chosen, university. I was over the moon. So long as I got my predicted grades or better, I had a guaranteed spot at university. I got my predicted grades in the summer of that same year, and in September 2011, I proudly walked among the other students at my university as a student nurse. It was another month before I got my nursing uniform, and I remember coming home with it, feeling so happy and proud of myself.
Sadly, it couldn't last. Because I became completely aware, shortly after my fifth placement on a ward/with community nurses, that I could no longer maintain the demanding physical aspect of the nursing degree. A year and a half after my journey began, it came abruptly to an end; as I finished my final shift of my final placement ever, I became clumsy, lackadaisical, and my guise dropped. My suffering in silence came to a head. I couldn't focus; 12 hour shifts I'd done in completely silent pain caught up with me. I'd kept a smile on my face all the time, and never once did I complain. Why, you might ask.
Because I loved what I was doing too much. And giving it up is the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
I got home that night and cried. And I didn't stop for 3 days straight. I had a complete mental and physical breakdown, and I became a shadow of who I'd once been. Once the university was aware I would no longer be able to continue, the poignant messages of care and affection from my fellow classmates overwhelmed me. And so I sank into a deep depression, full of raw physical and emotional pain, that in the end almost killed me. I almost took my life May 2013, when I sank to my lowest point. I admit it was self-inflicted pain, but by being selfless and doing the right thing for others yet being unable to do the right thing for myself, I cast myself the dire hand. My parents, and a few close friends, were the ones who saved me, and for the next year and a half, I spent my time recovering and focusing on myself, getting the medical care and such that I needed. I got the meds I needed and that worked for me, I had to fight 6 months to get any kind of financial aid, and in the end I won the case. I was living with my parents thankfully; had I not been doing so, I would have ended up homeless. My doctor and a few other health experts did what they could for me too, and attempted to get to the bottom of my condition.
Within the space of a year and a half, I started to slowly recover and recuperate. I wasn't able to do a lot of things, thus I became highly isolated and my depression and pain got the better of me a lot, though I fought hard back against it. I couldn't lift heavy objects without igniting painful "flare ups." I had to be careful where I sat; uncomfortable chairs were just as bad as lifting heavy objects for me. It was a nightmare, lol.
And it was also during that time I met him. Kurdt, my SO, whilst playing a video game. I didn't realise at that point what he would become to me.
I was determined, despite myself, to get back into university. I refused to live a life being labelled as a "scrounger" and "disabled," for living off the welfare state. So, I applied to my old university again. Only this time, I chose a more sensible subject. Computer science. I love technology far too much for my own good
I was accepted within a month of applying! I was so, SO happy. For the first time in ages, I was ELATED. As the months rolled by, and university drew closer, I grew more anxious. But it was the best thing I could have done. I knew that integrating myself back into the life of a student was going to be far from easy, but I knew I had to try. It was harder than I could ever have imagined. The first week wasn't so bad, but then the real work began. And I started panicking, because after just a week, I knew that I couldn't continue as a computer scientist, I couldn't understand any of the lectures and the lecturers themselves had indecipherable accents, speaking far too quickly. So I switched courses, with the guidance of my soon-to-be tutor at the Geography department, over to my current degree, a Geography (BSc) undergraduate course. I had to fight HARD to keep my Geography degree; my funding body for tuition fees deliberately refused to give me any aid, on the grounds I'd left my nursing course, however a financial officer from the university managed to contest and appeal against this decision, which she eventually won, saying their decision was unjust since it clearly stated that, should a student leave a course on the grounds of sickness or bereavement, then they would not have to worry about being declined financial aid. With a number of contacts in various departments including the library helping me, as well as several other measures and means of help, I have found the student life transition to be in my favour, despite my condition. It was mentally exhausting and overwhelming to begin with, but I've gotten on with things, whilst continuing to fight that which attempted to stop me in the first place.
My story begins at the age of 13. Well, one part of a larger picture, but I won't bore you with all those details. I was never exactly the sort of person you'd suspect that something would be "wrong" with them. I never got into trouble at school with schoolwork or other pupils, though I was bullied; I barely ever went to the doctors, and hospital appointments were an extremely rare occurrence, because my health was great! Or so I thought. After several months, I began to experience strange, sharp pains around my heart, and I remember how much it scared me. Looking back, I had a good reason to be fearful; what it was remained a mystery to me for many years... until today, the day I posted this story. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Now, I continued to have these pains every few months. After the first time, and the many times it happened afterwards, I started to anticipate it more. Eventually, having told my mum and dad what was happening, I went to the doctors. They checked me out, but said they couldn't see what could be causing it, and that it wasn't coming from my heart, after they did some testing. So they sent me on my way, and that was that. But the pain continued happening, and after many more months of unanswered questions and unhelpful doctors, we moved to a different doctors' surgery, and the doctor there soon after diagnosed me with a condition called Costochondritis, a painful inflammation of the costal cartilage around the sternum, a long-term chronic pain condition that usually went after 6-8 weeks after being discovered and treated appropriately. However, and this was the big however. I had to come to terms with the fact that, despite my age, I would be faced with a possible lifetime of pain, because there is no immediate cure. Only relief and alleviation. It took me at least 5 years, down the line, to finally accept I might have this permanently, because when I was 17, I attempted to join the navy to fight for my Queen and country in my own way. I wanted to be a nurse.
It was this "calling," this want, that drew me towards the end of my time at highschool to apply. And once my application was accepted and it became much more serious, I started working out like I never had done before. In the space of a year, I lost over 2 stone (about 25 pounds) and was well on my way to losing another large amount of weight. But I didn't realise how much it was affecting my body. And one night, 8 weeks into a training programme, I was on a machine when my chest gave way, I leaned back and an almighty CRACK resounded across my torso, followed by a breathless storm of agony. I'd never felt such pain as I did that day. I apologised to my instructor and had to leave. I managed to get back to my mum and dad, who'd come to pick me up that evening, and once they saw me, they knew something was wrong. So I told them, and my deepest fears were realised.
The pain got worse as the months passed. We tried everything we could to figure out what was going wrong. I don't remember exactly what happened, I suppose I don't really want to remember. I failed my Navy entry exam, and my application was terminated. Through my devastation, I decided to apply for university, to train as a nurse. I was probably foolish, but I wanted to be a nurse more than anything. I love people, despite what most do to each other and the ugly characteristics a lot possess, that at the same time sadden me. I wanted to care for others, help others. This was what I thought was my calling. I was so, so silly!
I got through an interview for university, and in February 2011 I was told I had been offered a conditional place as a student nurse at my local, yet firstly chosen, university. I was over the moon. So long as I got my predicted grades or better, I had a guaranteed spot at university. I got my predicted grades in the summer of that same year, and in September 2011, I proudly walked among the other students at my university as a student nurse. It was another month before I got my nursing uniform, and I remember coming home with it, feeling so happy and proud of myself.
Sadly, it couldn't last. Because I became completely aware, shortly after my fifth placement on a ward/with community nurses, that I could no longer maintain the demanding physical aspect of the nursing degree. A year and a half after my journey began, it came abruptly to an end; as I finished my final shift of my final placement ever, I became clumsy, lackadaisical, and my guise dropped. My suffering in silence came to a head. I couldn't focus; 12 hour shifts I'd done in completely silent pain caught up with me. I'd kept a smile on my face all the time, and never once did I complain. Why, you might ask.
Because I loved what I was doing too much. And giving it up is the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
I got home that night and cried. And I didn't stop for 3 days straight. I had a complete mental and physical breakdown, and I became a shadow of who I'd once been. Once the university was aware I would no longer be able to continue, the poignant messages of care and affection from my fellow classmates overwhelmed me. And so I sank into a deep depression, full of raw physical and emotional pain, that in the end almost killed me. I almost took my life May 2013, when I sank to my lowest point. I admit it was self-inflicted pain, but by being selfless and doing the right thing for others yet being unable to do the right thing for myself, I cast myself the dire hand. My parents, and a few close friends, were the ones who saved me, and for the next year and a half, I spent my time recovering and focusing on myself, getting the medical care and such that I needed. I got the meds I needed and that worked for me, I had to fight 6 months to get any kind of financial aid, and in the end I won the case. I was living with my parents thankfully; had I not been doing so, I would have ended up homeless. My doctor and a few other health experts did what they could for me too, and attempted to get to the bottom of my condition.
Within the space of a year and a half, I started to slowly recover and recuperate. I wasn't able to do a lot of things, thus I became highly isolated and my depression and pain got the better of me a lot, though I fought hard back against it. I couldn't lift heavy objects without igniting painful "flare ups." I had to be careful where I sat; uncomfortable chairs were just as bad as lifting heavy objects for me. It was a nightmare, lol.
And it was also during that time I met him. Kurdt, my SO, whilst playing a video game. I didn't realise at that point what he would become to me.
I was determined, despite myself, to get back into university. I refused to live a life being labelled as a "scrounger" and "disabled," for living off the welfare state. So, I applied to my old university again. Only this time, I chose a more sensible subject. Computer science. I love technology far too much for my own good
I was accepted within a month of applying! I was so, SO happy. For the first time in ages, I was ELATED. As the months rolled by, and university drew closer, I grew more anxious. But it was the best thing I could have done. I knew that integrating myself back into the life of a student was going to be far from easy, but I knew I had to try. It was harder than I could ever have imagined. The first week wasn't so bad, but then the real work began. And I started panicking, because after just a week, I knew that I couldn't continue as a computer scientist, I couldn't understand any of the lectures and the lecturers themselves had indecipherable accents, speaking far too quickly. So I switched courses, with the guidance of my soon-to-be tutor at the Geography department, over to my current degree, a Geography (BSc) undergraduate course. I had to fight HARD to keep my Geography degree; my funding body for tuition fees deliberately refused to give me any aid, on the grounds I'd left my nursing course, however a financial officer from the university managed to contest and appeal against this decision, which she eventually won, saying their decision was unjust since it clearly stated that, should a student leave a course on the grounds of sickness or bereavement, then they would not have to worry about being declined financial aid. With a number of contacts in various departments including the library helping me, as well as several other measures and means of help, I have found the student life transition to be in my favour, despite my condition. It was mentally exhausting and overwhelming to begin with, but I've gotten on with things, whilst continuing to fight that which attempted to stop me in the first place.
I'm so incredibly happy for you. Never give up 
Made me cry! I will share too..if I can...
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