Largely ignored and often over-used, clichés can come off sounding like
poster-slogans. Occasionally, however, uncontrollable events occur that
make one of these proverbs come alive. Recently, I've begun to understand
the wisdom of the saying "Sometimes things need to get worse, before they
can get better".
Although I was diagnosed two months ago, I've had symptoms of Crohn's Disease
(an autoimmune disease, affecting my colon) for about two years. I thought
feeling miserable all the time was something that everyone went through, so I
kept to myself the symptoms I was experiencing. Eventually the pain became too
uncomfortable to ignore. I ended up in the hospital for four days with
doctors and nurses running endless tests and poking me with countless needles.
Finally, they put a name to what I had been dealing with for as long as my
limited teenage memory could recollect. The doctors gave me about 35 pills
to take daily, informed me of my new diet, and sent me home.
For about two weeks, I felt like a new person. I couldn't
remember ever feeling this good! The feeling didn't last long. The
doctors prescribed a steroid called Prednisone that would slow down my immune
system while my body healed itself. This drug works miracles. It is
the reason why I am not in the hospital today, but it also made my life
miserable. Rapid mood swings, depression, head aches, and joint and muscle pain
typify Prednisone's numerous undesirable side effects.
Impossible-to-hide chipmunk cheeks proved to be the worst of all. These
were caused by increased water retention, and were difficult for me to tolerate
because they affected my appearance and, therefore, my self-image. I
will always look back on the time I was on Prednisone and cringe. I'll
never be sorry though.
Another cliché seems to emerge here. I learned who my real friends are, and more importantly, I learned who I am. I have always had many friends, and never a dateless Friday night, so it was a shock to me when all of a sudden my "friends" stopped saying "hi" to me in the halls or calling me on the weekends. At first I refused to believe that these people had abandoned me because of the dramatic change in my physical appearance, but I soon realized that these people that I thought of as mature, were instead incredibly superficial. I lost sight of what was really important and felt that these people were actually justified in bailing out on me. Suddenly, I had a small handful of friends who, I noticed, were the same friends that had supported me through all the difficult points of my life. These genuine people were interested in learning about my disease and the medications I was taking, so that they could help me get through this trying time. All of a sudden, I no longer cared what other people thought, or how I looked to them. This experience reminded me of yet another cliché: what's inside a person that really counts, and although people having been telling me that for years, this saying has never carried the same meaning as it does now.
The doctors told me that when I stopped taking Prednisone, things would go back to normal. However, I don't think I'll ever be the way I was before my diagnosis. In the past two months, I feel that I have learned more about the value of friendship than some people will learn in a lifetime. Who knows, maybe this will sound cliché as well, but I've learned that a true friend will stick by you, no matter how difficult things may get. I have found strength in myself that I didn't know I had. I know now that I can get through this, and luckily, I don't have to do it by myself.