Two Years After

It has now been about 2 years since I moved back home. I have thought a lot about those two years, and of that rough journey from being a nursing student to being the patient.




Just a few years ago, I was working towards a BSN (bachelor of science in nursing). I had some minor health issues, but they were manageable. In many ways, I was very fortunate. Instead of having to negotiate finding an apartment and moving all my "house stuff" in addition to my clothes etc., I lived with relatives rent-free. I had my own room and bathroom, and was minutes away from the subway and Regional Rail. My parents paid my tuition and I had a monthly stipend for books and groceries.

Given how great my senior year of college was, in terms of moving towards living more independently, I thought I was set. (Cooking! Cleaning! Negotiating who will buy more toilet paper! I got this.) My parents, my grandparents, my friends seemed to think so too. A friend from college told me how great it was that I knew what I wanted to do with my life.

It was while I was in nursing school, moving forward with my life, that what were minor health issues blossomed into something entirely different. At first, I got by with counseling. After all, I was away from home, I was adjusting to a new city and a new school where I didn't quite feel like I fit in. Later, I graduated to seeing a specialist and taking a daily medication for my condition. 

Unfortunately, it didn't help. Instead of feeling better, I cared less and less. Sometimes I felt hollow, or like I was watching the world happen around me. I still managed to laugh at South Park with my brother, but when I watched the election results on TV I did not care who would win. (Despite having filled out an absentee ballot in my home state just a month or so prior). I just sat on the couch, wondering when I would be able to sleep. Wondering if I could manage to exist day by day.

I lost the ability to sleep through the night. Waking up multiple times, sometimes for over an hour, became my new normal. Unsurprisingly, that insomnia left me exhausted. I started skipping an afternoon class because I only had enough energy to take the train home. Before I was hospitalized, I could just manage eating, showering, and getting dressed. When I saw how other people on my unit were, in terms of grooming, I took pride in the fact I took a shower and brushed my teeth every day.

Aside from your early childhood, performing basic hygiene is not usually a source of pride. But trust me, there have been times I did not brush my teeth or shower, not out of laziness, but out of apathy and utter exhaustion.

Fortunately, many things have improved. In addition to performing basic hygiene, I have a fairly stable sleep schedule and several tools to manage my symptoms. But I am not yet at the point where I can work full-time, or even part-time, outside the house. Working from home is a major accomplishment. 

Not long ago, I would have thought that living at home and crafting for money three years out of college would be a shame. I believed having a BA (and then a BSN) would guarantee a ticket to a stable middle-class life. But it did not. A diploma is not a shield. Sickness, financial trouble, trauma... anything can reroute your once "perfect" track.