My Story

The one time my parents decided to take a break and finally go on a vacation, I had to ruin it. My parents booked a flight to Cuba, they sent my sister and I over to my grandmothers. Everything was going fantastic until one day I became ill. I was awake for three days because of extricating stomach pains, I became bloated and weak. My grandmother had made the call to my parents to enlighten them on my illness and she then decided I needed to go to Hospital.

Once we had gotten to Hospital the doctors looked at me and were confused as to what could be wrong. They concluded the problem was Cancer after multiple ultrasounds, xrays, CAT-scans, and ECG’s. My grandmother told my parents of the news. Worried and frightened my parents had jumped on the first flight home. Once they arrived the Doctor had changed his mind on my diagnosis once I became deathly ill on medication. Not ten minutes upon my parents arrival went passed before I was strapped to a gurney and loaded into a helicopter to be flown to Halifax.

When I arrived in Halifax, I was taken straight into surgery where they put a tube that had a micro-camera on the tip of it inside of my stomach. After two hours of questioning what could possibly be the cause of my sickness, they finally found the problem. Congenital Hepatic Fibrosis, Renal Kidney Disease, Heart MurMur, and Severe Jaundice.

Let me tell you, these conditions have caused me hell. I ended up getting proper medication that brought the bloating down and stopped my scar tissue from growing. After two months of treatment at Hospital, I was released. Every six months to a year, I would have these episodes where id grow ill again. Resulting me being brought back to Halifax to recieve proper treatment.

This pattern repeated up until I was in Grade eleven, and was only seventeen. I was in class when like a wave I had that same pain. Every second it grew stronger. I put my hand up and asked to use the restroom. I just barely made it to the toilet when I vomited pure black blood. I was truly scared. My dad had came to get me and brought me home. He suggested the problem was that I had drank too much dark soda and he headed back to work. After five minutes of being home, the wave hit me again, I ran straight to the toilet but didn’t make it before I vomited that same dark liquid. I sent a photo to my father when I realized how much I had actually puked up. I became tired and developed a headache when my father had returned home after rushing back home.

He rushed me to Hospital, where they sent me back to Halifax. As soon as I arrived I was taken straight back into surgery for round two. It took a few days before the doctors were able to learn my condition and create my new file as my previous Hospital wasn’t able to transfer over my file. The doctors finally stopped the bleeding completely after a week and 3 days.

I wasn’t too bad after being released until one day, out of the blue I started to vomit blood again. I was in bed with my boyfriend at the time and I remember looking at him and letting him know I didn’t feel good. He stepped out of the room to grab me some cold medicine and by the time he got back, I had vomited right off the side of the bed. I couldn’t even keep it in if I had tried. He called the first response team and I was rushed to Hospital from an ambulance.

When I got to the hospital it was like déjà vu. Same amount of treatment to atleast keep me alive, same trip to Halifax, same doctors, same surgery but this time, there was a twist. This time the doctor had suggested that we remove my spleen. Supposedly it would reduce the chances of internal bleeds and they would also remove my artery veins around my stomach. My parents and I agreed to the surgery. My parents were distraught, they didn’t believe I was going to make it.

It was the morning of surgery, and just before I was given the medication to put me to sleep, my parents stood beside the gurney. You could hear the pain and distress in their voices when they said their goodbyes to me. Reassuring that they love me as tears streamed down their cheeks.

Five hours of worrying went passed before I was brought into the ICU. The Doctor told my parents that I had made it but not without complications. During surgery my lungs collapsed and my heart stopped. I was dead for fifty four seconds, six more seconds they would have announced TOD. I was cut from just below my breasts to the bottom of my stomach.

During recovery, I wasn’t stitched up, I was just taped back together. This surgery changed my life. I got addicted to dilaudid as they allowed me to press a button to release medication through IV everytime it hurt. I had forgotten how to walk, so my dad taught me how again. We spent four hours a day practicing and building my strength again.

I became infertile. However, since that surgery, I have not bled internally. I still get the metal bands tightened every six months. I’m to take four pills a day to slow my heart down and to keep my stomach acid at bay.

My life is a guessing game. I am the youngest and only person in my province to have the health issues I was cursed with. Doctors have used me in presentations, and speeches. My future isn’t guaranteed and it’s questionable as to how things will go. All we can do now, is hope for the best.