Medical story - The main thing is to believe and not give up

A hospital corridor, a smell of bleach, a hard seat and a long wait. Finally my turn, the lost sight of the doctor ... a disappointing diagnosis. How to say this to parents? How to be with a loved one? How to live the time allotted to me? In my head porridge, in my soul is empty, I go home - seeing nothing and not remembering. Before the entrance door I stretch a smile, a deep breath - everything is fine.

But how well it started, I did not believe in my happiness. Favorite family, the birth of a nephew, entering the university, getting to know a wonderful guy, fabulous relationships, plans for a long life together. How much was the indescribable joy of my man, when signs of my pregnancy appeared. The most powerful toxicosis began immediately.

Everything collapsed when I went to the doctor. Instead of joyful news about the imminent maternity, I was informed of a suspicion of hepatitis. I do not remember how many tears I shed. Support of relatives helped me to get away from the experience. There were constant visits to the hospital, a lot of tests, research, procedures and treatment, but the toxicosis did not recede. Food caused me a feeling of disgust, from one smell I turned inside out. As the days went by, each day the weakness grew worse. Coming from the university, I crawled to the bed and lay, not moving, no matter what was wasting energy. Doctors were raising their hands, treatment did not help.

Relations with the guy went wrong, we decided to pause in our relationship. Communication with friends was limited to pairs of jaded phrases. My parents helped me as best they could. Inside is emptiness. Every day was like the previous one, a kind of groundhog day. I had to transfer to the correspondence form of training.

The next trip to the doctor, the diagnosis - cancer. The world collapsed finally. My second home was a hospital with windows overlooking the morgue. Constant nausea, disgust, lack of strength. In the eyes of my family, I saw pain and sorrow, when I was again discharged home. My mother grew old before my eyes, my father was blacker than the cloud, the sisters came to distract me from the disease. Friends, that is, those who sympathized, and truly believed in my recovery (and there were not many such), they called, wrote, came to visit me.

I can not say exactly how much time passed, I just fell out of reality. Life lost its meaning. Fight? No, I just wanted to live quietly that time, which is so little left. Asleep at home, I woke up in intensive care. The nurse said that they brought me at night 3 days ago. The relatives are not allowed.

The doctor was a woman, my mother's approximate age. Now I understand that it was me that was missing all this time. She turned out to be a good specialist and a wonderful psychologist at the household level, if I may say so. She told me that I just regret myself, I run from the problem, that the main thing is to believe and not give up! Her words sometimes offended me, but it was true. The treatment took a new turn. I will not describe all the "passions" going on all this time.

What a pleasant morning it was without feeling nauseous. And how it was disgusting, again to start eating, but under supervision and "threats" had to swallow food. I began to smile, my family and friends came to me no longer sad and sad. At discharge, I could not find words of gratitude to my savior. I just roared like a little girl, but with joy.

Now, looking back, I understand how much I appreciate the people who supported me, how I love them and how much they are dear to me. I do not forget about those days when I was ill, how I jumped from extreme to extreme from despair. I was looking for sense ... yes it is, just to LIVE! Set goals and achieve them, learn and improve, tired and relaxed, helping loved ones, enjoying small things, loving, experiencing, breathing deeply. There are so many things around us, but so many things that are not yet known. The main thing is that I'm alive!