Series of Unfortunate Events: Chapter 1--Sick In New York City

Nope, I did not read the books.  That's not what this is about.

As the title of this post indicates, I will be writing a series of posts about my experiences ever since I first got sick in 2005. 

So here goes...

Chapter 1:  Sick in New York City

As a college student at UNI, I used to instant message my friends from Arkansas and Iowa.  Although I was somewhat unsatisfied with school at UNI (mostly spiritually), I had friends attending the King's College in NYC.  A stirring--that can only come from the Lord--developed in my heart, and even though it was completely out of my comfort zone, my parents and I pursued it.  My parents and I went to visit during Operation Airlift, and we were impressed by the mission and vision of the university--to equip, produce, and release spiritual leaders in today's marketplace.  I was hooked, let's just say that.

After being dropped off in August, things quickly went downhill.  I realized that visiting NYC and living in NYC were two very different things.  For one, I was used to to tackling life's challenges with the help of a vehicle.  Every day chores like getting groceries, buying furniture, going to the library (going anywhere) were extremely different adventures without a car. To a New Yorker, I'm sure this seems like a silly thought, but honestly I had never been without a car.

I am an independent person, so I set out to make the most of life--getting groceries (carrying them home), landing a nannying job for the children of a woman who worked for TIME magazine, and all the while attending rigorous classes, studying, and looking out for my roommates who were true freshman and just as overwhelmed (if not more) than I was.  It was a recipe for disaster.

Only a few weeks in to school, and I find myself at a concert (Ryan Cabrera to be exact) with one of my roommates.  I felt hot during the concert, but thought nothing of it.  Even though I enjoyed myself, I knew (on the ridiculous walk home) that something was just NOT right.  I was burning up by the time I got home, and I felt miserable.  With a 102 fever, I knew I needed rest and to drink plenty of fluids.  Everyone gets sick, and I assumed I was just run down.

That weekend everyone (all 175 students) from Kings was going on a weekend retreat in upstate New York.  I knew what this meant--late nights, high energy, little sleep, no schedule.  ICK.  Thankfully Mr. Steger (my roommate's dad who works for Kings) got me exempt from attending.  So now I'm alone in NYC for the weekend with a raging fever and the onset of awful diarrhea.  All I could think was "at least I have the apartment to myself." I continued to get weaker and weaker over the weekend.  I could barely make it out to the corner stand where I would buy a Snapple juice drink (the only thing that sounded good for about 3 days).

When Monday rolled around, I went to my first class, but then couldn't make it any longer.  I asked at the student services desk, and they told me about a near-by walk-in clinic.  Near-by is definitely relative.  City blocks are really really stinking long when you are sick and weak.  I walked there because I had no cash to pay for a cab.  (It honestly didn't even cross my mind to go to an ATM and get cash....I was not thinking straight...and I'm independent.  I thought I could do it.  Craziness).

The rude lady at the front desk handed me what seemed like a million pages to fill out and I sat in the waiting room for what seemed like an eternity with a bazillion business men.  When I turned the paperwork back in, the lady told me she didn't recognize our insurance (it was a Midwest local insurance company that the big-wigs in NYC had never heard of), so I got on the phone and called home.  I had no idea how insurance even worked at this point in my life (oh how naive I was), and my dad told me to just get in and we would fill out some "appeal" form or "submission" form later.  "Just use the credit card," he said.  I knew I must be sick if that was his response.

So anyhow, it felt like the DMV, but finally my number was called and I got in to see the doctor...only for about 10 minutes.  It wasn't even a normal doctor's room.  I sat on a countertop--not a little rollback bed--with cupboards below me.  This was definitely a make-shift room for seeing patients and it was not comfortable.  I told her about my symptoms--weak, fatigue, fevers, and diarrhea.  Talk about embarrassing. I hated even saying it out loud, but I wanted help and wanted it NOW.
She sent me home with gear to collect stool samples for 5 days in a row.  I was absolutely horrified, but did not have the energy to fight her...

So alone and with my "poop equipment" I walked back "home" to my apartment feeling absolutely defeated, alone, and afraid because I knew that even if I did these stool samples, they would not make me feel better.  I wasn't supposed to return for 5 days, so it would be 5 more days of misery.