Love on Wheelz

By the end of 7th grade I could no longer swallow. I was living on a diet of disgusting Ensure shakes. I probably weighed less than 60 pounds. I had the feeding tube put in and started using a breathing machine with a mask that fit over my nose while I slept (called a bi-pap). My dependency on the bi-pap went from using it when I slept, to using it whenever I felt it would help, to using it all day. Going out for an hour exhausted me; going to school was next to impossible.
My whole 8th grade year was spent on my parents’ bed recovering from my feeding tube surgery. Sally would come over and teach me whatever subject we decided on. Truth is, I probably didn’t learn much that year. If I was disconnected from my peers before, I was practically non-existent now. Of course I was – what did I expect? They almost never saw me, and when they did, I was wearing a mask over my nose that made me look much like Hannibal Lecter in the scene right before he ate the security guard’s face. I wasn’t very approachable, especially among 12-14 year olds who were busy going through their own issues.
I finished middle-school without friends (Rodrigo was my friend back then, but he hasn’t lived here since we were 7) and physically exhausted. I say finished, but I don’t think I should have graduated. I wasn’t nearly at the required levels, but I looked like I was dying. They probably didn’t hold me back out of pity. When I couldn’t participate in the ceremony my family threw a party and some big whig from the school system came to “present” me with my diploma. Even then I knew it was a joke.
Pedro came to the party. He came in all smiles and congratulations and oh isn’t it great we’re going to high school. We we we we, like he was around the whole time. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t resent him for that now, but I did then. We played Gran Turismo and hung out, but it was awkward and not the same as before. He stayed for a little bit then left. We were going to different high schools and we wouldn’t see each other for a while.
*****
I started high school with renewed hopes. A new school meant fresh opportunities to build friendships among an older, wiser crowd. It was going to be different this time. Their maturity would surely allow them to see beyond my exterior. After all, they were FIFTEEN now. But it wasn’t different. I was healthier and could go to school, but I had no energy. I would only attend classes once or twice a week and when I did there was a good chance I’d fall asleep from exhaustion. As a result, I didn’t interact with many of my peers. It wasn’t much better than middle school and any hope I had for that to change was shattered when I had the trache incident.
I was following the Broncos on-line and everyone was in the kitchen shopping for my birthday present. My bi-pap got disconnected and no one heard the alarm. Thinking you’re going to die is a horrifying feeling. You feel like you didn’t do enough – scared and angry that you’re being taken away. You are confronted with your own mortality. You never really understand what mortality means until you face it. All those things you hear about a white light, a tunnel, or your life flashing before your eyes, none of that happened to me. It was just… nothingness,
unconsciousness.
My brother found me passed out, blue and with my eyes rolled back in my head.
Next thing I remember I was in the hospital. My parents thought I had brain damage because I kept asking if the Broncos won. The doctor who had been telling us for years that I needed a tracheotomy gave us an ultimatum: get the trache or he would stop being my doctor. It worked. I spent my 14th birthday in the hospital with few visitors. Pedro was one of them. I hadn’t seen him since graduation. He brought me Halo and a card with hot women in bikinis. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t talked to someone my age in a while, or that the hospital didn’t provide much in the way of entertainment, but it felt less awkward. It felt more like old times.
I got out after a month in the hospital and we started hanging out more. I didn’t go to school much (again), but we’d get together every weekend. We played video games or went out. He was my gateway to normalcy. I was like a lost puppy who had been shown compassion for the first time, and I followed him around as such. I eventually transferred to the same school as him, hoping he could introduce me to new people. Maybe I would have a social life and be… a teenager. I hoped.

To Be Continued…

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