Six Word Story

Nothing went right
So you left

The Fault in Our Portrayal -- An IBD UC Perspective

This week marks two years since I was diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis, Inflammatory Bowel Disease. I thought it would be appropriate to share this narrative I wrote in my college English class earlier this year.

The Fault in Our Portrayal

As I step out of the cold wind and inside the large familiar doors, I catch my breath. This is Infusion Number Five. The musty elevator dings, I light up the button for floor number three, and soon I’m zooming up to a whole different world. Stepping into the bright, playful pediatrics wing, I’m greeted by beeps and cries and footsteps. I exhale, feeling a sharp deja vu of a similar place two years previous. There are countless connotations behind “hospital”: scary, intense, romantic, or exciting. People often desire to go to the hospital simply as a pathetic pity plea. Seeing the general media promote these assumptions is annoying and cliché; especially for someone among thousands cursed with an out of control, chronic, autoimmune disease for the rest of her life. In my instance, I’d do anything to never have to step foot in this place again. Unfortunately, that won’t be the case. The memory strikes my mind again, threatening my tear ducts and short fuse.

I was rushed into the small waiting room and plopped down into the seat against the cold beige wall, doubled over, struggling to breathe, and wincing in pain. I faintly heard my parents recite my birthday a few times to the receptionist. The strong, pungent odor of sterilization stung in my nose. I felt a cold band wrap around my limp wrist. The squeaky sound of wheels whizzing down the hallway and into the room was almost too much to bear. My eyes still squeezed shut, I was lifted from the scratchy chair and into the wheelchair. I looked up suddenly, the sharp knife in my stomach subsiding for a brief moment, and saw the bright flashing light and the loud obnoxious dinging of the elevator. I was barely coherent as the nurses flew me into my cramped hospital room and hooked me up to an IV, like a dog tied to its leash. I could instantly taste the bitter saline flowing through my vein. I laid my head back on the flat rock they called a pillow and closed my eyes once more. I listened to the steady rush of people coming in and out of my small room, their footsteps as constant as rain on a window. I tried focusing on the strong smell of the nurses’ hand sanitizer to distract me from the hurt in my stomach. What felt like hours later, the doctors came in, talking a mile a minute and poking and prodding at my body like a middle school science experiment. When the mass of busybodies left, I was alone, and in more ways than one. Way One: Physically. I heard my parents step out of the room to speak with another nurse and I finally had a chance to take in my surroundings. A million cords and tubes and wires were attached to my arms and chest; random, yet constant, beeping was coming from three contraptions to my left; an itchy, beige blanket was tossed over my weak body; and a small, outdated couch sat under the expansive window. Way Two: Emotionally. Why me? Why now? I was supposed to be at school, laughing with my friends, making awful jokes, and procrastinating my homework. What now? I was there instead, lying on that terribly uncomfortable hospital bed, unable to move because of my anemia, malnutrition, and lack of will power.

By the time night fell, I expected the world to quiet down. But of course, I could do anything but sleep. The persistent green glow coming my IV pole seemed as bright as daylight, the orange light seeping under my closed door could not be harnessed, and the random red flashes from various equipment kept me easily distracted and paranoid. The sticky pads of my heart monitor were constantly itching, the lines from my IV kept getting tangled up in my blanket, and my dad was snoring emphatically from the couch in the corner. The kind nurse was ordered to come run a cool thermometer over my head, squeeze my arm for blood pressure, and steal the warm crimson blood from my vein every hour, on the hour. The night was endless and restless. I yearned for my comfy, warm bed at home; I longed to be tucked away and dancing in my dreams. The cold, itchy blanket tugged me back to reality.

Bright and early the next morning, I was informed that I would not be able to consume any food or liquids for at least the next ten days; and instead, I would receive full nutrition through my IV. Instantly my mouth began to water. Liquid nutrients would not suffice for my sanity. I needed the delectable taste of a sweet, cold popsicle or maybe a hot, juicy burger. Even the thought was painful. I could feel my stomach growl violently, threatening to eat itself if not given anything else soon. Every delicious scent in the air became untouchable and unattainable. In my case, with my disease, food is the enemy. It destroys and tears and shreds my insides; but at the same time, food is the ultimate craving. We take it for granted every day. The emptiness inside gurgled and churned, only making the pain grow stronger.

On the thirteenth day, that day of freedom, relief, joy, and gratitude, I was released from my temporary home. Saying a bittersweet goodbye to my trusty IV pole, I hesitantly stood up to walk once more. Stepping outside into a cold world of reality and misconception was quite an adjustment. I reached to touch the hole in my upper arm where my PICC line used to be, caressing the scar and mustering the confidence to move forward. Remembering that first hospitalization experience is still traumatic for me. Seeing movies, books, and TV shows in the media today portray chronic diseases and hospitalization as romantic and exciting sickens me. I’m sure two lovers suffering from life-threatening illnesses have perhaps cherished their last few days together. I’m sure it is possible that a few pediatric patients diagnosed with various diseases have banded together through friendship and trial. But the truth of the matter is, real people are out here suffering from real diseases and real illnesses. There is a concerning misconception of hospitals in our culture today. As I sit here during my fifth infusion in this cold, uncomfortable hospital bed, hooked up to an IV pumping fluid into my right arm and a blood pressure cuff squeezing every fifteen minutes on my left arm, I wish the world understood. I wish the world could see the intense reality behind the movie screens and book covers and try to realize the story of the real person instead of simply the actor.

I Found a Thing I Wrote About Two Years Ago

What am I doing?
What have I done?
Am I not who I am?
Am I not who I was?

If I can't answer these,
Solid and true,
How can anyone else,
Especially you?

There is something wrong with everybody
And I desperately need to find out
What is wrong with you.
From the surface, there's nothing.
But there has to be.
Something hidden, something dark.
And I desperately need to find out
What is wrong with you.

The Taylor Swift Phase

So as you all may know, I'm a huge TS fan. She's basically my role model.

What you all may not know is that I've been a huge TS fan since I was eight years old.

I have the Taylor Swift, Fearless, and Speak Now CD's and I used to play them in my bedroom in this huge blue boom box that barely worked. I think we still have that thing.

I also had the poster that came with her Fearless album (you know, the one where it's all mosaic-ey and she's on the balcony in her gorgeous Love Story dress?) hanging up on my wall.

Sometimes I tried to dress like her wearing "Taylor-inspired" outfits.

I also had this little tiny book in which I'd attempt to write songs. Yeah. I'd shove the thing under my bed and lie awake at night until I thought of something that rhymed to write down. 

I have this conspiracy that that's where my love for writing poetry came from; sitting on my bedroom floor intensely studying Taylor's lyrics in the CD booklets. They're all so beautiful, from Tim McGraw to Out of the Woods. 

Now I know you're all thinking: hey Katelyn, we really want to see those songs you wrote when you were ten!!! Well okay. I found that little book along with three little ditties in there. Please, read these in the most dramatic, fifth grader voice that you possibly can.

__________________________________________________________

Lucky

Could it be

Yeah, wait and see

And just maybe

I'm a girl

Who got really lucky

Just last night

I laid asleep

Thinking up a storm

About my hopes and dreams

And thought- yeah I thought

Could it be

We're not meant to be

And just maybe

I'm a girl

Who thought she got lucky

Three weeks later

I'm back in bed

Dreamin' about all 

The things you said- yeah oh you said

"Could it be

You never did see

When you're with me

You're the girl

Who always gets lucky"

Cuz when luck runs short

And days drag on

You can always count on me

To make you strong

When things...Go...Wrong

Could it be

Yeah, wait and see

And just maybe

I'm a girl

Who got really lucky

You

I wanna see you

I wanna talk to you

I wanna tell the whole world 'bout my love for you

And you can't stop me, no, nobody can

Ya you can't stop me, just take my hand

No, I don't wanna, like, just be friends...

Cinderella

I wanna be your Cinderella

The only girl you sweep off her feet

I wanna be your Cinderella

The only girl dancin' to your beat

When you're all alone

In your bedroom at night

Do you think about me

Starin' into your eyes

Leanin' into that kiss

That's oh-so-forbidden

Yeah I know I'm just dreamin'-

I figured you didn't

I wanna be your Cinderella

The one and only girl you sweep off her feet

I wanna be your Cinderella

The one and only girl dancin' to your beat

__________________________________________________________

SOOO there you have it folks, Miss Taylor Swift has had a big impact on me and my little self.

Untweetable Tweets:

1. LOL HERE GOES NOTHING 

2. Time to get lost in a book; I'm sick of the real world

3. Good morning sunshine time to listen to Ed Sheeran

4. A 'maybe' from me usually means 'um no'

5. Blasting #hardcore punk rock because I'm a #hardcore punk rock bro

6. It's kinda funny, because we became exactly what we didn't want to be

7. "If you never break, you'll never know how to put yourself back together."

8. If it's not one thing, it's another, a never ending cycle of cynical stares

9. I wish it could rain without getting me wet

10. I hate you

11. I wonder if you still listen to my mixtape

12. I like my music loud enough to drown out my thoughts

13. Ripped jeans are tacky but I wear them anyway

14. I'll tell you I #love you until the words lose their meaning

15. My mom says she can see the happiness in our eyes

16. I like the way my lips feel after we make out 

17. Ew boys no

18. I wish my hair looked like yours in a ponytail on top of your head

19. I only really like the macaroni & cheese that I make myself does that make me conceited

20. Or that my aunt makes

21. You're toxic and I'm glad I know that

22. There's a 64 pack of crayons sitting on my bedroom floor am I the cool kindergartener yet

23. I have a lot of shitty advice inside me just waiting to be let out

24. Maybe I should tell the world

25. I ship Larry 

26. Sometimes I think about what we could be and then I remember what we were

27. Acoustic versions aren't always better

28. I get a headache just hearing you name

29. WHAT DID YOU DO?! YOU REALLY ASK WHAT YOU EVEN DID TO ME?! LIKE YOURE SO INNOCENT!!!

30. Ok is so much more sassy than okay

31. 20 bucks everyone in the world could guess the password to my laptop

32. Fireproof is holding strong at number one on my iTunes with 63 plays

33. Gosh Madison Lawrence blows me away

34. APUSH gives me a sense of unity with fellow struggling high schoolers 

35. Whoever doesn't have a blog should have a blog because it's a fun thing

36. It's therepudic

37. I spelled that wrong

38. Therapeutic, there

39. Fandom jokes are the best and if you don't agree then you're lying and I'm telling your mom

40. I think I'm the only teenager who has a normal sleeping schedule but thAT DOESNT MAKE ME ANY LESS GRUNGE PUNK 

41. Why is money a thing

42. My friends and I are dressing up as bananas for Halloween and I giggle uncontrollably every time I think about it

43. I'm bored of this goodbye

Sometimes The Answer Is Literally Right There

"Please help me not get swept up in today's society and sin. You know I need to work on getting out of the flow and more into Your Word. I could be doing so much more to share Your Word. Please be with me and help me focus on nothing but You. Lord, honestly, I want to be a role model. An impact. Someone who other people look up to. Someone people go to for advice. I want to be able to share You with other people. I am able. You and I both know that. Will You help me though, please?"

This is part of a prayer I wrote down in seventh grade.

I haven't been doing a very good job of being a role model.
I've been selfish, cold-hearted, and hurtful. Pathetic, really.
And sorry doesn't cut it anymore.

I'm not going as low as I once was, but at least this time I can feel myself slipping. I can recognize when I'm losing my stance and can try to grasp at anything and everything for some kind of grip on reality. Or maybe reality is the thing that's pushing me down. Either way, here I am; recognizing my slight loss of balance and turning to the one place I know can cleanse me of these weird, angsty, annoying feels.

Anyway, on one of the hundred pieces of random paper I have shoved in my Bible, I found written "Colossians 3". Wait um? What the heck is even in Colossians??? Its like a super short four chapter book ?? And why did I note the entire chapter?? So I flipped to Colossians 3 (I keep repeating Colossians 3 so maybe it will stick in your head for a long time bc it's important) and there it was. Rules for Holy Living. EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED. Some guidelines. Some hints. Some helpful tips for surviving this scary, sin-ridden world. There's basically five steps that Paul writes in Colossians 3.

1.) Set your hearts/minds on things above, not on earthly things.

2.) Put to death whatever belongs to your earthly nature, i.e. sexual immorality, lust, evil desires, greed, selfishness, general bad stuff.

3.) Clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.

4.) Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts and be thankful.

5.) Do everything in the name of your Lord Jesus.

Alright now Paul, you make this seem awfully easy.
But that's just it. It is so easy. WE are the ones that make it difficult for ourselves.
Being selfish, cold-hearted, and hurtful and stuff takes a lot of effort, and it wears us out.
It wears me out.

So here's to desperation leading me to my last hope (WHICH SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE FIRST PLACE I TURNED IDIOT KATELYN) leading me to an old prayer leading me to my perfect answer from my perfect Savior. I'm saying that prayer again tonight, but with a different perspective this time. Thanks Jesus, You seem to know what You're doing (lol).

Dear Anonymous

Dear Anonymous,

First of all, thank you. Thank you for being so genuine. It must've taken a lot of courage to send something so real; and for that, Nameless Human, you have earned my utmost respect. When I first read your message, I was frustrated with myself. I was upset that I've been neglecting to attempt to connect with more people in my life. To think, one person out there in the world, close enough that we go to the same school, cares enough about me enough to remember the one and only time we've encountered AND to send me a message about it months later. That's pretty awesome, and I felt like an idiot for not paying closer attention to those around me because people are really super awesome sometimes.
Second, I teared up (but what's new!). "I've read your blog". SOMEONE READS MY BLOG. YES. FINALLY. THAT'S ENOUGH TO MAKE ME CRY OKAY. Nah, I'm kidding. But really, "and I've lived through your words and I honestly wish you could understand". Anon, I want so desperately to understand. Please don't feel the need to hide. Whoever you are, if you care enough about me to read my stupid little ramblings on the interwebs, by golly I care enough about you to try to understand whatever it is you wish I understood. You can trust me.
Third, "you are a gem and I am not...we will never be friends." Woah woahwoah stop right there homie. Even though I don't know you, that does NOT mean you ain't no gem. Everyone has important and special and rad qualities. It's cliché by now, but things are cliché for a reason, that reason being that they are truly true. So really, the only thing stopping us from being bffls irl is the fact that I don't even know who you are yet.
Fourth, thank you again. You say I've impacted you, but you've impacted me, Random Citizen. I haven't stopped thinking about this message since last night when I checked my tumblr inbox. Knowing that my writing and my silly blog finally has a purpose means the world to me. So as I sit here writing out this long thing, I want you to realize that yeah I'm probably overanalyzing everything (as usual), but I'm doing the best I can. And also, please believe me when I say I want to get to know you, but that can't happen until you reveal yourself!

Thanks again,
Katelyn

Sky

The sky was beautiful tonight.

I couldn't capture it.

I couldn't put it in a frame

or a snapshot

or put it on my cork board.

I couldn't upload it

or tag it

or send it to anyone.

I couldn't put a filter on it

(not that it needed one anyway).

I couldn't hardly breathe

just catching a glimpse.

The subtle rain leaked through the trees, dragging the soft yellow of the sky into every crevice of every branch. The oranges and purples and greens ran together accidentally on purpose. Someone had spilled their collection of Tornado Themed Watercolors onto a bleak canvas. I can't write anymore.

How To: Fangirl

So let's just get to the point.

I love One Direction.


My friend Carleigh took me to a 1D concert fifty-three hours ago (that's about two days for you mathematically challenged, like me). And it was amazing. Those five boys have so much raw talent, and seeing them and hearing them live definitely proved it. They always look like they're just genuinely having fun up on stage, and they get the crowd to have a good time with them. They don't need choreographed dances or backup singers or fancy outfits or anything (but dANG their lightshow was so cool!!). They just get up on stage, be themselves, and get lost in the moment. I think that's why this fandom is so spectacular. We live in the moment, take what comes, and make the best out of it.

Carleigh and I got to the venue about two hours before the show. We went around to the service entrance because we saw a big group of girls all standing together. We thought maybe we could catch the boys on their way in (it didn't happen, don't get your hopes up). All the girls were so nice. There were probably about 30 or 40 of us. Car and I got so many compliments on our shirts! Pretty soon we were getting impatient, but One Direction fangirls are so flipping resilient lemme tell ya. It started sprinkling a bit and thundering and lightning, but did that scare us off? No! We all got together and started chanting "One-Di-rec-tion" and laughing and yelling, but it just kept raining harder and thundering louder and lightning brighter. So we decided to sing their songs. We sang a few, then a few more, we must've gone through an entire album at least. It was so fun. There was a photographer there from a local online newspaper (http://www.riverfronttimes.com/slideshow/the-crazy-drenched-fans-of-one-direction-41816858/#11) and he was taking lots of pictures of all of us. We huddled together, trying to stay warm and dry, posing for the photos and singing at the top of our lungs. I felt like all of us were instantly best friends. With one common interest, we were all united. That's what's special about the One Direction fandom.

Actually, that's what's special about fangirls in general. Being passionate about something or someone is not something to be ashamed of. Pour your heart into it and embrace it. It's exhilarating. It provides infinite hope and endless friendship. Dedicate yourself to something, become a Fangirl (or fanboy, those are even cooler because they're more rare tbh). Be cautioned though, it'll be both the best and worst decision of your entire life. (I've cried myself to sleep thinking of the concert the past two nights and my high-pitched screaming voice has been absolutely gone for the past fifty-three hours BUT it's so worth it. Good luck.)

She's Changing

She's changing.

Little by little, each day,
You can't even really tell.
Unless, of course, you look closely.

Then you'd see
1.) small galaxies growing inside her mind
2.) tiny flowers blooming in her heart
3.) sweet honey coursing through her veins

But I'd advise you to do a double take.
Look even closer.

Notice that there's actually
1.) synapses in her brain
2.) love in her heart
3.) blood in her veins

She's changing.
She's maturing.
She's learning.

She's almost out of reach.