Sick Day

The day before my ninth birthday I had my appendix taken out. I don’t really remember the pain or the flowers, just little things like my best friend visiting and sitting on my hospital bed and lifting it up way off the ground and then back down. And my brother walking our dog below my high-up window, me waiving down to it as she just jumped and looked around at the ground for a treat. And my mom, staying by my side and sleeping uncomfortably next to me so that I wouldn’t get scared. As a sick child, you don’t really remember the urgency of those around you, just the thoughts of wishing things would get better and knowing that at some point you will be able to go home.

There were many occasions when I tried to fake a sickness so that I didn’t have to go to school that day. When really all I needed was a break from it all, my mom saw it as one more day that I would be behind in school. That I had to keep up with things in order to be successful later on in life. So each time I take a sick day I always feel this pang of guilt that I really could go in to work and get something done. That life doesn’t stop moving even if your body forces you to.

Whenever I get sick I always try to deny it, then I get really angry like something is getting in the way of me. And I assume that things will settle down and if I drink enough water it will go away. After being sick for a week I finally gave in and went to the doctor for help. I had a cold which turned into a sinus infection. I stayed at home and watched movies and slept all day. Just like any other sick day it forced me to really sit back and take a look at my life. I was unable to relax and try to get better because growing up I never really thought that was necessary. Because if you wait long enough, anything will fix itself.

One summer, two of my best friends and I were shopping in a consignment store in downtown Leesburg. Everything was going fine; we were typical middle schoolers trying to waste away the summer time in a growing but small town. I remember feeling this surge of energy, and instead of turning to my friends to talk about it, I just left. Without telling them anything. And I walked back to my house. I really don’t know why I didn’t want to be standing there anymore, in that thrift store, with my two best friends. I just couldn’t shake this feeling that nothing made sense anymore. That without school and other obligations that tied me down I would just drift away.

Recently, my dad also had his appendix out. He called me the day after his surgery to apologize for not being more empathetic of my pain when I was sick in third grade. How he wished he had been more understanding and that he loved me. The funny part is I don’t really remember not feeling supported during my trip to the hospital. I just remember how he carried me into the emergency room after fainting in the bathroom.

All day I’ve been looking up cities like Asheville and Missoula thinking I could just pack my bags and leave Charlottesville. That there are more exciting and peaceful places in the world that I’m missing out on by staying in a commitment. That there’s no use in dreaming anymore because people never really make decisions based on what they really want. They just wait things out until the next thing comes up, hoping to find some sort of peace with where they are at the present moment. This has never been good enough for me and it eats at me each day. I feel like I’m waiting for the moment when I will get up and walk out, without telling anyone.