Illness and Education: Not a Smart Combination

Looking back over this past week of class, I'd have to say it was one of the worst experiences in recent memory. Let's start at the beginning, Monday (In hindsight, I'd like to rename it "Doom's Day"). I woke up thinking, "This is great. Starting off a new semester isn't going to be so bad." I arrived at my first class with unbridled enthusiasm. Walking into that Zoology course, I was prepared to take on all of its difficulties and environmentally motivated issues, curing all the world's problems without breaking a sweat. However after 15 minutes of discussion, I realized I actually was sweating. I became uncomfortably overheated, nauseated, my back felt like I had been trampled on by a thousand horses, and my throat had begun to close. Once the class had finished all I could recall was the professor's insistence that a tomato is a fruit (which is completely true!) and the considered and terrified looks of the girl sitting next to me. I believe she had successfully witnessed the biological effects a virus has after it ravages a living organism.

After a miserable, 95 degree walk back to my dorm, I retrieved my trusty thermometer and discovered my temperature had reached 101.9 degrees. I didn't know how I was going to go on, but I knew I had to continue. I refuse to be that one ridiculous student who misses the first week of classes. Honestly, who does that? Not me, that's for sure.

I dragged my weakened body across campus with only a water bottle and notebook in hand. I can not tell a lie, so I willingly admit that my three hour Ethnographic Methods course is a complete blur. There was something about sustainable agriculture in Lancaster county, but I was entirely too concerned about not dying of tuberculosis or meningitis to focus.

As the day progressed I only got worse. Unfortunately for me, my temperature had elevated to 102 degrees. It was in that desperate hour, I realized things are just going to get worse before they ever get better. I took some Tylenol, hoping it would be the miracle I was waiting for. I arrived at journalism class feeling a sense of calm. My back didn't hurt, my fever had gone down, and I hadn't eaten since that morning so I wasn't nauseous either. The class was progressing rather well. I was focused. I was comprehending what was being discussed. I was back to normal! This optimistic attitude quickly disintegrated into complete misery when my medication started to wear off somewhere around the 7:00pm mark. The rest of the class sort of combined with my pain to create a state of utter confusion. There was no way to focus on my pain and the syllabus at the same time. Therefore, I absorbed about two minutes of the syllabus for every minute of pain. There were also a couple minutes in there where I would look around the room at everyone who wasn't feeling sick and I secretly hated them (I hope that can be forgiven). By the end of class, my feeble and diseased body needed rest. I believe I slept 10 hours that night.

By Tuesday morning, I was feeling a tad better. I still had my fever, but the back aches had gone away (thank goodness). Since I felt like my health was improving, I thought to myself, "Hmm, I should probably try to eat something before class." Sounded like a nice idea in theory, however, when put into practice, eating food went horribly, horribly wrong. I started to feel immense nausea almost the minute the first gulp of apple juice hit my stomach. The truly sad part about all of this was the fact that I was walking to my "Food and Culture" class. If the apple juice wouldn't have gotten to me, I'm sure merely the discussion of food at that point in time would have made me want to puke. I spent the entire class breathing deeply, trying to block about any discussions on the topic of food. Thankfully for myself and everyone involved in that class, I didn't vomit. I spent the rest of Tuesday asleep, hoping my body would soon learn to stop hating me.

Wednesday started off pretty rough. My body had become so exhausted by all the crap it had been going through, I actually nodded off in my Zoology lecture. It's not a good thing to report, I know. But I think it was at that point that I had reached my breaking point. I was either going to recover or my roommate was going to walk into the traumatic scene of my dead body lying on the floor. I rested up for the majority of the day before making my way to my night class, Women's Health and Health Care. It was the first class where I actually didn't feel like I was going to keel over. My professor is going to teach the class with a feminist perspective, instead of using what she calls, "the male paradigm". I actually think the class will be somewhat entertaining and empowering. Maybe because it was the first class where I didn't feel like I was going to die, but it was probably my most stimulating class so far.

This pretty must brings me to the present day, Thursday. I'm immensely better than I was on Monday. I'm not completely cured, but I can see the end of my tunnel of misery. I went to my Food and Culture class again. This time, it went a lot smoother than Tuesday. Even though the start of this week completely (for lack of a better word) sucked, I think my classes will be pretty interesting. I'm sure I'll be working harder than I've ever worked since coming to college. But, hard work isn't always a bad thing. Well, I must get going. I have my three hour Zoology lab to get to. All I'm hoping is that I don't drop a microscope or blow up the lab. Although, after the ridiculously unfortunate couple days I've had, I'm not expecting anything less than chaotic.