Chronically Ill in High School: My High School Horror Story
I spent 7/8 semesters of high school sick, and it was kind of brutal.
In my graduation photos, I’m standing next to my best friends. I could point to any person standing next to me in a cap and gown and tell you a handful of stories and memories I have with them. I’m literally smiling ear to ear, but mostly from the relief that it was finally over. You would probably guess that I’m happy and healthy.
The day before I left for college, I sobbed until my eyes were puffy and the tissues were gone when I said goodbye to my friends. My camera roll was out of storage from the photos and memories of the summer after we graduated.
If you told this all to my 16-year-old self, I wouldn’t have believed you. I was the sick girl in a constant state of feeling like garbage and putting the little energy I had into hiding it. I guess I had friends, but I hardly had the energy to speak, let alone make memories. I made it through high school while fighting autoimmune disease*, and this is how it went.
I went into high school healthy and in the first semester of freshman year, everything was alright.
I was a rock climber, and I was pretty freaking strong. I was known as the girl with the big muscles and I was proud of it. I acted embarrassed when boys told me to flex, but secretly I loved every second of it. One day at school, the Marine Corps came in and set up a pull-up bar. I won a water bottle for doing 23 pull-ups.
In September of freshman year, I qualified for a new climbing team that was made up of some of the best youth climbers I knew, and coached by one of the most well-respected coaches in the country. There were nine kids on the team and we became best friends almost instantly. Nine hours a week were spent training with my team. We worked our butts off while acting like complete children. We were never phased by the gnarly workouts we did and always had energy leftover to joke around or play a game afterward. I could do pullups with a 45-pound weight hanging from my harness, run a mile after climbing for three hours straight, and did it all while laughing with my friends.
I was 14. I was happy, healthy, and full of life. I had lofty dreams for the future and loved life as it was. I started my first job, working the youth programs at my climbing gym. Two of my friends worked there as well and we were the youngest working there by a long shot. All of our adult colleagues and managers referred to us as “the giggly girls,” for obvious reasons. My manager used the laughing face emoji as my profile photo instead of an actual picture of me to really get the point across.
The first semester of freshman year flew by and life wasn’t too shabby. I had the usual freshman year drama of course; falling outs with friends, boy problems, pushing my limits and getting into trouble, but overall, things went pretty smoothly. At the end of finals week, I had friends to celebrate with and good grades to show my parents.
Then January came. Honestly, I can’t remember if that’s when my symptoms actually started or if that’s when I couldn’t ignore them anymore. Either way, I went into the second semester with a list of unexplainable symptoms.
I was 14, but I sure didn’t feel like it. My body wasn’t mine anymore. It was the body of an 80-year-old who partied too hard, got too many concussions, and never drank their milk as a kid. My body was always in pain. Some days I woke up so exhausted and in so much pain that I never made it out of bed. Other days I managed to make it through the school day, but I wasn’t really there. I was dragging on, ridding my face of expression to hide the pain I was in. Walking through the hallways was a nightmare; dragging my feet along, trying to ignore the pain and keep up with everyone else’s pace. When the bell rang at the end of class I said I silent prayer that I wouldn’t blackout when I stood up out of my seat. It was a numbers game.
This was the pattern for months; pushing on and dragging through life fatigued and in pain. I continued going to climbing practice though. I couldn’t climb much anymore, but I didn’t let myself admit that for a long time. A few months before, I could climb as hard as I wanted to. Now, even the walk up to the climb was a struggle. I sat out on runs, barely did the workouts, and never had the energy to goof around anymore.
I wasn’t myself anymore. My grades dropped, climbing tanked, and I lost friends who couldn’t understand why I wasn’t myself anymore.
Six months later, on the first day of sophomore year, I was diagnosed with my first autoimmune disease. I was 15 and was told I had an incurable chronic illness. It was partially a relief. It was reassurance that my symptoms were valid and real. It was also freaking scary. My life became a routine of doctor’s appointments, meds, and never-ending symptoms.
Sophomore year started and life went on. No one knew I was sick. Most days at school I spent willing myself to not throw up and fighting my never-ending fatigue. While other kids joked around during class, I got done as much homework as I could because I knew I wouldn’t have any energy left to focus once I got home. At lunch, most kids would leave campus or walk around with their friends. I used lunchtime to rest and recover some energy for my classes after lunch. Most days I had such little energy I hardly said a word. I became known as the quiet girl. People described me as awkward and quiet and weren’t necessarily kind about it.
I had friends; people I could talk to at school and occasionally hang out with when I was feeling up to it. But it was no secret that I didn’t have as many friends as most, and I wasn’t super close with anyone either. I bailed on plans way too often and I knew I wasn’t much fun when I wasn’t feeling good. I stopped feeling hurt when friends hung out without me and I didn’t blame people when we lost touch. It became my normal. Making it through the school day was a win and weekends were for resting. I made it a habit to not watch people’s stories over the weekend.
One Friday, I was feeling extra awful. My goal was to make it through the whole day of school, then I could rest for the next two days. I was talking to my friend while leaning against the table, trying my best to stay standing. She was telling me about her plans for that night and how excited she was to hang out with people after school. My heart dropped as I remembered everything I was missing out on. I smiled and nodded and tried to hide how alone I felt.
Another time, I was invited to a sleepover. I was so happy to be invited, and my symptoms were very manageable that night so I was in a really great mood. It was a group of girls who I considered to be my group of friends, plus another friend we hadn’t hung out with before. Before I arrived, they created a sort of trivia game about all of us with questions like “who had a crush on this boy,” and “who’s most likely to do this.” A question came up that said, “who’s not really a part of this group.” The answer was me.
At work, a newer coworker noticed my profile picture was the laughing face emoji. When he asked why I laughed and told him the story of how we used to be called “the giggly girls.” He looked surprised and said he would have never guessed that I was called that. After I left work, I got in my car and cried. It was a reminder that I wasn’t myself anymore. It was a piece of me my chronic illness took away.
For my 16th birthday, my climbing friends threw me a surprise party. It was on a Friday, so it was after a long day of school and work. When my mom picked me up from work, I slumped down in the car. My eyes were watering from the amount of pain I was in and I was so relieved to be able to go home and sleep. She dropped me off at my friend’s house which they had spent hours decorating for my party. My friends jumped out to surprise me and I fought back tears. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for me but I was in so much pain I couldn’t even enjoy it. I had to leave my own birthday party early.
Junior year came. I was just as sick, but I was tired of hiding it. Telling people at my school that I was sick was incredibly freeing. For the most part, people were super supportive, but my heart broke a little every time someone referred to me as the sick girl or rolled their eyes when I explained my condition. I overheard people calling me attention-seeking and dramatic on far too many occasions.
After pushing my body beyond its limits for far too long, I decided it was finally time to leave my climbing team. This decision came with a whole lot of heartbreak, but it was definitely the right one. When I told my coaches I was leaving, I sobbed and choked on my words as I admitted I couldn’t do it anymore.
A 504 plan* was put into place for me when I could no longer keep up with schoolwork. When March 2020 came and the world shut down, it was a major blessing for me. Like every other school in the world, my school moved online. Work was given with a deadline for the end of the week, allowing me to do school at any time of the day. This allowed me to do school when I was physically able to, rather than forcing my body to abide by a strict schedule. Without walking around school all day and sitting through classes, I had more energy to use for other things. Online school was exactly what I needed and it allowed me to feel like myself again.
That’s why when senior year came around, I transferred to an online school. My grades went back up, I started hanging out with friends more than I had in years, and I even started climbing a little bit again. Senior year was when I finally felt alive for the first time in years.
In my graduation photos, I look happy and healthy. I was definitely happy. I spent the whole day with my best friends; decorating our caps, getting ready, holding our caps on our heads the whole drive there in my friend’s topless jeep, and celebrating afterward. But what you don’t see is the pain my body was in. I was severely underweight at that point. My stomach was upset that day so I spent the morning pacing by the bathroom, waiting to throw up. The sun always makes me sick, and the ceremony was held outside directly in the sun. I almost fainted while waiting for my turn to walk across the stage.
I graduated high school in May 2021, so it’s all pretty fresh. I haven’t talked to the kids that used to make fun of me at school since March 2020, and I feel great about it. Senior year is when I got crazy close with my best friends, and they are the three who stuck around through everything. After being diagnosed, I thought I would never have best friends in high school, and I even became okay with that. Life had other plans though and gave me my three best friends. They’re the ones who can joke about my chronic illness and make fun of it in all the best ways. They make sure I feel included always, even when I’m half asleep in the back seat and can hardly say a word. Being sick in high school is far from easy, and my friends are the reason I made it through.
*Autoimmune disease is a condition where the body’s immune system attacks healthy cells, causing a wide range of unpleasant symptoms.
*A 504 Plan is a formal plan for students with disabilities to give them the support they need. For me, this meant being able to spend more time on assignments and tests and being able to turn in homework late without penalty.
