Rough Draft #1, Captivity Narratives

THE CAPTIVITY OF SARA SCHMIDT

One month left of my senior year at St. Viator High School, 2001, and I became ill. The highly contagious sickness Mononucleosis, more popularly known as Mono, captivated my body for the final twenty-eight days of my high school career. Wrecking havoc through my system, Mono first took its toll on my throat. My glands swelled, creating lumps on the outer surface of my neck, thus making it extremely difficult to breathe or speak. I was sent home from school with a sore throat, unknown of the road ahead, and upon arrival crashed on my living room sofa. Little did I know that this would become my camping ground for the next month.
On the night of my first day home, I awoke with tears because the swelling in my throat had enlarged making it virtually impossible to breath. From the inside, my throat looked like two moldy strawberries, irritated and filled with puss. I was taken to the hospital at 11:00 P.M., where I received blood and urine tests, and returned home at 2:00 A.M. with the conclusion that my senior year was now complete. No more school. No more soccer games. And sadly, no more going out with my friends on the weekends.
I slept until early evening of the next day, finding it extremely difficult to even move myself from the couch to use the washroom. My body was drained and my throat was still swollen. From the previous night, my doctor prescribed me steroids, apparently they are used on patients to reduce swelling, and along with a handy glass of water my steroid usage had begun. My mother layer the living room couch with old sheets, appointed me my own glass for drinking, and removed my toothbrush from the others. I think she was more worried about preventing my germs from infecting my brothers, than actually understanding how miserable I felt. I took my place on the couch and watched television reruns until I could not help but dose off to sleep again. That day I had managed to keep my eyes open for a successful three hours and then back to dreamland my body forced me to go.
No food in my body and too weak to walk around, I sat alone in my designated space on the living room couch. My mother, beginning now to see the true toll this sickness was taking on my body, insisted that I go to my family pediatrician for more advice. Slowly, my mother escorted me to the car like I was now a baby again and drove me to yet another doctor’s appointment. I earnestly tried to keep my eyes open for the entire length of the car ride and least not forget the hour and a half long doctor visit. My doctor instructed me to lie down on the mat as he examined my throat, under my arms, and he even pushed down on a very sensitive area near my stomach. I think I was too delirious to question the reasons for such touching, but I soon came to understand that all the glands in my body were being attacked by this illness creating them to swell. My spleen was enlarged and I would have to be extra careful to make sure that it did not erupt. No more physical activities until I was better, meaning I could not participate at the state finals with my high school soccer team. I left the doctor’s office felling worse than I did coming in, his remedy for a speedy recovery was to rest and wait for my body’s defenses to attack the Mono when it was ready.
Resting and waiting is exactly what I did. A full week had past and the steroids must have finally kicked in to reduce some of the swelling in my throat, so that I was able to eat my first liquid meal. I remember slurping down a cup of chicken noodle soup and feeling the warmth slide between my swollen glands. Compared to before I fell ill, my diet had now completely transformed making it noticeable that I was losing weight. I was rarely hungry, and foods that I once loved, apples, cereal, and sandwiches, seemed impossible to eat. My previously well-defined muscles from weeks of soccer training were now deteriorating and it was a challenge for me to walk up and down stairs. My friends visited me after school and my family was supportive, showing their sympathy with flowers and stuffed animals. Envious of their strength and normality of their everyday routine, I sat listless on my couch with barely enough energy to stay awake for an entire day.
On the twelfth day with Mono, I had completed my full dosage of prescripted steroids and had another doctor’s visit awaiting me. More blood tests. The blood tests were used to check my white blood cell count to see how my body’s immune system was responding to being ill. If my count was close to normal, I would be able to attend school again. I knew that I would not be physically better for awhile, but I thought of my friends sitting around the lunch table and of graduation. I would graduate from high school in less than two weeks, and here I was having my blood drawn for the third time. And to ruin my situation even more, my white blood cell count reported below normal and I would need more medication. I returned home full of dejected emotions. My world was held captive by my illness, and all I had was a stack of rented DVDs and black-and-blue bruises on my inner elbow where I had been struck with doctor’s needles.
On that following Monday, the twentieth day, I started to view my illness in a more beneficial manner. School would be over in a week and final examinations would then follow. One by one, my high school teachers phoned my house expressing their wishes that I get better soon, and as a get well surprise excused me from each exam I was scheduled to take. I had traded days of endless studying for ones full of Sex in the City episodes and MTV marathons. A trade I deemed sufficient, seeing that I knew my friends would now be jealous of me. The next day brought yet another surprise that I will never forget. The phone rang, my mother answered, and then handed the phone to me. It was my principal from St. Viator and he wanted to speak to me. I thought it was awfully nice of him to call and wish me good health, but I quickly discover he had another announcement in mind. He told me that I was the salutatorian for the Class of 2003 and would be required to give a speech to my fellow classmates on graduation. I was shocked, and for that moment it seemed like my illness had disappeared as my mouth curved upward to smile. I could not remember the last time I had smiled in the past three weeks, and now any trace of melancholy I had was overwhelmed with achievement and satisfaction. I hung up the phone and shared the news with my mother. We celebrated with popsicles, and I was convinced that I would not let Mono ruin my senior year.
During the third week of being ill and stuck at home, I used my free time, between naps and television breaks, to begin thinking about my speech.