I was sent to the hospital in a bigger city nearby; my mom drove me there. They did some tests, and my mom and I stayed the night. Results from the blood tests showed my red blood cell count was about half of what you’re supposed to have, and the nurses were amazed I was even standing. They said they had never seen anyone walk around with such a low blood cell count. At this point, I was going to the bathroom 20+ times a day. At one point in time I had pooped my pants and washed myself off in a middle school bathroom, then took a 25-minute bus trip home.
I know it sounds amazing that I wasn’t understanding something was very, very off, but I really didn’t. It had all become so normal at this point.
I was diagnosed within a few days of first going to the doctor, got some basic information about the illness and was then sent home with a doctor’s appointment scheduled a few days later. I was still indifferent. I remember saying to my mom, “Hey, so what if I need to take a few pills a day if that means I stay well for the rest of my life?” My mom took it way harder than I did.