My head was spinning. I could barely walk, let alone in a straight or coherent manner.
My hands were shaking. I was afraid. My hands were tingling and my mouth, watering. I could hear the ringing in my ears.
The back of my neck prickled. My breath was labored and shallow. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was dying.
My gut hurt. I felt sick to my stomach. My knees weak. My head was throbbing. I needed help. My hands were shaking so badly that I could barely dial the numbers. The tears stung my face as I thought about the necessity of having to tell my family and friends good-bye at such a young age.
The ambulance arrived. They put a mask on my face. My head was spinning.
I arrived to the hospital and was hooked up to several machines. I prayed to God that I would be okay. I thought of all the things I’ve never accomplished. I felt a combination of fear but also shame. I wish I would have done more. I started to think of my life in the past tense- resolving to the fact that I was not going to be around to have children.
Tests after tests were completed. A counselor walked in and talked to me for a while and then later a doctor. She sat on the side of the bed and brushed my hair out of my face. I just knew it was bad news. I prepared myself for the worse.
“What is it doc. Am I going to make it?” I was solemn, but looked her deep into the eyes with a tinge of hope.
“Well, you are definitely going to make it. Your diagnosis is a little thing called love. It happens to all of us at some point or another. Get some rest. Maybe tell the guy how you feel. Have a good night.”