(Photo courtesy of Christian Newton)
One day you feel like you’re on top of the world, conquering everything with style and grace. The next day, the world seems to be on top of you.
My sophomore year of college felt like the best year of my life. I made the soccer team after being cut the previous year. My rooming situation was stable and I got along well with my roommate. Sarah LaClair (kind of a big deal at Lasell) and I were co-presidents of the Barry Price Club. At the end of both semesters, my grades were stronger than Arnold Schwarzenegger’s muscles. I thought junior year would be even better than sophomore year.
Then summer 2016 came around, offsetting my high expectations.
At that point, I already decided to stop playing soccer because I lost the enjoyment I felt from playing. The team chemistry felt off, a new coach took over, and I wanted to focus more on the Barry Price Club. I also decided to work a temporary job over the summer to make extra money and take on more responsibility.
Yet, on a Thursday afternoon in late July, before the first day of my summer job, that all changed. I felt light-headed, sweaty, and dizzy as I walked through the front hall of my house. Minutes later, I woke up on the front hall floor surrounded by my parents and paramedics. The ambulance took me to my local hospital, underwent a CAT scan, and doctors found nothing conclusive.
I went home, called out of work, rested for a day or two, and I would start my job on Monday. On Sunday, I felt good, moving around and feeling prepared to begin working and earning some money.
However, the same feeling I felt before the ambulance had transported me came back. I was in the bathroom near my bedroom, thinking if I put some water on my face I would feel fine. Again, I collapsed on the floor, not feeling anything until I woke up. This time, I had woken up to missing teeth, a swimming pool of blood, concerned parents, and the paramedics. Back to the local hospital I went and my chances of earning money that summer were in the rearview mirror.
Hours passed in the hospital with no definitive action in sight. Finally, my family and I were told I would have to be transported to Massachusetts General Hospital to get my teeth fixed. Out of the hospital I went, wheeled into the back of an ambulance and looking for answers, not asking the right questions.
After a bumpy, painful, hour and a half ride later, I entered Mass. General Hospital. A dentist replaced my missing teeth with temporary fake teeth, informing me I could not eat solid foods for a few weeks. I did not care a lot about my teeth. I wanted to know why the hell I had collapsed multiple times within a week.
I stayed overnight that Sunday. After going through a gauntlet of tests the next day, with no definitive answer as to why I had collapsed, I wanted to go home. However, one of the top doctors at Mass. General strongly suggested I stay another night to make absolutely sure it would not happen again. I slept that night, struggling emotionally, but hopeful I would be back home very soon.
The next day came along and I slept much better on a hospital bed than on the gurney used to transport me into the hospital. Aesthetically, I looked worse than shit and probably could have used a shower.
Instead, my mom, who is not a big fan of me growing facial hair, decided to shave me. I laughed along because this was a re-occurring dialogue that happened every two or three days. Little did we know, the next series of events was a reoccurrence of what had been happening over the past week.
My heart rate flat-lined, doctors rushed in to see what happened, panic ensued, and I could not feel a thing. As far as I was concerned, it was pitch black and no form of life existed. Minutes later, I regained consciousness and lost it. Sadness and anger reached all-time levels. My dad, about as emotional as Bill Belichick, was scared. My mother cried tears the size of the Nile River, thinking she almost killed me by trying to shave my face.
I got moved down to a different room where patients received greater supervision. More days passed, more doctors stopped by and asked questions of what happened, and then tried to explain why it happened. Mashed potatoes and gravy became my meal of choice, with soft-served ice cream on the side. My parents and my younger brother made the trip from Gardner to Boston every day, trying to keep my spirits up. I texted a few friends to notify them what I was going through.
Finally, some news came in. The doctors concluded I experienced syncope, the medical term for fainting, and the next step would be for me to have a pacemaker in my heart. They did not have conclusive evidence as to why I had collapsed, but the pacemaker would prevent me from collapsing in the future.
I did not want to disclose it to people on social media, thinking people would not legitimately care about what was happening to me. After a text exchange to Sarah, I posted on Instagram and Facebook, detailing what had happened and what was next. The likes and comments of encouragement felt nice, but I still felt alone. Other than my immediate family, nobody visited me during my stint at Mass. General.
The pacemaker procedure went well, lying on my right side because the left side of my heart was cut open as the pacemaker was inserted. The procedure went well and I made another social media post about my successful procedure. The next day, after a tumultuous week of physical and mental suffering, I went back home to Gardner.
While recovering, I could not run or do any sort of strenuous exercise. Whenever I got the chance to walk outside, it felt just as enjoyable as playing soccer once did. I had become more appreciative, yet my impatience led to more tears running down my face.
The start of junior year was approaching, and despite the rough summer, I hoped to make the most of my situation. However, more problems physically and mentally arose. I’ll explain it some other time.