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SPEAK
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SCARRED FOR LIFE
// GABRIELLE SCHOCK
DEALING WITH AN ILLNESS GIVES ONE JAYPLAY WRITER A NEW PERSPECTIVE
I don't notice the scar on the inside of my left forearm very often. There's really not much of a scar to look at anyway, more like a slight puckering of skin and a few freckles that form a tiny constellation down my arm.
However, there are times when I'm slipping on my watch, driving down the highway or, like right now, typing on my computer that I can't
help but look down at my arm and notice the scar. What follows is a strange blur of emotions, ranging from unbearably sad to a peaceful numbness. But no matter what emotions pass over me, I always end up smiling because I know how lucky I am.
The scar I'm so thankful for is a result of abnormal blood clotting, a side effect of
Photo Illustration by Mike Gunnoe
Photo Illustration by Mike Gunnoe
Lucky reminder: Gabrielle Schock still deals with the memories of contracting meningitis, the disease that nearly took her life. Though the scar on her arm brings up mixed emotions, she still feels lucky.
bacterial meningitis, a rare disease that damages the tissue surrounding your brain. I contracted the disease while on a family vacation in Florida the summer before my senior year of high school. Doctors aren't sure how I caught the disease, though it's usually transferred through touch. Within hours I went from being a happy and healthy teenager on the beach to barely having the strength to stand.
We flew home to Wichita immediately. When our plane finally landed, I was almost unconscious and blood clots were forming underneath my skin, turning the color of my arms and legs into an unnatural shade of purple.
What happened next is nearly impossible to say without seeming nonchalant, but that's how I feel about it; I was taken to the hospital, diagnosed with meningitis (thanks to the clots on my arms) and promptly placed into a drug-induced coma.
People ask me what the hardest part of the whole situation was, but it's not a simple answer. Yes, it was hard having my blood drawn every hour. Yes, it was hard going from running miles on end to having to learn how to walk again because my body had become so weak. It was even harder watching my mom cry as I wobbled down the hallway while learning to walk.
Whew, that's a lot to squeeze into one sentence.
I was in a coma for six days while my body waged war on itself. When I finally woke up, I had no recollection of anything that had happened that entire summer. It's an odd sensation to be told so many things about yourself by other people; "Do you know how lucky you are to be alive? Do you understand the incredible things your body has been through these past few days?" I was asked questions like these constantly during my two-week hospital stay.
The hardest part has been dealing emotionally with what happened to me. Since getting sick, each day has felt slightly different. Some days are overwhelmingly sad. My mind wanders towards really horrific thoughts; what would my family have been like if I had died? Would people, over time, forget about me? But
other days, I feel amazing and thankful, like the disease never happened to me.
I spent my senior year of high school recovering, all while surrounded by people who kept telling me how wonderful and lucky I was. It's funny, when you're told repeatedly that everything is going to be OK, you start to believe it. But by the time I arrived at KU, a year after being diagnosed, I wanted to deal with the emotions alone.
I wish I could say that it was an overnight transformation, and that I spent one sad, tearful night feeling sorry for myself and thinking how bad my life could have ended up, only to wake up the next day ready to conquer the world. But I didn't. I worked hard to make my life as normal as possible.
I was having a great time and enjoying the freedom of college, but there were moments then, like the ones that I have now, when I would look down at the scar on my arm and become distraught. I began placing pressure on myself to squeeze the life out of every moment; I had come so incredibly close to dying, I couldn't stand to not live fearlessly or perform to the best of my abilities. I felt like I had been given a second chance and I couldn't waste it by not being liked by everyone or a straight-A student.
I began to see that I would forever be caught in a tug-of-war between feeling motivated by my second chance, but also like an outsider because I had experienced something so different than everyone else.
My dad sometimes tells me that I'm not the same person I was before getting sick, and I think about that sometimes when I look at my scar. Hearing "you're not the same person anymore" can sound harsh, but he means well; he always says that I'm different in the way I carry myself, that I'm more conscious of my actions and ambitions.
A doctor once asked me if I had considered plastic surgery to fix the scar on my arm. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I'm sure the look on my face implied a big, fat "hell no." Because it's true, we all need little reminders
— whether they're scars, photographs or memories — to keep us in check and remind us how lucky we are.
spaced across her lower back, the fuzzy borders of residue and lint that days-old Band-Aids leave after removal. But these aren't from Band-Aids Each square represents a patch adhered to her skin applying the stimulant methylphenidate to boost alertness, energy and focus.A junior in architecture, Kerwin hoped to bend the limits of time, or at least of her own body, to meet a project deadline.The patches kept her awake for 78 hours straight.
Lizzy Alonzi, a junior in computer science, spent about 30 hours each week on homework for just one programming class. Grueling late nights spent staring at screens in Eaton Hall's computer lab wore down her mental and emotional health every week.
"It's too much," said Alonzi. "It's brutal."
Steven Heger had been dating Erin Brown for six years when he began building Formula-style cars for Jayhawk Motorsports, the University's automotive racing team and capstone project for
"Erin says I love the car more than her." Heger said.
mechanical engineering seniors. He works 12 hours a day on the car, Monday through Friday, leaving little time for Erin, now his fiancee.
Here and at other universities across the country, time-intensive programs require students to work
Illustration by Kirk Whit
50- to 100-hour weeks preparing for careers where such commitments are either compensated or illegal. Along the way, students must choose daily between their professional futures and their own health. Often, they endanger both.
Studio, the class and classroom where design models are built plays a demanding role in the world of architecture students.
When you work 74 hours every week, something has to give.
"I started hallucinating," Kerwin said of her 78 hours without sleep. "It was before a review, where you take everything you completed before a project — site plans, floor plans and so on. Those are the times you get little sleep in studio."
The patches Kerwin used were prescribed to her as an ADHD medication. Its makers recommend one per day for nine hours. She applied a fresh patch every eight hours, for three days.
They learn, work, eat and often sleep there in an attempt to bring design ideas to life as scaled-down buildings.
That semester, Kerwin worked at studio most nights from p.m. until 2 a.m., or "around eight hours a night, five days a week." That's 40 hours — for most, a full workweek. The actual class for Kerwin's studio met three times each week for four
and a half hours each class. That's 13 and a half hours. On rough weeks, Kerwin would pull two "all nighters," working straight through until morning. That's 12 more. Adding it up, she often worked 65 hours per week, all for one class. If Kerwin opted to attend her non-studio classes instead of squeezing in a nap, that number rose to 74 hours.
But when you work 74 hours every week, something has to give.
With little time to cook healthy meals, she ate mostly junk food, preferably Cheez-Its. She rarely exercised or maintained friendships with students outside of studio. She drank so many Rockstar energy drinks to stay up one semester that, as a joke, she began pinning them on her studio's wall. There were more than 100 cans in all. The high caffeine in energy drinks causes dehydration, and dehydration causes kidney stones, which Kerwin developed in following months.
INDEX
SEE TIME ON PAGE 3A
Classifieds. .9A
Crossword. .7A
Cryptoquips. .7A
Opinion. .6A
Sports. .10A
Sudoku. .7A
All contents, unless stated otherwise, © 2011 The University Daily Kansan
Forecasts by University students. For a complete detailed forecast for the week, see page 2A.
ONLINE AT KANSAN.COM
Highway speed limits may rise because of new bill
Gov. Sam Brownback signed a bill that will allow multi-lane highways to raise speed from 70 mph to 75 mph.
FOOTBALL | 10A
Annual football spring game set for Saturday
The coaches will decide if this game will be in a traditional game format or a less-formal defense versus offense game.
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