Weakness is Power (eBook)

Chapter 1:
Misdiagnosis

When I was in 8th grade, I was misdiagnosed with a kidney disease called Nephrotic Syndrome. It all started when I woke up one morning and casually sauntered upstairs to brew my morning Espresso. As I was stirring the coffee, making a mini-black whirlpool, I felt that someone was watching me. I cocked my head up and was taken aback by my parents. I had never seen them so bewildered.

“Elias, why are your eyes so swollen?” they asked.

We had no clue why my eyes were so swollen. We called our doctor and he suggested that they were only allergies. So I began taking Benadryl twice a day but it was no use. My eyes stayed swollen for days. We set up an appointment with my doctor and he ran a few tests on me. After the visit, he told us that I had high amounts of protein in my urine, and this might mean that I may have a condition called Nephrotic Syndrome. The doctor referred me to a radiologist.

The whole summer I went to the hospital every day. Their results just didn’t match up. Even though high amounts of protein and swollen eyes are strong indicators of Nephrotic Syndrome, I did not have some of the other common symptoms like swollen ankles. According to x-rays and ultrasound, my kidneys looked fine. Still, the doctors had no idea why I had such high amounts of protein in my urine, or why my eyes were swollen but still suspected that I had Nephrotic Syndrome. With no other solution and hint pointing to what I had, the doctors prescribed me Prednisone, a harsh drug that would temporarily reduce the swelling in my eyelids.

Prednisone did alleviate my swollen eyes temporarily. But it also made me overweight, acne-prone, constantly hungry, and depressed. These were all common side effects of the famous drug.

“Why are you eating so much?” asked my friend quizzically.

“What’s it to you?” I scolded. I was on my third salad, second burger, third pasta and first hot dog. I had just gained five pounds. My usually skinny face was looking plumper and greasier; my now rounded cheeks were sticky with sweat.

“I’m on pills and they make me extremely hungry.”

“Seems like they put you in a bad mood too,” scoffed my friend.

I didn’t answer back. He was right.

I watched my mental health deteriorate, and I could do nothing about it. I’d notice myself snapping at my friends and even snapping at my mother, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I felt alone. All the other kids at camp seemed caught up in superficial things, like whining and complaining about the food, and I was facing being potentially hooked up to machines for the rest of my life.

How’s that for trauma?

Rock Bottom

The summer I spent after that summer camp was one of the lowest points of my life. As I constantly went to the hospital, it was clear that my life had changed forever. Fear loomed like a dark shadow. I was unable to enjoy any of the things that gave me some sort of meaning. I couldn’t even kick a soccer ball in soccer practice anymore. My eyes were too swollen and too itchy, making it too blurry for me to see or concentrate. I was hopelessly trying to convince myself that everything was alright, but it just wasn’t. Even my coach burst into tears during my soccer practices. But my growing persistence in light of my situation sparked a fire in his heart.

After months of hospital visits and diagnostics, the radiologist suggested that I go to my optometrist for my swollen eyes. It was then revealed that I only had eye allergies that could be managed by eye drops and that the high levels of protein in my urine were due to a harmless condition and not the dreaded nephrotic syndrome. Nevertheless, the whole experience had taken a heavy toll on me. The fear and anxiety that had resulted from being misdiagnosed with a life-threatening illness had left me with permanent mental scars. Every day was ruined by the thought of the what if; the thought that I escaped death’s grip at 14 years old. I became paranoid. Every ache I felt in my body alarmed me. I would begin to suspect that I had a serious condition every time. After a while of living like this, I decided to do something about it.

I stared at the wall. What’s the point of trying to do anything if I can just die at any moment and it will all be for nothing? I cried in my head.

No, this is the wrong way to look at the situation, I thought.

I told myself, From now on, I will work as hard as I can, every single day and will take advantage of every day given to me. Life may be short, but I can make the best of it. No…. that’s WHY I should make the best of it.

This promise to myself became my first golden rule.

Rising Again

With my new resolution, I began forming passions like playing soccer, weightlifting, and working really hard in school. I developed the mentality that the harder that I worked, the happier that I would become.

At first, I loved pushing myself to the limit. The fact that I was doing so much to improve my life, really empowered me. But that was it. I only felt empowered, but my physical and mental health were not prepared for that level of grueling activity. The reality is that I was pushing myself to exhaustion. Making the decision to keep working daily was easy, but my body retaliated against me. I tried to ignore it.

The first warning sign was my mood. I was constantly irritable and stressed out so I started pursuing my passions only because I told myself they would make me happy. They didn’t anymore. But then I realized that the things that brought me joy had stopped being about what I loved and started being about what made me feel secure. The more tired and anxious I was feeling, the more I told myself to keep working, which in turn brought more exhaustion and anxiety. I was spiraling out of control, trapped in this vicious negative action and reaction cycle. Why am I doing this? I wondered in astonishment. It’s beginning to get harder every day and it doesn’t have the same spark it once did. It seems pointless now.

One day, on my way to a now dreaded soccer practice, I told myself, If you work harder, that doubt will leave you. Keep working and you’ll be happy. I had only slept four hours the night before, and had an essay and a test for the next day. The practice was two hours long.

I kept quelling my anxiety this way, but still failed to realize that my ill temper arose from overworking, sleep deprivation, and exhaustion. A new warning sign popped on the horizon when my reckless ambitions began hurting my friends. Right before freshman year started, my best friend had decided to take a year abroad in Italy. Up to that point, He had been the only person to ever be by my side during my whole life. During my high points, low points, achievements, and huge mistakes he had always understood and accepted me. No matter what, we both considered each other brothers. So it was a big deal for me and everyone else when he revealed he was leaving for Italy.

“Are you going to Alejandro’s going away party?” asked my mom.

“I don’t feel like it; I’m really tired and have a lot of schoolwork to do.”

My mom was shocked. “Really?” she scolded me. “He’s leaving for a year. You have to appreciate your time with him. He would never do something like this to you.”

Her words meant nothing to me. All I could focus on was on my grind and on my hustle. Being so invested in non-work related things like relationships seemed like a waste of time for me back then. I was so wrong.

I didn’t end up going to his going away party, and what made it worse is that he didn’t get mad at me and didn’t question it. He was that pure. I had failed to appreciate the one friend that could do that for me, and I felt like the biggest piece of shit. I’m still grateful that we’re still best friends today and that he didn’t let that get in the way of our relationship.

To this day, although we’ve both forgotten about it, I still sometimes feel like I have to make it up to him. Even if my mistake was a wakeup call, I still persisted in going down this destructive path. As my lifestyle made me more exhausted and hopeless, the fire that had once roared in my heart was now reduced to a tiny flame sitting atop a frail, melting candle.

Why? Why does soccer not bring me happiness anymore? I cried. I was on my way to a game, clutching my knee brace tight, knowing that I would desperately need it. I had overworked myself and had three muscle and bone problems in each knee. I looked at my knees.

Please… please don’t hurt. I need you for this game.

I had four essays due after this tournament. As usual, because I was getting home at 9 P.M., I planned to work the whole night until morning came.

I just need to pull another all-nighter. Then, I can rest after and be happy. Just one more time, like I always do. I need it.

The situation seemed different this...