Duke students like to have fun. Whether tenting for the big game or going hard at Shooters, we escape the stress of a demanding course load with a work hard, play hard mentality. But what if that doesn’t work for everyone?
I’m not talking about people who feel ostracized by the party scene or find Duke culture problematic. In a campus where it seems that every fraternity, sorority, SLG and student group has a cause, there is one piece missing from the narrative: chronic illnesses.
We are a healthy campus, a campus dominated by basketball, football and the “You lift, bro?” question. We run in the gardens, hike along the Eno and go to Beach Week.
Yet, there is a subculture which lives in a very different Duke: a Duke where the walk from the West Bus Stop to Gross Hall isn’t just a pain but an impossibility without sitting down at least once on the way. There’s a group of people for whom puking in the ER is a regular occurrence, not because of alcohol poisoning, but rather of a rare bowel disease. Their lives are filled with pill bottles, IVs and STINFs.
But these people are normal Duke students. They go to class, they watch basketball and they have very strong opinions about the construction on campus. They are stressed about midterms and their papers. Yet, there is always an added challenge, an additional level of “epicness,” so to speak, in completing their daily tasks. The song “Eye of the Tiger” may be particularly appropriate to describe when a student completes a midterm with a blinding headache so painful that it obscures one’s vision so that the words themselves seem to shake.
If you have never been exposed to chronic illness, you might not notice the difference between someone who has an unlucky streak of colds and someone with an underlying condition. In fact, you might not notice they are sick at all. That’s okay. Many people do not want others to know and especially do not want the “How are you really doing” questions combined with a sympathetic stare, which often appears more condescending than concerned.
Others want to talk about their illness and may find sympathy useful as they navigate the minefield of their daily lives while avoiding triggers, which can be anything from certain foods to flashing lights. Some people might need help with the daily grind at Duke, such as a ride to the doctor’s office or an arm to lean on when they are too sick to stand. There is no one way to cope with an endless war on one’s own body.
My own story is like many others at Duke, sick or not. I had four years filled with moments of desperate hopelessness and sublime happiness. Chronic illness has always been part of my life even as I fought for normalcy. This article was a battle in itself: it started in my comfortable bed, continued during a 20-hour stint in the Emergency Room and finished as I sat on the bathroom floor after vomiting all night. Many of my friends find my devotion to work irrational, but chronic illnesses can be completely debilitating, requiring students to take semesters off and spend months in the hospital if they get behind. In order to survive Duke while managing a chronic illness, I had to fight every second to find normalcy.
And normalcy was difficult to find as a first-year. I remember arriving at Duke in the blistering heat of the Carolina sun with classic Pfrosh concerns: will I make friends, what is college like, why is everyone wearing salmon shorts, etc. Except, I had an additional question: how the hell am I going to survive the heat? During much of orientation and the first month of classes, I was sequestered to my room with incredibly painful headaches. I missed the classic first-year experience of going to Shooters, not because of some false sense of moral superiority, but because loud, sweaty places can be medically dangerous for me. While there was a certain amount of FOMO, I made amazing friends who tended to prefer the library to clubs. My life involved a different Duke than that of the classic narrative.
Since being a first-year, I have loved my Duke experience, even with the Emergency Room visits and doctors’ appointments. I’ve traveled around the world, met my professional heroes, worked with amazing people and had a great time. My chronic illness was a constant threat, whether it was causing me to almost blackout when talking to distinguished leaders in my field or forcing me to abandoned group projects during the final hours. But, more than anything else, I am incredibly grateful. My doctors doubted I would finish high school on time, let alone graduate Duke with distinction and be able to continue my education abroad next year.
I would love to say I achieved the effortless perfection of a Duke Blue Devil, but we all know that “effortless perfection” is a myth. Instead, I owe my success to a supportive network of friends who have spent multiple nights by my side in the Emergency Room, held me while I threw up all over a plane, and walked me to events when I am to sick to stand on my own. Moreover, I am incredibly thankful for understanding professors and supportive mentors who have accommodate me as need be. But I am one of the lucky ones. There are those who suffer in silence, who do not have a group of people to be there for them when the chronic illness was too much.
This article is not asking for your pity, your sympathy, or even your time. What I’m asking for is understanding. Behind that Cameron Crazie face paint may be some one experiencing a very different Duke.
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