Hugs not drugs

Throughout high school, the knowledge of my immediate mortality pervaded my everyday life. Having seen my mother go through an emotionally wrenching near year of treatment only to find that in the end it was for naught, I internalized the fear of future failed treatment(s). The last thing I wanted to do was infect another person. I viewed myself as if I were a plague. The worrisome reality of my physical repulsion to others slowly became a balancing act in a world of constant physical contact. The scope of my limited life, pushed me to a near fearless level of misbehavior.

The worst of it all was knowing I was not alone. I was aware of the fact that within the population of my high school, statistically speaking a dozen or so other children would share my fate. However I had one odd advantage, I knew I was infected. While this would spell danger later on in my life, at this young age, knowing I had HCV meant that I could reduce the harm dealt to my liver and risk to others. The rebellious decisions typical of youth to enter into consuming drugs and alcohol was not something I even saw as an option. And the best part of my advanced knowledge was that I could get treatment early.

The knowledge of all of this became a secret. I knew that if others knew, they might seek to harm or marginalize me out of ignorance. This depressing solitude sought me to find others who might also be marginalized or in pain and help them. The trouble was that many sought to blend in, and only further obfuscate their loneliness.

My junior year, after watching my mother's recovery, I noticed her veiled sadness as she trudged onward, attempting to return to normalcy having failed. The catalyst for what I was about to do was a blood drive. The teacher at the time offered extra credit to those who donate. I asked the teacher, as I could not donate, if there was another way to earn the extra credit. Infuriated at my request, she barked off the reasons why this would be impossible. A quick trip to the assistant principal's office helped her discover some possibilities. Winning stupid battles like this helped me consider what my future would be like. In my worsening state I tried something new. In the very same class that I'd been yelled at, I stood by the door, and freely solicited hugs. It was a way for me to help others, myself through the loneliness that no one wanted to confront, and to combat my impulse to stray from physical contact.



Also: THREE MORE DAYS OF TREATMENT!

Invisible Liabilities

In middle and high school in the United States, schools have a compulsory physical education department in which students have to be in enrolled in so many years of physical education. Many schools allow opt-outs for special PE like marching band, or certain team sports. Students with special needs often have separate PE programs which cater to their abilities. 

Due to the circumstances of diagnosis, physical excretion was often cited as a reason for the dark urine that day. My doctors ultimately came to the conclusion that it would be risky for me to be involved in PE or any other team sports. Risk to others was a very minor factor, it was because I would be unable to control the constraints of the exercise, and would be at the mercy of often unusually demanding coaches. The school agreed, in hindsight I realize their rationale for the agreement fell more on liability than on my situation. I was pulled out of my PE class less than half-way through the trimester.

My PE coach, knowing why I wasn't in PE, gave me a hard time about as he put it "quitting."
(found out a few years ago he was "let go" due to harassment allegations. Shoulda known he was a quitter.)

Without a class to enroll me, I was placed in the library. I had gained a reputation among teachers and staff as an insubordinate student, which I suspect didn't help my prospects in terms of options for classes. My acting out was due in part to an understanding that at twenty five I would begin a steady descent of my physical ability, that it would be unlikely I would make it to my parents age, and due to my mother's diagnosis and subsequent treatment during this time.

While in the library, I read every comic book, national geographic and graphic novel available. When other classes would come in to use the library I was sequestered off to another area. Eventually when the new trimester came I was allowed to enroll in a class again. I took a class called Lifeskills, it taught teambuilding, Greek/Latin roots, among many other things. 

Without PE, I took ROP classes, and lots of art classes. I went to try out for track and field, and was informed that because I had a PE exemption, I would not be allowed to.

One of the more frustrating issues I came face to face with early on was the reality of an invisible disability.It was the reason my PE coach in middle school judged me so harshly, it was the reason coaches and school administrators didn't believe me. In high school I came in with more or less a clean slate, but I was a liar in their eyes.

I could find nothing to fight it, so instead I embraced it. I was kicked out of classes on a weekly basis. In one class, a drawer was dedicated to taking away the toys I'd bring in. At one point I brought 4 Japanese phonebooks just to see what my teacher would do. In one class I instructed not to leave my seat at any point during the class. So prior to class I found a desk with a seat that could be removed. As class went on, I would periodically leave (taking the seat with me) to buy sodas/food from the machine outside. As he would look up at me, he would see me with different things each time. He was never able to catch me, as I would attach a bolt into the seat to fasten it when class ended.

Each of my teachers knew my situation, they were aware I had Hep C. During student senate elections, upon realizing that I was the winning candidate, one teacher demanded a recount, put a student who had no interest in it as a candidate and declared them the winner. I was hostage to the results my own misbehavior. In the mornings, my classmates would gripe about PE, be exhausted from practice, make new friends from the bonding experiences that come with team sports. I couldn't relate. From my diagnosis, I had never even been in a real locker room. Until I was 22 and I joined a gym, I just assumed they were huge bathrooms with cubbies for your things.

It was then I realized, they were just huge fancy bathrooms with cubbies and lots of naked old men.