learning to be a
wuss By Nathan Fischer
July 4th – Independence Day. It’s the day when rockets and missiles aren’t just associated with the military, but instead every American gets to legally set off his own combustible projectiles! The flags are soaring, the boats are roaring, and the fireworks rain down in the most brilliant and vibrant colors imaginable. Independence Day. It’s one of those days of the year that people associate with fun and laughter. Last summer, my July 4th became marked by something else. Fun and laughter were cast aside as my mom and I drove to the hospital. Pain is not what most people associate with the fun and laughter of the 4th of July, but it sure was what I was feeling. Upon arriving at the hospital, I was taken to the emergency room, where the doctors checked me over and took x-rays. After they were done, I waited anxiously for the results. It was not what I expected. The doctor walked in and looked at my mom and me very seriously. “I’ll be blunt,” he said. “You have a collapsed lung, and you can’t leave this hospital. Otherwise, you could die.” Mom started crying, while I tried to act tough and not let my sudden thoughts of doubt and worry show. Over the next several weeks, as the doctors tried to figure out how my lung had collapsed, they came to realize that I was sick. It is a chronic sickness, which means I’m not going to get better. Some people who have the same sickness die around 30 or 40, while others live to around 50 or 60. Regardless, I, an 18-year-old-boy about to head off to college, was presented with some mind-blowing thoughts. I have a sickness that, one of these days, will probably end my life. I’m already feeling the effects of it in various ways, like my lung collapse.
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