The Apartment

It was 2007 and I had just graduated college. My symptoms were getting worse by the day, but that didn’t stop me from applying to jobs. I applied to over 100 school districts and was eager to start getting a real paycheck. I knew deep down that I was getting sick, and that the infusions to put me into remission were not working. Once I secured a job, I then moved on to the next milestone in my life. I wanted to live on my own. I figured I had a steady salary now, so why not? My best friend also wanted to move out of his parents’ house and we both decided on a small apartment in the suburbs. Here was the catch:

A change of plans

By the time we moved in, it was already October of 2007. I had already met with the colorectal surgeon to have my J-pouch surgery in the middle of December. Since I would be discharged by Christmas, I would spend about three to four weeks at home with my folks until I get back on my feet. Then, I would start living in the new apartment until my reversal surgery in March of 2008. Let’s just say that the plan did not go as it should have.

I entered the hospital for my surgery on Dec. 17th, 2017, but did not ever leave until over a year later. So what was going on with the apartment you might ask?

I never actually lived there! I did not spend a night in the apartment. My best friend stayed there and had friends over as he should. He did respect my room, never allowing people to go in. Of course, I still owed my share of the rent. For the first month, my parents made sure that they withdrew the money from my account to pay the rent. But as I was not working, money was getting short. The apartment complex held raffles every month, and they would pick names out of a jar. Whoever they picked, got a free month’s rent. They were aware of the situation and happened to pick my name for each month I was out. That was very nice of them! On top of that, they allowed my friend to opt out of the contract early with no penalty.  y father helped him move all of the furniture out of the apartment. To top it off, the apartment complex sent movers to help.

Reaching the next milestone

As I battled my Crohn’s in the hospital, fighting for my life, I kept my eye on the prize. I was going to get my job back again, and I was going to move out. I was determined. Did that help me get out of the hospital? I don’t know. They always speak of the power of positive thinking. Well, my friend kept his side of the promise, as well. He told me that once I got out of the hospital, got my Crohn’s under control, and secured a job, he would move back in with me. Finally, in 2010, I was able to move out again, after locking down a great teaching job. I knew that what didn’t kill me made me stronger.

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