Well… I’m about halfway through my first semester at university.
My grades are still exceptional, far exceeding what I expected I’d have by now. Part of that may be because my classes at university aren’t as difficult as they were at community college. Unlike community college, I can bring notes to most of my exams, and I’ve plenty of resources and busywork to keep me on top of my studies. But, I’ve been having a hard time adjusting to my new environment at university, and it’s clearly taking a toll on me in every possible way.
My mental and emotional health have been hit the hardest.
I knew that going to university would start off rough. I knew that I’d probably spend the first semester (at least) freaking the fuck out about everything besides academics. I knew I’d feel completely out of my element; completely and utterly stupid in a sea of top-notch geniuses. I knew that I’d have to face a lot of my fears daily. I knew all of this and more, and I still went to university anyway.
Why did I decide to do this to myself?
To be honest, I don’t really know.
I knew I had to do something with my life, especially after spending almost two years locked down (and going crazy) during the covid pandemic. But, what exactly? I didn’t have the damndest clue.
Somehow, my closest friends and family convinced me to take one class at community college. If that went well (and it did), I agreed to give two classes a shot the following semester, then three classes, then four, making my way towards a full-time college schedule while grappling with subjects I believed I was far too stupid to comprehend.
To my utter surprise, I wasn’t too stupid for community college, even when I took math and science courses that I never believed I’d pass (till I did). However, I continued to downplay my accomplishments, saying things like, “Yeah, well it’s community college.” and, “I’m not going to university. There’s no way in hell I can do it.”
“University’s actually easier than community college, most of the time!” friends and family retorted, “You’re doing so well in community college, you’ll do just fine at university.”
For some reason I didn’t believe a word anyone said about university being easier than community college. But, my parents insisted I tour some universities over the summer and apply to the ones I felt fit me “best”. After touring a handful of local universities within driving distance of my house, I wasn’t exactly feeling better about attending university. In fact, I felt worse about going to university.
They all seemed way too… pretentious… for lack of better words, and I felt there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell I’d succeed in any one of them. I'm definitely not a pretentious person, after all. I don't even own a polo shirt.
“You’re still going to university next semester whether you like it or not.” my mom said.
“You can’t go to community college forever. You’ve already mastered it. It’s time to move on to the next step.” my dad later added.
Deep down inside, I knew my parents were right, but I stubbornly refused for awhile.
“You’re going to university. My house, my rules!” my mom finally told me one day towards the end of my final semester at community college, “I know your tricks. You took algebra 0.5 for three years in high school because you were too scared to go to algebra 1.”
I couldn’t disagree.
After a little more thinking (and a lot more pushing from my parents), I decided to go with the cheapest university on my list, which was University of Colorado: Denver. At least if I failed there, I wouldn’t put my dad in debt, too.
“I’m surprised.” my dad raised his eyebrows when I told him where I was going to school next, “You realize that’s like the School of Mines for Biology, right?”
“It’s what now?”
“CU Denver’s the school of medicine around here. It’s like the research school in the state. It’s literally world-renowned, and it saved your life, many times over.”
I didn’t believe my dad at first. But, when I got home from our little mountain adventure that afternoon, I researched CU Denver a little more and… my dad was right. CU Denver was (and is) among the top 4% of Research One universities in the country, and it’s where many of my medications (including Trikafta) were first discovered. However, it was too late to back out. I’d already signed my ass up for that school, and I was transferring there with 62 credits and a $1,500 Merit scholarship (again, to my shock).
48 of those credits counted towards my BioTech major.
Now, I’m about halfway through my first semester of university. My grades are (shockingly to me) very high. I’m at the precipice of falling off from an A to a B in Spanish class, but I’m holding extremely solid A’s in both my Biology classes despite them being “very difficult” according to the university, as well as a solid A in my Cultural Diversity class (which is stupidly easy).
In fact, when my first biology exam was graded, the professor announced, “The mean of this class was a 77%, which is the highest mean out of all of the biology classes I’m currently teaching. And congrats to the student who got a 96%. That’s the highest score in the class.”
I looked down and my heart jumped to my throat when I saw “96%” written in red on the top corner of my exam. Before I could stuff my exam in my bag so no one else could see it, everyone who was seated around me were staring at me like I’d just won the lottery, and I couldn’t tell what I was feeling. All I felt was adrenaline coursing through my system as my inner voice screamed, “Get the fuck outta there!”
Why did I respond to that “96%” with so much trepidation rather than pride and confidence? I don’t really know.
My guess is that I’m so used to being an academic failure that I can’t believe I’m not an academic failure anymore. I’m also terrified of holding higher and higher expectations for myself. I’m terrified of having any sort of confidence. I’m terrified of getting “over-confident” then getting humiliated. I’m terrified of having any sort of big, long-term goals, because… well… I grew up being told by everyone around me that I would never live through high school, no matter how hard I tried, because of the way my genetic code was written.
In other words, I was born genetically fucked-up. Genetically inferior. Destined to die a horrible death in the hospital at a very young age. And yet… here I am.
In fact, as I type this, I’m sitting in the student wellness center of CU Denver, looking west across the greenspace at the Tivoli building, people-watching. I finished my second biology exam about an hour ago, and there’s a small part of me that feels good about it. However, I’m still suppressing my slight urge to celebrate early (something, something, never count your chickens before they hatch).
I’ve been sitting here silently for awhile now, just staring off into space. I can’t honestly believe that I’m here. It feels like something went horribly wrong in my past that resulted in me becoming the impossible: a healthy, successful university student. Why do I feel this way? Why would I call literal miracles of God “horrible”? Why do I still believe that the life I’m living today is “impossible”?
Despite years of therapy at this point, I still hold onto the prospect of an early death like a “security blanket”. Of course, I never wanted (or want) to die, especially in such a brutal and excruciating way as suffocating to death on my own mucus in the hospital. But, at least I knew- or felt like I knew- how my time on earth would end. There was a deep sense of security and peace in knowing, almost for certain, that I would kick the bucket sometime in my teens or twenties (or thirties, if I was lucky) for no reason other than my shitty genetics.
But now… I’m still alive. At twenty-three years old (almost twenty-four), I’m as healthy as I could possibly be, sitting in the student wellness building after turning in my second Biology exam early, silently wondering, “What the fuck?” as I listen to Johnny Cash singing “Personal Jesus” and furiously type these words onto a dirty screen.
I wasn’t supposed to make it this far.
After today’s appointment at National Jewish:
The more I learn about how Biology is supposed to work, and compare it to how my body worked (and still works), the more I realize just how bad my health really was, and how tenuous it still is. Just today, my doctor and I discussed my GI-tract issues. To put it crudely, I’m quite literally full of shit. Rock-hard shit, too.
“This is a common problem for people like you.” Dr. Saavedra said, “Good news is, there are lots of ways to treat this without surgery.”
“Such as?” I asked, ready to take notes.
“Medications. CF-specific GI tract medications.” she smiled, “They’re kind of like Miralax, but much more targeted. You’re a BioTech major now, right?”
“I am.”
“Well, let me give you a little technical lesson on what’s going on with your colon.”
Long story short, Dr. Saavedra explained to me (in much more technical terms) that due to the dehydrating nature of Cystic Fibrosis, my colon’s slowly been collecting shit like arteries collect cholesterol. Miralax, a common laxative I know all too well, takes to that collection of shit like an ICBM. It may help clean me out, but it will disrupt my daily life and make me feel crappy in the process.
However, there are gene-specific medications out there that target the CFTR gene (the gene in my code that’s fucked up and causes CF in the first place) in the cells of my colon. These medications may help my colon cells retain more sodium, so there’s more water and energy for those cells to move the shit out of my system, and keep more from piling up.
“Basically, these are like blood-thinners, but for my colon?” I asked Dr. Saavedra after her little lecture.
“Exactly!”
“Cool. When should I try them?”
“How about over Spring Break?” my doctor suggested, “It could take you a while to figure out which of the three medications work best for you.”
“Perfect!”
“Alright. I’ll get that prescription for you.” she said as she scribbled down a note, “In the meantime, start experimenting with smaller doses of Miralax. We don’t want this issue getting any worse. But we also don’t want to disrupt your studies… Especially since you're working on becoming a lab rat. We always need more lab rats!”
“That we do…” I nodded, feeling my eyes widen.