I still kept a lot of secrets, such as what I really do to treat my disease, or what my hobbies were. But once I started telling dirtbike and hunting stories, more guys began to approach me with little things like, "Hey, if I get my truck fixed, will you go riding with me someday?". I was too young and busy with life to even think about dating, and I think they knew it. 

After Christmas break, I began to get sick again in January. A few students noticed that I was more tired and less hungry than usual. In fact, a few of them noticed before I even cared to put much thought into it, and asked me if I was ok. My anatomy teacher had also been watching me closely, and a couple weeks before I got sick, and a few minutes before the bell rang for class, she pulled me into the chemistry room and closed the door. She said she was battling a rare stomach cancer, but hadn't told anyone else, and she also asked me to keep it a secret. I agreed, and thanked her for acting as a sort of support. She was the only teacher who didn't really question it when I didn't get in my work while I was sick. She was the only teacher in my history to actually understand what I was going through in a way.

A week before I dropped out, I could hardly keep my illness invisible. I struggled to climb the stairs I was climbing with ease before. I was more distant in class, and didn't raise my hand nearly as often. I didn't tell nearly as many jokes as I did before, or interact with my table at lunch nearly as much. People were concerned, but couldn't help since I didn't even know what was wrong. All I knew is that I was feeling terrible, and I was scared to tell anyone about my illness.

The week I dropped out, my doctors did the usual tests, and found there was Pseudomonas in both my sinuses and my lungs. They listened to my breathing, and it was so bad that they could feel my chest rattle. The infection was deep, and they decided we'd hit this infection with everything we had. I was on three different antibiotics, as well as the medication my mom found out about. Those antibiotics destroyed my digestive system to the point I wasn't digesting anything, and the antibiotic I breathed in dried everything up. I was bleeding constantly, and would have to change shirts after coughing fits and nose bleeds. I was rapidly losing weight and hope, and I was beginning to reflect on life as if it was coming to an end. 

I remembered all of the CFers who were sick and had died before me. I remembered their faces, since I interacted with them over social media. Every week, at least one CFers died from Pseudomonas. I saw them in my nightmares, and I began to look like them myself. I wasn't the girl I remembered. I was skinny, pale, with thin stringy hair and sunken eyes. I couldn't stay standing for longer than 5 minutes, or stay awake for longer than an hour. I ate only because I had to, and every meal crippled me. But, after a month of this, I successfully killed Pseudomonas again, and was on the road to recovery.