Thirty years ago today the trajectory of my life changed forever.
One moment I was a healthy, happy seven-year-old running around our new house playing with friends, and the next I was being rushed to the hospital. I don’t remember much about that day. More like flashes really. I remember collapsing in the first hospital, waking up briefly in the second hospital, and then nothing until the next day when I woke up in the third hospital paralyzed on my right side.
It’s been almost two years ago now that I sat in my counselor’s office sobbing uncontrollably. She looked across the empty space between us and simply asked, “Do you have hope?” I shook my head no. I have no idea what she said after that. It’s hard to hear anything when you are in a pit of despair and a storm is raging.
With some reservations I want share something with you. I suffer from OCD. Not the funny “haha I like everything in it’s place” OCD. I suffer from crippling Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. I hear people joke all the time about their “OCD kicking in”; however for those who truly struggle with this disorder, it is not a joke.