(Written by Kaylee Colon)

“You have cancer.” The pathologist awkwardly leaned in, searching my face for a wailing overreaction. Behind him stood the goon squad of doctors he invited back in to unveil the big surprise. Mom sat in the corner weeping as the word “cancer” dripped from his lips.

I just sat there courteously smiling. “Okay. Thank you.”

He reassured me I had “good cancer” in my thyroid, whatever that meant. All I needed was surgery to remove the organ, maybe some radiation, and medication for the rest of my life. No big deal. And why wouldn’t I believe him? He was a professional, right?

I went on to spend my first semester of college in the beautiful Happy Valley of Pennsylvania, otherwise known as Penn State University. My life was sublime. More involved socially and academically than I ever anticipated, I began to have a sense of belonging. I knew I was finally on the greener side of things. I felt strong, healthy, and undeniably blissful completely forgetting about that awful nugget in my neck.

That December I was scheduled for surgery, one week after my nineteenth birthday. I checked into the hospital first thing in the morning. I signed those awkward, “in case we make a boo-boo and you die” papers, then patiently waited to be sawed into. I mean with trained professionals on my side, why should I worry?

Two hours later, as I lulled in and out consciousness from the anesthesia I was told my surgery went perfectly. In fact, I was encouraged to return to school for my spring semester in a couple weeks, no problem.

Except, there was a problem.

One morning, during the first week of classes I was in the shower and the walls around me suddenly warped into different shapes. I was in a fun-house with vignettes closing in. Then it happened. Everything went dark. I couldn’t see. My heart was racing inexplicably fast. It felt like I had been drugged with a fatal concoction. I couldn’t breath. I hobbled to my room and fell on the floor, soaking wet. With my roommate and entire hall in their morning classes, I lay there helpless falling in and out of consciousness.

The essential hormones my body needed in order to function that were once provided to me by my now removed thyroid were slowly dissipating from my body. Why you ask? My doctor was in the process of withholding them from me.

“In order to get your body ready for Radioactive Iodine treatment (this is a small amount of radiation that is suppose to kill off the rest of the thyroid tissue throughout my body missed during surgery) we need to deplete your body of all thyroid hormones. You won’t feel the effects since I’ll give you this other medicine. You’ll be just fine. No big deal.”

Why wouldn’t I have believed her? She was a professional, right?

Well, the decision to withhold my medicine caused the episode I had in the shower at school. After mentioning it to my doctor, she insinuated it was my fault and swept it under the rug. Clearly I was some crazy college kid taking weird substances two weeks after having my neck chopped into. Not really though.

I dropped out of school and my health deteriorated quickly.

Sleeping ten to sixteen hours a day, I gasped for air attempting to walk five feet across my flat basement hallway. I adopted a technique of crawling on the floor at a turtle’s pace, but even that proved to be too much. My hands caught long clumps of hair deserting my head in the shower. I lost my sense of taste and eating was now a chore to survive. Never able to rid the roaring lulls of headaches, I forgot what it felt like to actually sleep. My athletic five-foot, two-inch frame soon carried a brand new forty plus pounds since without a thyroid or supplemental hormones, my body was literally left without a metabolism.

Mom would comfort me after work by starting casual conversation. When she talked for too long I barked obscenities in her direction to get her to stop. She assumed I was exhausted and I was. The real problem was that I had literally had no clue what she was saying and I was embarrassed to let her know that. It was like her simple sentences were in another language.

I struggled to translate a phrase like, “It’s beautiful outside” into its base meaning. My mind was deaf from English words. Even forming original thoughts was like attempting to catch a panicked butterfly: simply exhausting and completely unproductive. Trapped in my own body, my only defense was to scream and mutter my needs – just like an infant. Mom did everything she could to dull the pain but ultimately had nothing to offer to my deteriorating condition.

I’m so sorry for lashing out at you through the pain, Mom. My body and mind were gone.

The doctor disappeared. It was practically impossible to get her in the office or on the phone. No medical information could be released to my parents and I had to deal with it myself. Except I was exhausted, living in what seemed like an eternal fog.

During my admittance for the Radioactive Iodine treatment the nurse’s face revealed a momentary panic as she took my vitals. I sat there staring at my unnaturally translucent skin, observing the vibrant color of my veins while she fetched a new monitor. The first one could not read my pulse. Other nurses walked in and their eyes became wide with fear as they looked at my body in it’s condition.

A few minutes later my nurse returned with a second machine and still no vital signs. After a few attempts an alarming low reading finally showed up and not one thing was said about it. I guess it wasn’t a big deal.

I swallowed the radioactive pill and tucked myself in for three days of isolation.

That night I had five extra blankets brought in on request. My body was an iceberg. I lay there alone in the dark as my head throbbed each time my bed automatically readjusted itself. My heart slowed to a point that I consciously gasped for air. I was dying and no one knew. No one cared. It apparently wasn’t a big deal.

All I could think was, “This is it? I lived nineteen years and if I die tonight, what do I have to show for it? Selfish adolescence, fear of chasing my dreams, and wasted drunken nights?” I did something wholeheartedly for the first time that night. I began to beg for my life.

I began to pray.

I had been running away from God and for the first time in my life I began to run toward Him. I prayed and begged and prayed some more. I didn’t want to be another statistic. I wanted to do something with my life and make a difference, impact the world. I screamed out to God asking to deliver me from the deteriorating body I was shackled to.

I don’t know how else to explain it, but within an instant an immense amount of physical strength burst throughout my body. The cramps I’d felt in the muscles of my limbs for months suddenly faded. My heart finally ceased to flutter and began beating at a natural pace. I lifted my head off my pillow and for once, I was not disoriented.

I could practically hear the words in my heart, “You’re not finished. I am here.”

Suddenly burning up under the mountain of blankets, I began to sweat. My head hit the pillow and a wave of peace flowed over my entire being. I completely passed out and experienced my first restful sleep in months.

That was four years ago and in that time I’ve discovered everything I endured was someone else’s mistake. I should have never been anywhere near that lethal condition. My medical treatment slipped through the cracks and because of that I almost lost my life.

I come here today not to vent or grieve about what happened to me. I am not out for revenge or to slander anyone.

I come here to rejoice.

I rejoice in the fact that I am alive. I relish in the thought that humans neglected me. I am thankful that I had to hit rock bottom. I appreciate the fact that I have literally been thrown flat on my back. If not, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

Where is that you ask? Living in a revival.

My body destroyed me. Medicine poisoned me. Doctors almost killed me. Only God saved me. Not I or anyone else could do or could have done what He has done and continues to do for my health and in my life.

Since that time I’ve gone from a full recovery to relapses of illnesses worse than the one before, and back to health again. But it’s through the constant struggle and each tribulation that God continues to heal and show his mercy toward me. Each time I get knocked down it hurts a little less. I embrace challenges in my path with open arms because God uses them to affect how I live in this world. We cannot grow unless our limits are put to the test because it’s there where we see how far we can stretch.

Through all the hurt and the struggle, beauty has birthed into my existence. I no longer sit around waiting for my life to begin. If my life had no purpose, if my story was over I would have already left this Earth. The same goes for you. God has a plan for my life just as He does with yours. So what are you waiting for?

With that said, let me leave you with the important cornerstones that shape my everyday attitude. Through this, God has moved mountains in my life and has promoted me to new heights. I passionately urge the same for all of you.

Do not be afraid to pursue your passions and never give up.

God has given you beautiful talents along with plan for your life. You are the one with the choice to step out in faith and fulfill it. If you love to sing, get out there and train your voice to the best of your ability. Knock down every door, open-mic night, and audition that comes your way. If you were called to be an athlete then work out every single day to be the elite of your sport. Don’t squander your opportunities. You were given them not solely for your own benefit. A huge part of all our callings is to advance, pay it forward, and be a blessing in someone else’s life.

Always be the bigger person and quickly forgive. You never know when or if you’ll see someone again. Tell people your thoughts and how much you love them. Who cares what they think? You don’t know whose dark day you may have just brightened with the words you say. Focus on the moments happening right this instant and don’t worry about tomorrow. God has every day in the palm of his hand. Make it a life goal to laugh as much as possible. Infect everyone around you with inexplicable giggles. Every single day, find a way to do something special for someone, even if it’s for a stranger.

And lastly but most importantly, take moments to look around. Be humbled by every breath that allows you experience the beauty on this Earth because you don’t know when it’ll be gone. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)