I would have never seen any of this coming. I was super healthy, busy in graduate school, and on the cusp of beginning clinical work in marriage and family counseling. This had been a driving force in my life over the past three years and I couldn’t wait. Unfortunately, my earnestness could not overcome the bitter reality of circumstances beyond my control.

It all began one Monday afternoon returning home. My husband was planting fruit trees in his orchard and asked me to join him. My plan was to only keep him company and that was it. Of course, my tendency towards busyness got the best of me and I began picking up limbs and tossing them in the woods. After about 20 minutes we were done and I got on school work while he headed to the gym- nothing out of the ordinary occurred.

A few hours later he was watching “Jack Reacher” as I studied and I noticed a paper cut burning on my middle finger. “Weird” I thought to myself, but basically ignored it. The next day my entire finger was red and my husband suggested I dash to Urgent Care to be cautious. However, that MD sent me to the emergency room instead, and the real fun began. I was given IV antibiotics then discharged on oral antibiotics and sent home. No big deal, right? Well, I was wrong. The next day, having no changes or pain in my hand, I wrote a paper all day for class that began at 6pm. Right before I left to drive over, I changed the sheets on the bed and noticed the onset of spectacular pain that made no sense. From that moment, my hand inflamed with visible white matter palpable growing inside. It was strange and painful and concerning- but not debilitating. I noticed I was feeling overall weird and hurting but didn’t know what to do so drove to class an hour away. While there, things got worse. After taking the quiz, I could barely pay attention to the lecture. I tried to overcome how I felt, as I wanted to be there, but knew something was not right and was getting worse by the minute. I drove back to the ER where the same nurse asked me if I happened to come in contact with a Sego Palm in my yard the prior day? I told her yes and she said, “Oh no. We should have given you a different antibiotic because they have a toxin.” I had no clue what she was talking about as I’ve trimmed our Sego palms 25 years with no issues. Anyway, she said I was developing cellulitis and needed to be admitted to the hospital. By then I was crying and in a lot of pain and just wanted relief. However, I most certainly did NOT want to be an inpatient at a hospital! Tears and more tears were shed as I made my way there.

The next day I woke up feeling ridiculous having been hospitalized over a finger. I felt guilty taking up a needed hospital bed with such an insignificant (perceived) injury. The hand specialist orthopedist I needed was out so I received 4 days of IV antibiotics and got the dreaded PICC line surgically inserted and sent home on IV antibiotics. No big deal, right? I was dead wrong- once again.

After four days, I was discharged and referred to the orthopedic hand specialist. She informed me I had a serious tendon infection requiring surgery. Opening my hand and “washing out” the imbedded infection was indicated and she scheduled surgery the following morning. I got the surgery at another hospital and came home with the most gigantic, Lego-like block to keep it elevated. It’s so bizarre I have to show you.

Falsely perceiving I was now healed and that I was going to be fine, kept me on the path to finishing my last two weeks of a grueling semester. My two professors accommodated me to take exams and submit assignments online. This way I avoided taking an Incomplete from school. I’d worked too hard to be delayed in graduating and my clinical field assignment was two weeks away. I went so far as to type a 1700 word case study with one hand. I was not going to let a Sego palm beat me.

After another week or so, I asked the Infectious Disease MD if there were any other IV antibiotics less dangerous he might switch me to as I already lived with the outcome of Gentamicin toxicity from years prior. He said yes and that if insurance would cover it, he’d start it. It was a “big gun” but only needed one infusion a day for over 5 minutes. (Up to this point I’d been infusing over an hour and a half, three times per day.)

Believing life was looking up, I switched meds and relished the small, quality of life improvement. Surgery done (check), antibiotic infusions more convenient (check), feeling better (check), finished the semester with my first B (got over it and check). However, I noticed extreme fatigue and general malaise take over within 4 days. I was needing to lie down again and this meant digression. What was happening to me?

On Monday morning, my Home Health nurse noticed I had hives allover and gave me IV Benadryl. I was knocked out cold until the afternoon and awoke to attend Supervision via Zoom. I had a rash and fever but got through it. An hour later I had group supervision but needed medical help and called the doctor who advised the ER (AGAIN!). So I drive myself to the ER and sat and waited . I got checked in by someone with a tattoo on her elbow that read, “It is what it is.” I couldn’t help but comment at the timeliness of her body art yelling at me to stop panicking. I waited a couple of hours to see a doc who said I might be having “Dress Syndrome” and needed to be admitted for a potentially life threatening drug allergy. Once again, another setback. I wanted to cry. I had my first real clinic with my own 5 clients scheduled the following day and was devastated not to be there for them (or for myself). This was a long anticipated dream being dashed by every annoying, medical moment. And yet “It is what it is” scrolled like a headline across my conscience.

From there, I got admitted again to the hospital and started on steroids which brought immediate relief to my ailing body. I was hopeful my IV journey would end here. However, the doctor started a new antibiotic along with an old antibiotic I had prior. Not happy, but relegated to seeing treatment through, I allowed it. Within that hour, I had hives allover again and developed another drug allergic reaction. “This cannot be happening” became my newest headline to flash across my mind. After this news flash, unabashed tears exploded down my cheeks. I was done. I was done physically, emotionally and spiritually. I. Could. Not. Tolerate. Anymore.

I ended up being seen two more times by the infectious disease team that day who said it was no longer worth the risk finding more antibiotics to avoid recurrence of infection. My body had all it could take.

I used to really dislike the term, “It is what it is” since it seemed dismissive and minimizing towards someone’s experience. This time, however, it meant for me to not impart judgement or particular meaning to a miserable, four week journey of disappointment. I still don’t understand or like what happened. Yet I do believe it can eventually be used for good and woven into my experience adding credibility somehow.

I’m not completely well. It will be okay. I’m not happy my Practicum has started off like it has. It will be okay. I’m trying to take things moment by moment and look at the good. It will be okay. I don’t need to understand. This experience just is what it is.