I spent an entire month thinking that ‘new’ potatoes were just that: new potatoes. ‘Oh thank goodness they have new potatoes, not old potatoes today!’, I would joke with myself. My mom was the one, with a giggling voice, that revealed to me new potatoes are in fact a type of potato. Oops.

I don’t, nor have I ever minded being in the spotlight. The spotlight I hate is being so known and exposed as a complication in the medical world. I’ve wondered what it might be like to live a life that doesn't include extensive knowledge of illness brought through personal experience. A life that celebrates cells that function appropriately and completely for a worthy body.

My heart grows so heavy with frustration and sadness whenever I get sick. I want so desperately to get mad—I’m unsure what at, probably anything that will listen—yet every time I do I just weep and weep. Most often when I get sick I’m smiling, laughing, until the pain is too great it scrunches my face as I try to hide. Usually I can still smile or sing.

My least favorite part about it all is feeling wasted. Wasted time, wasted space, wasted energy, wasted days. Being sick and unable to live, live how you want, is something I hate. I’m working on a floor right now where patients are learning to adjust to a forever altered mental and physical state. Many will never be able to walk again, regain their memory, or fine motor skills. Watching people cope with that is so hard. It’s a space I feel I cannot sugar coat, not that I’d ever want to. Yet, it’s a space that needs more hope, even just a drop; a different kind of heartbreak. But these people are champions. Their resiliency and vulnerability in the face of a seemingly hopeless situation brings me to my knees.

No matter how sick or broken you are, you’re never a waste. Even while that feeling chases and corners you, naked and frozen on a hardened floor, own your space.