Prednisone

I started prednisone shortly after being diagnosed in 2011. I suffered terrible side effects and withdrawal when I was taken off of this medication. I believe this picture speaks for itself!

Boyfriend and Sisters at ITP Walk 💜

Hospital Stays

"You don't look sick." 

Bone Marrow Biopsy and Spinal Bruising

Bruises

I am not self conscious. But I am embarrassed of my bruises.

     They cover my legs. Little fingerprint bruises scattered all over. I can't wear shorts or dresses without thinking everyone is looking at my bruises. I wear sweaters in the summer to cover my track marks from blood draws and infusions. I should embrace it and accept these imperfections; however, I feel as if I am advertising my disease. 

I am not a victim of child abuse or domestic abuse. I am a sufferer of an under publicized, unknown bleeding disorder called Immune Thrombocypenic Purpura. 

Isolation

ITP is isolating. It controls your thoughts and takes over your mind.
     "You're all alone." "No one can help you." "No one understands the pain you're in." "No one knows how the medicine makes you feel." ITP is your own personal demon living inside of your mind. It exhausts you mentally, physically, and emotionally. 
     Sometimes I cannot get over the fact that no one around me understands how I feel. I have to remind myself that it doesn't matter if they know how I feel; it matters that I have support and encouragement to fight this disease.

Diagnosis

I was doing great. My first actual photo shoot. And it's safe to say I nailed it. But that's when I felt my knees shaking and saw black. I opened my eyes to find myself eye level with the ground.

     Instead of listening to my body, I was angry with myself. I was finally given this opportunity and I nearly blew it. And now I was forced to get blood drawn the next day to check for anemia.

     

We were sitting at the dinner table when the phone rang.

     On August 3, 2011, my future hematologist demanded I go to the hospital right away even though my parents, sisters, and I didn't understand why. We pushed it off until the morning. Nine the next morning, I was sitting in the waiting room of the emergency room, utterly confused. When I was finally called back, I was given an IV and several tubes of blood were taken. Just as I was in tears, my hematologist walked into my room. I did not realize until recently how difficult it must have been for my hematologist to tell a proud mother that her daughter could bleed to death. 

     My count was 30,000 at the time but that meant nothing to me. I was informed that I could not play softball anymore which took up my entire life. Every day was dedicated to multiple practices and every weekend was dedicated to tournaments. 

Instead of leading the life of an average teen, I have been forced to live a life full of blood draws, infusions, medications, steroids, disappointment, and hope.