At just barely eleven years old, I had finally crossed the finish line of a several-month-long marathon hospital admission to Schneiders Children’s Hospital due to what my parents had tried to insist were psych issues. The hospital, on the other hand, had proved it was gastroparesis and some other mystery ailments causing heightened levels of inflammation in my blood tests. Terms like dysautonomia autoimmune had been thrown around, but at that point, I had no idea what any of that meant.
My family had recently moved from New Jersey to Massachusetts. This way we were closer to our extended family, like my grandparents, aunt, uncle, cousins, and more. We just wanted a fresh start anyway.
When sixth grade rolled around I started up at a new school. No one was totally sure how things would work out. It was like we had just survived an earthquake and were now … Find Out What Happens Next