What exactly is the concept of being sick? Is being ill the same as having an illness? Why? Why anything? Why is there anything? Why is there life, love, hate, death? What’s the point? Why can’t it just end?
These are all questions that I asked myself when I was preparing myself for what was a grueling workout for myself pre-transplant. For example, getting from my car to the front door… Getting on top of and down from my slightly too high of a bed… Walking from class to class… Getting out of the shower… Singing a song. These are all things I did pretty much daily, and still do, but now I don’t even think about it.

I don’t know if I was just thinking of a reason to be mad, or a reason not to be. To quote one of my favorite movies/books A Walk to Remember “I don’t need a reason to be angry with God.” I didn’t want to be, but I just couldn’t figure out how something all powerful and knowing could put someone through this so called torture knowing well what it was like. It made me question my faith a lot, not on whether or not I believe in God or not, but whether he is a merciful, just, and great man, or a lesser man than he had been made out to be all of my Catholic childhood.