When the only way out is through.

Before, I made sure that my leggings were immaculate before going through airport security. I brought makeup onto the plane, and touched up my under eye circles after the flight. I packed bags of popcorn, drank sparkly soda in tiny plastic cups, and snacked on those little cookies that they pass out to you for free.

After, I trade an attempt at thriving for the need of surviving.

After, I lay on the floor at the airport. Strong antibiotics course through my system. I try to stand up and my body shakes. My mom heads to the ticket counter to find me a wheelchair. She holds my daughter’s hand and makes it a fun running game. I close my eyes and wish I had a weighted eye pillow. The kind person pushing a wheelchair approaches, and they get me onto the plane.

Remember these angels from the year 2024? Let’s call him Angel #4.

I pray that the person sitting next to my family switches seats with me. Miraculously, he does. A tall man who paid for an aisle seat swaps me for a window. “Of course,” he says, with zero hesitation.

“Can I pay you for your seat?” I ask - he waves me away, and I mark him as Angel #5 in my head.

I make it through. I get through the plane ride; my daughter sleeps the whole way, and I sniff essential oils to combat nausea. My dad picks us up. We make it to the AirBnB.

I make it through the second round of antibiotics. I am exhausted. I lay down every opportunity I get. I experience pins and needles, tingling in all my fingers and legs and toes: I’ve developed neuropathy.

I push through: I walk through my altered nervous system. I walk around the capitol. I eat some food. I give hugs. I cry to my mom.

I come off as seemingly normal. I feel like the dog meme, sitting in the middle of giant flames, except I’m the only one who can see the flames. The only way out is through, and no one can fight this fire for me.

And yet: It’s been over a week since I finished the second round of antibiotics. My symptoms have yet to return.

Am I through it?

I pray, not to my new angels, but to whatever universe holds my health in its hands.