Baggage

No matter where you’re from, coming to UNC-Chapel Hill means bringing baggage.

This might mean suitcases full of clothes; or a whole trunk full of all your must-need 4 inch heels and a 24-pack of kimchi ramen (the important stuff); or a boxes full of books, notebooks, and all the cute pens and pencils that are going to make you actually want to do work (so you tell yourself).

Or – for those of you who’ve had a taste of real life (because 12 years of cushy, primary schooling doesn’t really prepare you for the real deal) – that means metaphorical baggage. The kind that will drag you down and sometimes refuse to let you up. The lost and not yet found kind. The ugly kind that leaves scars. The kind that will turn into a skeleton if you leave it in the closet for too long.

I guess my transfer story is that of balancing school and dealing with this kind of baggage.

In the fall of 2012, at 22 years old, I came to UNC Chapel Hill as a sophomore transfer. All my high school friends had already graduated from undergrad, most of them from Chapel Hill, earlier that spring. I was a 70% functioning human being, with lingering chemo-brain that messed with my ability to concentrate; an exasperatingly slow and somewhat painful gait due to dual hip replacements earlier that year; and a requirement of 10+ hours of sleep every night for my body to function normally and not fall ill.

I optimistically started with a full load of classes and had to drop within the first couple of weeks to 9 credit hours. When I wasn’t sleeping, eating or visiting various doctors, homework took up all of my time. I didn’t know anyone but my roommate and a friend in grad school in my apartment complex. There was no physical way for me to fit in any other extracurricular activities – the “stuff” that makes college life appealing. School was more like a job: get in, get out, deal with real life.

This was my reality. But – as with all metaphorical things – this wasn’t apparent to people who didn’t know my situation intimately, which led to some interesting encounters and experiences.

1. The first thing I noticed is that people on campus are really nice to visibly handicapped people. They opened doors for them, held the elevator doors for them and didn’t mind waiting as they got off the second floor…

My first semester on campus, I had a hard time physically getting around. I was walking, but often painfully. My body, wrecked by a really tough 3-year cancer treatment and rocky recovery, was pretty much all skin and bone. And if you’ve been on campus for longer than an hour, you’ll know the terrain isn’t nice and flat.

So instead of taking the stairs, I took the elevators – yes, even to the second floor. I noticed some people staring at me as I got off, their lips tightly wound and their eyes flashing disapproving looks.

Another thing was catching the bus. It’s hard enough to just catch a bus, but when you’re 30 seconds late and you want the bus to wait but you can’t run (because of those darn metal hips), you have to bank on the kindness of the bus driver.

I’ve got to say, Chapel Hill has some of the nicest bus drivers, but I got chewed out once (when I was running late) for not running to the bus. She told me that no one would wait for me if I didn’t put in an effort.

These small things accumulated and it got to the point where I felt like I should just throw on a cast and some crutches or hang a plaque around my neck announcing my predicament.

2. Most of my friends were (and currently still are) in graduate/professional schools or already working, so I wasn’t starved for social interaction. However, I wanted to make meaningful connections on campus, so that I could have memories and make an impact on the Chapel Hill community.

Since I couldn’t participate in extracurriculars, and because I lived off campus, my only social window was during meals. At first I would just eat by myself, fork in one hand and phone in the other.

I was doing fine, eating and reading about the adventures of D’Artagnan and his friends. But I noticed that there was a lot of people just like me: alone with their heads buried in their phones. I figured, why not just eat with some of them – maybe there were others who felt lonely but were too shy to approach a stranger.

So that’s what I did. I took my food and I sat with people who sat by themselves. Yes, there were many awkward exchanges. I’m pretty sure I scared a lot of people. I’m sure some of those people didn’t really want to chat (or at least not with me); they just wanted to eat their food in peace. But then, there were also those who opened up to me.

And from those people, I was able to share my life experiences with them and hear theirs. I met a lot of interesting people that helped me expand my worldview. And I’m glad to say I am still friends with some of them today.

3. I’m just bewildered at the level of commitment some people have to school. To be honest, this is more of a complaint than bewilderment – but I’ll keep it short.

Students who are sick – so sick they are literally walking zombies coughing up lungs – feel the need to come to class. They come and they look like they’re about to die at any moment. I felt bad for them, but it also makes me want to hide in a closet and never come out.

To understand my paranoia, I guess I should explain that in 2012, I had the immune system of a baby. Like I literally had baby stem cells implanted into my body. So any little cough or sneeze could send me into a weeklong period of unpleasantness.

A few times I wore a surgical mask so that I looked like I had SARS or swine flu or something. People would slowly, and what they thought was covertly, scoot away from me, when in reality I was trying to protect myself from them.

I think at this age, college students and beyond, people often take their health for granted because they assume their bodies will just bounce back. Which usually is the case – except for when it doesn’t. I have wanted to take a sick classmate by the shoulders and shake them real hard and tell them, “Take care of yourself!”

But of course I don’t, because I’m hiding in the opposite corner of the room, with my face masked and attempting to hold my breath like it’s an Olympic sport.

4. The biggest perk of having medical baggage…is having medical baggage. Sure, it’s what makes life that much harder. But if you know how to utilize it, it can also make life easier.

Take the Cancer Card. It’s like an all-access backstage pass. It’s like the trump card of trump cards. It gets you admiration, unwanted pity, homework extensions, attention, unwanted attention, a way out of a tough situation, all the excuse you need to get away with anything…

Of course, as I’ve found out living with medical baggage, playing the cancer card is a fine balance between challenging yourself and facing reality. It’s about accepting the situation as just another obstacle that forces you to think creatively in order to move forward in life. It’s about adjusting to a new normal and about embracing every day life. It’s about unloading that metaphorical baggage so it’s not going to pull you down forever.

Overall, I am very glad to have embarked on this journey of unloading at UNC Chapel Hill and with its community.

– Written by Sarah He