Fearless
It was cold and gray when I left my Jane Austen literature class at University of Vermont and headed for the emergency room of UVM Medical Center. I had double vision and a splitting headache, which I suspected was due to an ear infection or an issue with my glasses. I could have never predicted what the subsequent days would bring.
Many tests later, a doctor came into my room and asked if I was comfortable with news being delivered in front of my close friend, Scout, who had brought me a snack. We laughed nervously at first, then cried together as he told me that an MRI had revealed a mass pushing on my cerebellum – a vital part of the brain located at the base of my skull.
My mom was halfway to Burlington from my hometown in Western New York when she heard the news. She arrived in the middle of the night, my dad the following morning. I lied through my teeth, promising them that everything would be okay. This was the first of many times I lied to loved ones, expressing confidence in a bright future.
My time at UVM Medical Center consisted of 10 days, nine nights, three infusions, two biopsies (one surgical), two MRIs, a spinal tap, a PET scan, a CT scan, daily blood draws and exams every couple of hours. In addition to the brain mass, clinicians discovered lung nodules and inflamed lymphocytes all over my upper body. I was told to prepare for a lymphoma diagnosis. I was terrified and felt helpless as I cried with my family.
I’ll never forget those moments.
I shed many more tears during my stay, but remarkably, there was also laughter. Friends visited every day with food, books, crafts, blankets and things I needed from my apartment. My grandparents visited and dear friends came from home. People I love gathered together – loved ones to me, but strangers to each other – to watch a Bills game in my hospital room.
The people who cared for me and my family overwhelmed me with their expertise, care, compassion and professionalism. Every person we interacted with brought patience, optimism and a willingness to take as much time as was needed to answer our questions and listen to our concerns.
Through every step of my journey, my personhood was not only respected but celebrated. Nurse Tovah sang High School Musical with me and decorated a plastic urinal to hold flowers my roommates brought. Nurse Tiffany answered every chemo-related question that my mom and I had and was one of the few people who could pull us out of what we called the ‘morning sads.’ I laughed with nurses Megan and Maggie about complicated relationships, and they distracted me from infusion nausea by sharing their lists of baby names. Nurse Jean kept me company and comforted me during a difficult lumbar puncture.
When I moved rooms, I was met with cheering -- my new room number was 113, a number significant to Taylor Swift fans like me. How my nurses knew I'd love that, I will never understand -- but I’ll never forget. They listened intently to my fears and showed genuine curiosity about my hobbies and dreams.
The love and magic embodied by this team carried me through my stay and through the moment I was told that I didn’t have cancer. Instead, I was diagnosed with sarcoidosis, an autoimmune disorder that is challenging and exhausting — but treatable through infusions every couple of weeks. It made me sad to say goodbye, even as I craved fresh air.
It’s been three months since I left the hospital, though my friends and I joke that I’m now a part-time patient, part-time student. My 10 days at UVM Medical Center were the most complicated days I’ve had on this earth– full of fear and discomfort, but also joy, silliness and gratitude.
This is only the beginning of my journey with sarcoidosis. But I’ve learned that I’m not alone and that this road will be paved with opportunities for goodness. My mom and I are finding great joy in assigning themes to each infusion, complete with outfits, snacks and treats for the nurses – so far, Wicked and après ski. Next up: Friends.
I’m on track to graduate in spring 2026 with a degree in Secondary Education and a concentration in English. I hope to move closer to home, teach middle or high school English and build a family of my own. I’m reading a lot, listening to Taylor Swift and – until recently – skiing with the same friend who was with me when I learned of the mass in my brain.
Life is weird, but also really, really wonderful.
I’m now being honest when I say: I’m gonna be okay.
Sydney Hewit is a student at University of Vermont.
