It was a day I’ll never forget, marking the one-year anniversary of my diagnosis with Polycythemia Vera, a day that seemed cursed with cruel symmetry. Pulmonary hypertension. The words hit me like a freight train, a second blow I never saw coming.

Walking into the doctor’s office, I braced myself for bad news, but nothing prepared me for the emotional onslaught that followed. My mother who only has one leg, usually my rock, sat beside me, her face a mask of despair. Her distress only amplified my own confusion and disbelief.

Despite her hysteria, I remained outwardly calm, a façade masking the storm raging within. How could this be happening? Why was life throwing yet another curveball my way? The weight of it threatened to crush me, but I fought to maintain composure, to be strong for my loved ones.

Then came the moment that shattered whatever control I had left. The doctor’s words didn’t match my expectations; they contradicted what my medical chart stated. It was a cruel twist, adding confusion to an already overwhelming situation.

In that moment, emotions surged uncontrollably. Anger, fear, disbelief—all tangled together in a mess of overwhelming intensity. But amidst the chaos, one thing remained constant—the unwavering support of my mother, who held me tight, offering solace in the storm.

Clutching onto each other, we found a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. Despite the challenges ahead, I knew we’d face them together, armed with resilience, love, and an unshakeable determination to defy the odds.

By: Michelle Webb