My heart hurts.

I could not be more ashamed of the events that took place this weekend. I signed up to be a dancer in a 36-hour dance marathon. You aren’t allowed to sit or sleep for 36 hours. I had to raise $300 to be eligible to be a dancer. At 6pm on Friday night, I was driven to the HPER, a gym in the center of campus, to sign in and get ready for the marathon. We were corralled in a small gym with the t-shirts we would wear for the next 36 hours and our one carry-on sized suitcase with our belongings.

At ten till 8, morale, a committee of peppy people, came to get us excited. We jumped around for about 10 minutes and then were led to the main gym area for the marathon. There was a stage, an area for our bags, a food area, a tent for Riley kids, a jumpy tent for the riley kids, and several tall tables.

Riley is the children’s hospital we raised money for. It is located in Indianapolis. The money goes to the terminal illnesses wing of the hospital. They send some of their more healthy kids and their families to the marathon to tell their story and enjoy the weekend.

Over the course of 36 hours, there are several activities to keep dancers entertained. Lots of bands play little mini-concerts. We learned a 10-minute long line dance. There were some games that we rotated through periodically. And then, there was fooding time.

Dancers were fed for 20 minutes every three hours. This was the only time when dancers were allowed to sit.

When I entered the gym, I was excited, but nervous. My parents did not want me to be doing dance marathon because they thought it would make me sick. After the opening festivities were over, I walked over to EMS and notified them of my special medical situation. In case anything were to happen to me, I wanted them to know what diseases I have, what I am allergic to, and who to contact. Three hours later, they found me in the crowd.

A sweet looking gentleman tapped me on the shoulder as I was talking to one of my sisters. He asked me to speak with him. He led me towards the EMS table in the back of the gym (opposite the stage) and told me the director of EMS wanted to speak with me. He led me into a back room that was blocked off from the rest of the gym.

Tamara, the director of EMS, took me outside where it was quieter so we could talk. She told me she highly advised me to leave the marathon at night. She said that not sleeping puts a lot of pressure on your heart and it could really make me sick. Basically, I was a liability.

I told her I would leave around 1 am. At 1, the sweet looking man found me again. This time, he stood in my eye line several feet back from the person I was talking to and gestured that I come over to him. He came over to ask me how I was doing (he claimed), but he was really there to make sure I left the marathon. One of my sister’s boyfriends took me home that night. I got all ready for bed and hopped on the futon and cried. I just cried.

I woke up and went back. I danced all day and then left at 8 pm for home. I slept the night and got up at 4:30 to go back this morning. The marathon ended at 8 am.

When I returned, all my wonderful friends were like zombies. Bored, confused, tired, and ready to go home, they wondered around to try and suppress the pain in their legs and feet. People weren’t made to be awake, nonetheless standing, for 36 hours. I wished I could help them.

As the festivities closed, one of the patients I got to interact with on the first night presented his story. His name was Calvin. We is 16 years old and confined to a wheelchair. He cried as his mother spoke about him and then he yelled, “Thank you” into the microphone before it was passed to another family. I hope he will remember me. He made me feel better when I came back on Saturday and he came and found me and said hello.

In total, the 700 dancers raised $677,000.

Almost seven-hundred-thousand dollars went to Riley’s Children’s Hospital.

So why am I so ashamed? Because I had to go home. I cant do things like that anymore. It hurts me to know that I just cant anymore.

There are more and more things that I just cant do, and I am not able to really admit that to myself yet. Medical services forcing me to go home is just another manifestation of my not being able to say, ‘no’ to the things I should have better judgment about. Just one more display of people who had no idea there was anything wrong with me being told that I am a sick kid.

I do a pretty good job of telling people I am sick on a need-to-know basis. I don’t want to be pinned down as the girl who is sick. I don’t want to be treated differently. And I certainly don’t want to be barred from participating in activities such as this one. But there isn’t anything I can do. I am the way I am. I am what I am. I am a sick kid, and that is it.

I am ashamed because most of the people I left doing the marathon when I went home to sleep didn’t know I was sick. They must have thought I just went home for kicks. The older girls who drove me home asked me about it. They were curious about my diseases and what they do. I wouldn’t blame them. I am curious about other people’s diseases. But it just sets me apart in yet another way.

I cried during the last few hours. I cried because so many people were talking about how all the dancers can stand for 36 hours, and that is why they are doing it. Because they can. And you know what? I cant. I just cant do it.

They were saying so many nice things that I really should have felt proud about. Who really missed me at night? Nobody even noticed I was gone. But I was gone. I was missing in the action. And it is because my body cannot withstand that type of activity.

I realize I shouldn’t be ashamed because there is nothing I can do. But alas, I am. I am wallowing pathetically in self pity right now.

I think it is obvious that I have not accepted that I am sick and that is the way it is.