This is my account of the respiratory illness I had in June of 1994. My diagnosis was a severe case of pneumonia (which is the reason why I was admitted to the hospital in the first place) and Staphylococcus Bacteria (which I believe I picked up while I was there) that had attacked the lining of my left lung. I was hospitalized for over 3 weeks; in hindsight, I reckon that the facility itself was not the newest or the cleanest on the market. Nevertheless, there was no way to know the physical suffering that awaited me and lied ahead. I would not receive a simple shot or simply leave with prescribed medication. I was about to undergo something much more significant than that. This was a very big ordeal for me, because it nearly cost me my life. It was a time when doctors were still relatively in the dark about this type of bacteria. In fact, they were still researching and learning about it. A big question mark hung over my prognosis and recovery prospects. The findings were scary and the news was grim. A team of doctors decided that my chances of survival were low, and they thought it best to transfer me to the terminally-ill ward. But I refused to be dead at the age of just 21. I had an overwhelming drive to live and desire to recover against all odds. This piece was originally written back in 1994 but reworked and edited in 2001 to add explanatory detail and additional clarification. It was the most difficult and painful experience that I had ever endured.

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