Ryan White - My Own Story by Ryan & Cunningham White Page A
Authors: Ryan & Cunningham White
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father. I couldn’t help wondering if I was the reason, but I didn’t write back to ask.
In early September I got a change I liked even less. I had to go back to the hospital twice because I was coughing and vomiting all the time, I was running very high fevers, and I always felt cold and tired. When you have AIDS, any fever can be the start of big trouble. Everyone waits and watches you and worries about whether you’ll get worse. Dr. Kleiman thought that I might be getting pneumocystis pneumonia again. I was so sick, my hair got very thin. Every morning Mom would find my pillow covered with straight brown hairs. She didn’t tell me about this; she knew it would really upset me. So long as I had my looks, I could handle AIDS semi-okay.
While I was in the hospital, I had two seizures. I don’t remember anything about them, but Mom does. It’s very frightening to see someone having a seizure. Because I had been vomiting so much, my body wasn’t absorbing sugar fast enough. My blood sugar dropped way too low, and when that happens—well, in the old days, people used to think a seizure meant you were being possessed by the devil. Mom was terrified.
The first seizure happened around 3:30 in the morning. I woke up, and felt like drinking something for once, so Mom had given me a Coke, which can taste good when you’re feeling sick to your stomach. I could only drink about half of it. That’s all I remember, but Mom says that the next thing I did was tell her, “Put this Coke in the refrigerator so it’ll be cold tomorrow.”
Mom was surprised, because I never will drink old Coke. “I’ll get you a new one,” she said, and went down the hall to the soda machine.
When she walked back into my room, I was sitting up in bed, stiff like a mummy. “I can’t see you,” I said. Mom was confused: Was I playing some game with her?
Then all of a sudden Mom saw my eyes bulge and roll up in my head until only the whites were visible. My entire body began to shake and jerk uncontrollably in every possible way. Some people howl like a dog or a wolf during a seizure. I made low, growling, guttural noises.
Mom was the most frightened for me that she’s ever been. She ran out in the hospital corridor and started screaming for help. The nurses were having a party, so no one came right away.
I had another scary seizure about five o’clock in the morning. But after that my vomiting stopped, and I began to improve. I managed to keep up my schoolwork, and I even got good marks in almost every course. I also must have gotten around five thousand letters while I was in the hospital—from all over the country and the world, even Russia. I got more T-shirts than I would ever end up wearing. Someone who’d heard about my collecting comics even sent me a rare, old one worth sixty dollars.
“Sixty dollars?” Mom said. “That is crazy! Do you know what I could do with sixty dollars?”
Some people tried to help us with our bills. Alex Tiensivu, a really nice songwriter from New Jersey, wrote a song about me called “A Little Boy’s Dream.” He came to see me in the hospital and brought me a tape of the special song he had dedicated to me. He even wrote a sequel called “Quite a Sensation.” He was going to try to sell copies to raise money for me, but I don’t think he did very well. A high school in upstate New York put on a variety show called “Tryin’ for Ryan.” They raised a thousand dollars for us and sent us the check along with a videotape of their show. To keep up with my thank you’s, Mom helped me write a form letter. “Thank you very much for writing,” we started out. “It feels good to know other people are thinking of me . . .” I mentioned my dog and some of the things I liked, like pork chops and comics. Even though we had the letter printed up, with a picture of a dog on the bottom, I signed every one myself. My signature got fancier and fancier. Occasionally I made it diagonal, and the “R”
In early September I got a change I liked even less. I had to go back to the hospital twice because I was coughing and vomiting all the time, I was running very high fevers, and I always felt cold and tired. When you have AIDS, any fever can be the start of big trouble. Everyone waits and watches you and worries about whether you’ll get worse. Dr. Kleiman thought that I might be getting pneumocystis pneumonia again. I was so sick, my hair got very thin. Every morning Mom would find my pillow covered with straight brown hairs. She didn’t tell me about this; she knew it would really upset me. So long as I had my looks, I could handle AIDS semi-okay.
While I was in the hospital, I had two seizures. I don’t remember anything about them, but Mom does. It’s very frightening to see someone having a seizure. Because I had been vomiting so much, my body wasn’t absorbing sugar fast enough. My blood sugar dropped way too low, and when that happens—well, in the old days, people used to think a seizure meant you were being possessed by the devil. Mom was terrified.
The first seizure happened around 3:30 in the morning. I woke up, and felt like drinking something for once, so Mom had given me a Coke, which can taste good when you’re feeling sick to your stomach. I could only drink about half of it. That’s all I remember, but Mom says that the next thing I did was tell her, “Put this Coke in the refrigerator so it’ll be cold tomorrow.”
Mom was surprised, because I never will drink old Coke. “I’ll get you a new one,” she said, and went down the hall to the soda machine.
When she walked back into my room, I was sitting up in bed, stiff like a mummy. “I can’t see you,” I said. Mom was confused: Was I playing some game with her?
Then all of a sudden Mom saw my eyes bulge and roll up in my head until only the whites were visible. My entire body began to shake and jerk uncontrollably in every possible way. Some people howl like a dog or a wolf during a seizure. I made low, growling, guttural noises.
Mom was the most frightened for me that she’s ever been. She ran out in the hospital corridor and started screaming for help. The nurses were having a party, so no one came right away.
I had another scary seizure about five o’clock in the morning. But after that my vomiting stopped, and I began to improve. I managed to keep up my schoolwork, and I even got good marks in almost every course. I also must have gotten around five thousand letters while I was in the hospital—from all over the country and the world, even Russia. I got more T-shirts than I would ever end up wearing. Someone who’d heard about my collecting comics even sent me a rare, old one worth sixty dollars.
“Sixty dollars?” Mom said. “That is crazy! Do you know what I could do with sixty dollars?”
Some people tried to help us with our bills. Alex Tiensivu, a really nice songwriter from New Jersey, wrote a song about me called “A Little Boy’s Dream.” He came to see me in the hospital and brought me a tape of the special song he had dedicated to me. He even wrote a sequel called “Quite a Sensation.” He was going to try to sell copies to raise money for me, but I don’t think he did very well. A high school in upstate New York put on a variety show called “Tryin’ for Ryan.” They raised a thousand dollars for us and sent us the check along with a videotape of their show. To keep up with my thank you’s, Mom helped me write a form letter. “Thank you very much for writing,” we started out. “It feels good to know other people are thinking of me . . .” I mentioned my dog and some of the things I liked, like pork chops and comics. Even though we had the letter printed up, with a picture of a dog on the bottom, I signed every one myself. My signature got fancier and fancier. Occasionally I made it diagonal, and the “R”
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