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Make your life count


AFTER SUFFERING A LIFE THREATENING DISEASE THROUGH EARLY CHILDHOOD AND SURVIVING, IT WAS ONLY THROUGH A MOMENT OF ADVERSITY THAT I DISCOVERED AN APPRECIATION OF THE LIFE THAT I HAVE.


BY JAMES JESSON I


sat in a plastic chair, my little legs hanging in the air unable to touch the ground. I was waiting in a doctor’s surgery for my appointment, a three-


year-old with my whole life ahead of me. Little did I know, with my sickly face and heavily bloodshot eyes, that I would be forever indebted to the pudgy man sitting at his desk only 15 metres away. He saved my life. I was suffering from Kawasaki


Syndrome, a relatively rare disease, with only a handful of young children diagnosed with it in Australia at the time. The syndrome is mainly found in young children and it dilates blood vessels, placing immense strain on vital organs. Treatment requires constant hospital visits and infusions of gamma globulin, white blood cells to combat the infection. It left me with no physical scars; its


effects were more psychological. I still vividly remember screaming hysterically at weekly blood tests and being petrified of hospitals or the smell of antiseptic. The hospital lifestyle also meant for a year afterwards I couldn’t go to sleep unless someone else was in the room with me. Thirteen years on, when I was 16, all


Australian families affected by Kawasaki Syndrome were invited to a conference in Melbourne. Its purpose was to discuss long term ramifications of the disease and for specialists to monitor the progress of


“ ”


Children my age had suffered aortic aneurisms, the bursting of blood vessels of the heart, at a young age. This meant they would never be able to do any strenuous physical activity or live the life I could. Others were confi ned to wheelchairs because their young bodies had given way under the stress.


survivors. I didn’t go. Instead, I decided to go to the football. One experience can shape your life. For


me, this was it. My mother had attended the forum and,


when she returned home, I sarcastically asked her how it was. She heard the comment but couldn’t manage a smile. Then she told me what had happened, sparing no details. I had expected the survivors to be the same as me, able bodied and full of life. They weren’t. Children my age had suffered aortic


aneurisms, the bursting of blood vessels of the heart, at a young age. This meant they would never be able to do any strenuous physical activity or live the life I could. Others were confined to wheelchairs because their young bodies had given way under the stress. More shockingly perhaps was the news that some sufferers had been laid to rest in the cold earth, dead before their time. I was in the lucky minority.


That night, I sat in a darkened room pondering my life and everything I took for granted – things as simple as socialising with others or walking. I had never felt unworthy of anything before that night, but honestly, at that stage, I felt unworthy of being alive. I could lead a normal life while others couldn’t. I vowed from that moment forth that I


would take every opportunity I was given and, if confronted with a situation that would take me away from my comfort zone, I’d do it – not just for myself, but for all those kids at the forum who would never have the chance to be in my position. I turn the key and the engine cuts. I


slam the door, grab my hockey gear and head over to join my team. The traffic had been horrendous. As I step onto the field, my coach


catches sight of me. Frantically blowing his whistle he waddles his large frame towards me. The dopey smile that was


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sitting on my face through the traffic jam didn’t waver, even as he started shouting, revealing a relatively toothless mouth. “Jesson!” he yelled, “You’re late! “Wipe that grin off your face now and


start running until I tell you to stop!” As I turned and started, grin still intact,


he sauntered back to the drill while the boys all chuckled at my expense. I could’ve blamed the traffic and


pleaded my innocence to the short, bald headed man, but why worry about the small stuff? Besides, I like to run – it was something I always took for granted before. As I rounded the corner to start my


fifth lap, it started to rain. I could faintly make out the team running for the cover of the clubrooms through the downpour. A couple of years ago I would’ve done the same. My coach yelled at me some more,


“Jesson, come in out of the rain!” I turned without breaking stride,


flashed him a smile and kept running. The beads of water drummed on my skin and flowed off my hair and into my eyes. They didn’t know what they were missing.


James Jesson is a 19 year old student who wishes to pursue a career in the communications industry. He is currently studying Professional Communication at RMIT University.


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