“Lindsey, you have been coughing non-stop for the past five days, and we leave for vacation in two, you are going to the doctor’s office tomorrow,” my dad told me sternly, after refusing him for the past week. I told myself that I would get better, but my lungs were full and it felt like a truck was parked on my chest. I could not stop coughing, and at this point I was worried about annoying the people around me.

Involuntarily the next day, I left school during lunch, and drove to the doctor’s office. They performed their routine of temperature, blood pressure, and proceeded to gag me with a swab in case my problem was strep throat. Turns out, it was not. I could have told them that.

When the doctor looked into my ears, he saw they were filled with fluid and determined that I had a sinus infection. Great, I had to get on a plane in 36 hours and my head would most likely explode at takeoff.

To solve the problem, the nurse came back into my bright white room, with a needle in her hand and said, “Alright Lindsey, you are getting on a plane in a few days so this shot is for the pressure, but don’t worry, we will give you some meds as well.” But she wasn’t finished and proceeded to say, “I have to give you this shot in the buttock.” Of course, it was my lucky day.

I looked at her and proceeded to move my pants aside. The cold disinfectant neatly swiped on and a huge needle penetrated my right cheek. Well, that was easy, but then my butt was sore. They gave me medicine that I had never taken before, but they said it would work fast.

Two days later it was spring break and my best friend, Rachael and I were going to the U.S. Virgin Islands for ten days with my parents. We got our hair cut and nails done after our last class, and then went to my house to wait for my parents to get home. We sat on the floor reminiscing of our vacation together last spring break, and how this one would be even better.

When my parents finally arrived, we grabbed our suitcases and headed to the airport. Our flight was leaving at 3 a.m. so we were going to sleep at the airport hotel for a few hours. While at dinner, I started feeling itchy. I felt the back of my ears and they felt swollen, and I could not stop scratching.

“What are you doing, Lindsey?” My step-mom, CJ, asked.

“My ears are super itchy and they have big bumps,” I anxiously said.

CJ figured it was just from the haircut and that the shampoo they used bothered my skin. I tried not to worry about it, but the itching continued.

The itching continued on my arms and back as well. I did not take my antibiotics that night, but I did take a big dose of Benadryl. I took a shower in case it was the shampoo, and I somehow fell asleep that night.

My alarm rang a few hours later, alerting Rachael and I that we had to get up to go to the airplane. I looked at Rachael and all of a sudden she yelled, “Lindsey! Your lips! Go look at the mirror!”

My lips looked like I just received bad Botox injections. They were huge. Not only were my lips ginormous, but my back was full of red, itchy dots, and my hands were starting to swell. I ran to my parent’s room down the hall and knocked anxiously on the door.

“Dad! Look! My lips are huge and I am red and itchy everywhere, and my hands are swelling!” I was freaking out. What was going on with my body?

My dad told me to calm down. He said I was having a reaction to the medicine and to stop taking it. Instead, I took Benadryl whenever I could according to the directions on the bottle.

We got on the plane and I was taking Benadryl every chance I could. I sat in my seat trying with all my might not to itch and scratch the hives that were protruding out of my body. The hives were not getting better; they were getting worse. Much worse. I was now covered in huge, red, itchy marks, and to add to the reaction, my joints started to hurt. My hands and feet swelled and ached to the point of hardly being able to use them.

My dad and I left for the hospital that was on the top of the island. We sat in the waiting room for what seemed like five hours, but the clock told me it had only been thirty minutes. They called me back, did their routine which was much like my other doctor’s office, and I waited as patiently as I could. The doctor came in with a needle in hand, ready to give me another shot in the butt. At least this time it would help me.

When we were driving back down the island, my joints were rescued almost instantly from the shot. The swelling was already down and I felt insanely better. When I got back to the hotel, Rachael and CJ were sitting by the pool. I ran up and hugged Rachael. I was so happy to feel like I was not dying a slow, painful death.

The next morning, when we were leaving for the sail boat, Rachael slowly walked up to me and softly said, “Lindsey… I am not feeling well. I feel like throwing up.”

I alerted my parents and while doing so I heard Rachael run into the bathroom to fill the toilet with vomit. We ate the same exact thing the night before so it wasn’t food poisoning. Rachael had the stomach flu. When we got on the boat, she threw up again. Thankfully, that was the last, but for the next few days, she did not feel like doing anything, and my skin was still too sensitive to be in the sun. We were in the Virgin Islands, and we had to lay inside.

Our vacation was dismally flying by and we were stuck inside. This was supposed to be better than the year before, but maybe we talked it up so much that disaster was bound to strike. When Rachael could finally eat and my bumps were finally minimized, we went into the sun and had the fun we wished for all along. We made the most of those three non-ill stricken days. We ran up and down the beach like we were just freed from prison. We took pictures and posted them on social media so people could see all the fun we were having, not mentioning that we were sick at all. We ate like it was going to be our last meal and savored every bite.

Although the trip was a vacation from hell, it ended being the three best, most memorable days Rachael and I ever had together. We had a new outlook on life. Every day was going to be better than the last. We learned to savor every day because good days and bad days will come, but the days we remember the most are not the depressing hindrances, but the silly, joyful days.