I was a teacher, stationed far from home — on a small island only two hours by boat from the city. The island is simple: fish is abundant, the people are friendly, and teachers are still respected. But behind this beauty, there are invisible difficulties — scarce clean water that must be imported from neighboring villages, electricity that is not available throughout the day so residents only use generators, and very limited health facilities.
Long story short, I used well water for cooking, thinking that the heat of the fire would sterilize everything. I carry out double duties - teaching as well as being treasurer of the school's regular funds. Every two weeks, I had to sail to town to handle disbursements and reports.
Until one day, in 2012, I started coughing. Just normal, I thought. But the sharp pain in my left chest made me anxious. I went to the nearest community health center — which at that time only had minimal facilities. An internal specialist doctor who happened to come from the Provincial Hospital examined me and said"You have to take medicine for 6 months, okay?"explained briefly. Then he gave me cough medicine and vitamins. However, unfortunately the doctor only talked to me without informing the TB program officer.
Hoping it would get better with time, my cough got worse. I returned to my hometown, hoping that treatment at the district hospital could help me. But still, the diagnosis hangs in the balance. Cough medicine, vitamins, and uncertainty have become my constant companions. I returned to my assignment, forcing myself to teach, holding back the feeling of shortness of breath that was coming more and more often.
At its peak, I almost collapsed on the cliff. My friends took me to the health center. Treated. Far from wife. Far from family. Accompanied by a feeling of loneliness that is increasingly suffocating.
After getting better I returned to my hometown. Going back and forth between the hospital and my in-laws' house. Until finally, a specialist doctor had the courage to refer me to the provincial hospital. There, through a series of tests and examinations, it was finally revealed: my left lung was positive for TB.
That's when my life really changed.
I started undergoing treatment. Taking TB medication made my body itchy, red, and even felt like it was burning from within. Every night feels long. Every morning feels hard. But it hurt even more when I started to feel the attitude of the people around me change.
Workmate. Friends hanging out. Even my own family. My in-laws' behavior has started to change, at work my wife talks about me, which I fear is contagious. Even though I have asked a disease specialist about the transmission of this disease,"After 2 months and the BTA is confirmed negative, you can mix with your wife because it is no longer contagious.", but it was useless and was denied by ordinary people, the atmosphere in my household was starting to become less harmonious. The wife was influenced by her parents which ultimately resulted in our communication not being good and the relationship breaking down.
The principal asked me to stop teaching to protect the students. Finally, I looked for a school in the city to move to so that it was close to health facilities. If something happened it would be handled quickly, from school to school looking for recommendations for admissions. Until I became the topic of people's conversation until at that time a school principal said,"It's not that schools don't need it, but there are no schools that want to accept it because they are afraid of spreading TB disease.".
I tried to survive. Changing schools, looking for a place that would accept me. But the stigma sticks strong. Some schools even withdrew their recommendations after finding out I was a TB patient. I feel unwanted everywhere. Once, while queuing to get medicine, I heard the officer whispering sarcastically about me. It felt like the world was literally collapsing in front of me.
In the midst of the downturn, a glimmer of light came. An official at the Education Department — who apparently had also fought TB — gave me the opportunity to work in his office. That's where I learned to survive. Alone. Without family. Without friends. Just me, myself.
I wash my work clothes myself. Sometimes I am forced to take dirty clothes back to wear overtime because there is no choice. I continued to take medication, had regular check-ups at the hospital, endured the excruciating side effects, and closed my ears to the evil whispers around me.
After six months of struggle — pain, loneliness, and stigma — the doctor finally declared me fully recovered.Thank God, I'm still alive. I have survived.
But I know, there is a price I have to pay. My household is destroyed. Many relationships cannot return to the way they were before.
Now, I want to convey one message:TB patients are not to be shunned. They need support. They need hope.Because fighting this disease alone is hard enough, don't let them also have to fight the world.
The article was written by Samsurijal as a selected work from the Story of Love Submission
