By June 8th, 2013, approached with all the anticipation of a dental appointment, dragging with it the inevitable obligation of our family’s annual 5K race.
Everyone has family traditions, and the Governor’s Cup was ours. Side by side, we dashed through the starting line, footsteps echoing in the crisp morning air. We could feel how close we were, running all together.
But then, in a heartbeat, everything changed.
A sudden sharp pain gripped my chest, causing me to stumble and collapse to the ground. I remember seeing my dad run back over to pick me up, knowing something was wrong.
This feeling was not foreign to me, as falling down and having to get back up again, even while in pain, was familiar to me from my years in ballet. When I would find myself on the floor in a pile of tutu and tears, I remember hearing my dance teacher tell me, “If it was easy, everyone would do it.”
That fall was the start of a long journey.
Little did I know that I wouldn’t know what caused that pain until a decade or so later. That decade was filled with struggle, confusion, and pain. Just walking to my moms car after school, eating, or dancing- what I loved to do the most- would cause me pain. Each of my many doctor’s visits was a beacon of hope, but as doctors visits passed by time after time without a diagnosis, I grew more and more disappointed – and hopeless..
That all changed a year ago- spring 2023 – when I was diagnosed with not one but two chronic and rare illnesses, an unexpected curveball that sent me on a journey to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. (Not the most luxurious spring break destination, I promise you).
The diagnosis marked the beginning of a period of uncertainty, many medical procedures, and extended stays far away from the comfort of Guadalupe Hall.
But this is not a story of my illness. Nor is it a story of the incredible doctors and nurses at Mayo. The story that I want to share is about the compassion in our Carroll Community.
As I grappled with the physical and emotional toll of my conditions, what unfolded was a testament to the power of compassion within our Carroll community. In my time of need, the professors and students at Carroll, true saints, rallied around me, offering support and kindness that went above and beyond what they would have been “required” or “expected” to provide.
During my long recovery I quickly found out what kindness was.
The understanding and flexibility shown by my professors allowed me to navigate the inevitable academic challenges that happened during my absences. Their genuine concern for my well-being went far beyond the typical student-teacher relationship, creating an atmosphere of empathy and care that was truly heartwarming.
Kaitlyn Ruch
I quickly found out what kindness was.
While stuck in three-star hotel rooms in Rochester, I received countless emails from professors, expressing their support and prayers.
“The number one thing you should be focused on right now is your health, so please don’t stress about missing a few classes.”
“I’m grieved to hear this. Please keep me updated, and I will keep you in prayer.”
As a type-A student, the thought of falling behind in school made me almost as sick to my stomach as the anesthesia. Professors extended deadlines and even waived final exams. They cared for me not just for school, but for life.
Equally comforting was the way my fellow students reached out with words of encouragement, prayers, and even the simple act of just checking in.
When I arrived back on campus, I remember walking into the CUBE and being met by hugs and warm greetings alike.
“Kaitlyn! It’s so good to see you! How are you doing?”
Once, at a campus ministry retreat, one of my friends simply let me cry in her arms. She reassured me that it was OK to be feeling the pain I felt. In that moment, she was more than just a classmate.
This experience has led me to reflect on the importance of kindness in every person’s life. The kindness we share can create a visible impact, making moments of darkness just a little less dark.
My struggle has taught me a lot about medical procedures, even more about the anatomy of the vascular system, and definitely too much about Rochester Minnesota.
But most importantly, my journey taught me that every person we pass by in the CUBE or sit next to in lectures is facing their own set of challenges.
We truly don’t know the impact that one kind word or even just a smile might have on someone who is suffering. Now when I see a friend a little bit quieter than usual, I know that I can be that shoulder to cry on, or that person to listen to their struggles.
I now can more fully embrace giving this love and care to others the way they cared for me in my time of need.
I now think I understand, from the inside out, the words inscribed above the All Saints Chapel doors:
“Without cost you have received; without cost you are to give.” Matthew 10:8
