I experienced my first memorably bad day when I was ten years old. Though this happened a long time ago, the event remains crystal clear. This story starts with a typical Saturday morning; I wake up and get ready, my mom drives me to the doctor’s office, and the old doctor starts the IV for my monthly infusion. Everything is as it should be. While I play on my iPad, the world around me speeds up. People leave the building as the day draws to a close. Even the doctor leaves. The only souls left in the building are me, my mother, and the nurse finishing the infusion. Suddenly a resounding bang greets my ears as the doctor throws the door open. If he was trying for a dramatic return, he succeeded. While the alarm bells ring in my head, the doctor crosses the room and rips the IV from my arm without hesitation.

         “Ow,” I complain, rubbing my stinging arm. “That hurt.”

         “I’m so sorry,” the doctor responds. I have a feeling he is not talking about my arm. He bandages my arm while exchanging worried glances with the attending nurse in the room. Afterward, the doctor walks to her, and the two exchange whispers. Though I cannot make out their words, his face is full of shame.

         My mother tries to rein in this chaos and asks: “what is going on? I thought you went home.” The doctor hesitates, appearing to find great interest in the tiled floor at his feet. Eventually, something resembling a sound escapes his lips. “I didn’t catch that,” responds my mother.

         “I gave him too much Gammagard,” the doctor repeats. “Nearly double.” Uh-oh. Gammagard is the medicine in my IV. It is nasty stuff, even with a correct dose. My past experiences with this medicine have resulted in many nights staring at a toilet bowl. Side effects include migraines, vomiting, itching, and whatever else it throws at me. They are part of the experience. But a double dose? I am terrified.

         As I march toward misery, a countdown starts. Shortly after arriving home from the doctor’s office, this misery begins as my first signs of symptoms show. Soon they rise to full strength. Though I lie motionless on my bed, I feel a fierce battle rage inside my body. My heartbeat reverberates through my skull. My face turns red and hot. A general sensation of itchiness spreads over my entire body. Apparently that is not enough, so I also start to vomit.

         My parents are fighting this battle alongside me, though their battle is mental. Frequently I feel a hand on my shoulder as one of them brings me water or just asks how I’m doing. Through the haze, I hear them discussing how they will torture the doctor. At the peak of my pain, they consider calling 911.

         Only one thought occupies my mind throughout this; “when is this going to end?” Part of me feels it never will. Time passes slowly. 

Eventually, I find the gift of sleep and drift away from my pain. Hours pass, and I wake up to a better day. The sun's coming has taken all traces of the previous night away. Well, almost. My mouth still tastes like vomit and my clothes smell the part. But a quick shower and change of clothes are enough to make me whole again. It is over.

         Though this story is years old, it remains an important reminder: the forces of the universe are often out of our control. Lacking this control made my life feel like a game of chance. One way to interpret life is to see all people as players at a casino. Instead of playing with money, people are playing with happiness. When we win, life rewards us with a good day. And when we lose, a bad one. Every day we wake up and unknowingly play this game, allowing chance to decide our fate. From this perspective, that horrible day I had was simply the result of me “spinning the wheel” and losing.

        This concept sounds like a bad thing at first glance. I certainly felt that way for a time. After that night, I was angry. I felt powerless and weak. Like many others who seek control over their lives, the idea of my fate lying at the mercy of chance scared me. However, people cannot change the fact that many things are out of our control. Take my memorable day as an example. My fate depended entirely on a doctor’s ability. There was nothing I could do. Instead of fighting to control things that are out of our reach, we should learn to accept the game of chance that is life. 

          Additionally, life acting as a game of chance is a reality people should embrace. This is because games of chance are pretty fun. But why are they fun? The answer to this question lies in the possibility of losing. When a person wins a game of chance, they celebrate because it is not guaranteed. The possibility of losing makes winning exciting and allows people to appreciate the times they win. This same concept is responsible for human happiness as well. Just as winning a slot game is rewarding because of the possibility of losing, having a good day is rewarding because of the possibility of a bad day. The ever-present existence of suffering and bad days lets people appreciate the good days.

         As a result, suffering is necessary to allow happiness to thrive. When I recall that fateful day, I remember that bad days are not a curse but a gift.