I'll always remember the challenging moments in high school. It all began in ninth grade with abdominal discomfort that escalated into painful episodes. One night, I found myself in excruciating pain, paralyzed by fear, and I cried myself back to sleep. The next morning, I reached out to my dad, asking to stay home from school because every movement brought pain. At the ER, they discovered an oversized ovarian cyst that needed removal. I hoped that would mark the end of my struggles, but my journey continued with even more intense abdominal pain. One night, I awoke to find my legs completely numb, paralyzed and unresponsive. Eating became a battle; every bite felt like a journey through endless knots. With a diminishing appetite, doctors were puzzled, subjecting me to countless tests – X-rays, MRIs, blood tests – searching for answers. As a sophomore in 2020, I held onto my dream of becoming an anesthesiologist. But then, the gastroenterologist broke the news of my significant weight loss. I saw my mom’s tears, and the doctor mentioned one final test, cautioning that a clear result would lead me to a team specializing in the toughest cases. Fear began to live in me. I envisioned the loss of my dreams: my license, prom, graduation, college, career, and the chance to give back to others. The thought of never experiencing the joy of helping others, of never making a difference, was unbearable. Then, a powerful realization dawned – perhaps this was God’s way of guiding me to inspire others. I prayed fervently, asking that if my time came, my family would not be consumed by grief but rather find strength and peace in knowing my suffering had ended. I pleaded with God to alleviate my pain, the sleepless nights, and the joy of sharing meals with loved ones. The constant fear, the uncertainty of the future, eroded my faith in recovery. The last test, a Barium swallow upper GI, uncovered a partial truth: congenital malrotation. The doctor explained that intestinal surgery could relieve much of my pain and the discomfort while eating. During the procedure, they also discovered and removed another ovarian cyst. The road to recovery was long and challenging. There were days filled with frustration and moments of despair. Yet, through it all, my faith remained a guiding light. I learned to appreciate the small victories, the moments of relief, and the unwavering support of my family and friends. I discovered a strength within myself that I never knew I possessed. I spent the days leading up to Christmas recovering in the hospital. On Christmas Eve, I awoke to a large gift bag from the hospital. God blessed me abundantly beyond my prayer, and for that, I am forever grateful. This experience has profoundly shaped who I am today. It has instilled in me a deep appreciation for life, a renewed sense of purpose, and a unwavering belief in the power of faith and resilience.