Growing up as the sick kid was difficult. I could never keep up with the other children on the playground. I always had to sit down and rest next to the teachers, it was embarrassing. My heart would feel like it was beating out of my chest over the simplest of tasks, and walking up stairs would leave me gulping for air. I was born with three holes in my heart, a Congenital Heart Defect. Specifically, Atrial Septal Defect and Mitral Valve Prolapse. It disabled my ability to enjoy the carefree times of childhood. Instead I was in the hospital, at doctors appointments, or sentenced to the couch to rest. It was hard explaining to fellow classmates what was going on. I was taunted for my disease, and told by other kids, even their parents, that I was lying: I couldn’t possibly be alive if I had a heart defect. It hurt, being viewed as a liar, for something that was seemingly taking over my life. I was very delayed in learning, I struggled to read, write, and solve basic math problems. I remember spending my summers off from school in reading programs and in summer classes to catch up. I genuinely felt stupid, in a world where all I wanted was to do was understand. On top of that I was giving sports my all. However, my heart continued to steal the joy and again, I failed to keep up with the other kids. I cost my team a lot of wins, and even lost friendships. I enjoyed playing, I just didn’t enjoy being the cause for the loss. I quit sports altogether. My freshman year of High School was filled with dizziness, palpitations, and so many unanswered questions. The symptoms that had been following me for over a decade, had only seemed to be getting worse. I had to undergo a heart surgery known as an Atrial Septal Closure. The procedure would place a small, button-like device over the biggest hole in my heart. I held such hatred for my heart. It kept me from participating in activities I loved, lost me friendships, and made me feel all around incapable of learning. At that moment I was grieving a life where I could just be normal. I hated nothing more than feeling so hopeless. Once surgery was completed and I stayed in the hospital for a few days recovering. The doctor informed me the surgery can make my symptoms go one of three ways: help them, keep them the same, or make them worse. We all had a silent glimmer of hope that it was only up from here. I wish that was the case. The procedure had only worsened my symptoms. I continue on with the 6 months of yearly check ups. As me and my doctor continually discuss the symptoms. They truly have done all that they are able to. Living with this condition is one of my most challenging battles. I still struggle with reading comprehension and am the last person you would want to ask for help on a math problem. However, my drive to learn is so strong. I am now in my freshman year of college studying a BFA in graphic design. On top of that I have goals to publish my very own graphic novels and children's books. Looking back, I can not help but feel so proud of myself. I still struggle with persistent dizziness, fatigue, and uncomfortable tightness in my chest. But I have made a deal with myself; never stop learning, no matter how difficult it may be.

I was used to the word cancer by the time I had learned to talk. My dad had been battling a very rare form of it called multiple myeloma, long outlasting any date the doctor gave him. Every life expectancy, “few years…few months…few days” but he always stayed. You could never tell that something was wrong, he walked around with a head full of thick brown hair and a smile on his face. But that never meant he was okay. His treatments were expensive and the bills were piling up. It forced our family into financial hardship and for some time we slept on the floor of my Grandma’s spare bedroom. It wasn’t practical but we had a roof, and each other. My Junior year of high school the doctors gave an unsettling announcement, the treatments were not working anymore. We sat on this information and looked for answers, until one doctor suggested a possible second chance. It was a new type of chemo called immunotherapy, no one knew for sure if it would do anything, but he took a fighting chance. My dad would have to spend a few weeks in the hospital while getting treatment to ensure his body could handle it. My mom spent day and night with him at the hospital. True love is laying in the most uncomfortable chair of your life, just to be close. I wasn’t allowed to stay with him or even visit so I was to stay in our little apartment alone. I was stuck in a constant state of anxiety looming over me. It was a challenge having to juggle being a student while knowing the current state of my father, but I managed. Art was a true escape for me, and always has been. My earliest memories were of me and my dad coloring with yellow crayons in my Elmo coloring book. Creativity always made my world at ease, and momentarily the weight of fear had been lifted away. During the weeks of his treatment, I drew on just about anything I could get my hands on, napkins, canvas, wood, even my shoes. It was a distraction, like nothing else mattered. To the shock of everyone, the treatment worked. Although his cancer would never be fully gone, due to multiple myeloma only being treatable, his charts showed significant improvement. The weight was lifted at last. He was doing well, sending me photos and videos of himself and his adventures at the hospital. Since being released he is still getting weekly treatments but his cancer is labeled as manageable. The loom of cancer keeping me up at night had finally gone away. Just last month, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was a shock to us all. I felt once again, the world shatter. It all happened so fast, taking her to doctors across town, discussing scary treatment words. Only a few weeks after her diagnosis she would undergo a mastectomy. I was enraged for her, for both of my parents and often thought: why? Why both of them? In order to decrease the chances of it coming back, she started chemo a few weeks ago. Watching my mother's once long brunette hair come out in clumps was not how I envisioned my last year of high school to go. Although I don’t know what the future holds, I continue to pursue art on a daily basis. Whether it be painting, coloring, or just simple doodles. Creativity has, and will always be my biggest strength through all the hard times.