High school was no easy feat. On top of everything changing in every aspect of my life, I also went through 4 major surgeries within the span of those 4 years. I completed assignments in hospital beds and took exams in the window of relief that pain medicine gave me, allowing me to still graduate Cum Laude. I also was able to maintain my capabilities that were expected of me in the marching band program at Brenham High School, and I spent my senior year as a section leader. This train of surgeries bled into my first months in college, but I stayed on top of things, and became Vice President in the Lion’s Club Chapter at Blinn College. I showed up to every event, and volunteered with a swollen face and infected scars. Through it all, I developed my resilience and figured out what field I wanted to go into: the medical field. Many people in my life found it confusing or ironic. After all, I had spent countless days of my life in hospitals or in doctor’s offices. Further, I was known for my art, which skyrocketed during my high school years as I won county and state contests. So why choose to study the very thing that brought me down, instead of pursuing my passion for drawing? Because medicine is personal. I was born with a rare condition called Nager Syndrome, which caused micrognathia, thumb hypoplasia, and the inability to extend my arms fully. At the age of twelve, I was diagnosed with scoliosis that soon exceeded seventy-five degrees due to medical negligence. By the time I was nineteen, I had endured twenty surgeries in my life. Even now, as I approach my junior year in college, I know that I may never be done with surgeries, and that’s a terrifying truth to accept. However, my disabilities have really shaped who I turned out to be, and while my future isn’t set in stone, everything I’ve learned from these experiences will carry me a lifetime. Life is hard, especially when it’s your health that is affected, and no one should go through that, let alone a child. My career goal is to earn my Master’s in a Physician Assistant program, and go on to specialize in pediatric plastic surgery. My continuing education allows me to take one step further towards my overall goal with its funds, because it’s beyond giving back. It’s about stepping forward to inspire the next generation of kids with craniofacial differences, and to provide a role model that I never had.

I have undergone more surgeries in my life than my current age. Throughout high school, I endured three major, life-changing operations, with another minor surgery the summer before college. Yet these experiences weren't without purpose—through my hardships, I discovered my passion. At age two, I was diagnosed with Nager Syndrome, a rare condition affecting the SF3B4 gene. My symptoms include micrognathia (underdeveloped jaw), thumb hypoplasia, and limited arm extension. By twelve, I was diagnosed with severe scoliosis exceeding sixty-five degrees. This isn't a sob story, however. This is how I chose to thrive rather than merely survive, and how I discovered the tool of resilience. When I entered freshman year, my jaw was so underdeveloped that I couldn't open it more than a centimeter. It was positioned so far back that normal breathing was difficult. Fortunately, surgery was scheduled for that fall—perfect timing during the COVID-19 pandemic. Having already experienced 15 surgeries, the procedure almost seemed routine. The results, however, left me in awe. Metal plates reconstructed my face, allowing me to open my mouth to four centimeters. How marvelous it is to create function out of nothing, especially compared to where I started! The immense joy I felt in the following months confirmed my goal: I would help children like me. I shifted my career focus to medicine, which meant my grades would matter more than ever. Having barely passed my freshman year classes, I vowed never to let that happen again. No one said this would be an easy feat. Sophomore year proved especially challenging after moving from populous Pflugerville to small-town Brenham, losing my main support system in the process. Nevertheless, I joined the marching band and enrolled in my first art class. I loved both activities but struggled to love myself. My scoliosis had progressed to a dangerous degree, threatening to crush my heart and lungs. Despite feeling alone, I persevered. I refused to let my disabilities differentiate me from others as I had in the past. By second semester, my teachers recognized my potential, and I earned straight A's for the first time in my academic career. In November of junior year, I underwent the most traumatic surgery of my life: spinal fusion. I rarely could walk or even sit up, enduring excruciating pain for weeks. Significant blood loss left me prone to occasional fainting. Nonetheless, I maintained a positive mindset to keep up with schoolwork because less than four months later, in February, I would undergo aesthetic jaw surgery to correct my offset mandible. I couldn't afford to fall behind. By the time this final major surgery arrived, I was on track academically. Though still significant, this procedure went smoothly, finishing junior year with straight A's once more. The month before starting college, I began experiencing excruciating jaw pain. My surgeon identified a loose plate from normal wear and tear, assuring me the corrective surgery would be straightforward. On the day of the procedure, I asked countless questions as staff prepared my IVs and monitors. They appreciated my enthusiasm, and I went under anesthesia with a smile. I couldn't wait to join their ranks someday. My medical journey will never truly end—a daunting reality. Yet it has motivated me to pursue my biology degree, with hopes of eventually attending medical school to be a pediatric plastic surgeon. Now after my first year of college, I've already applied the lessons in resilience learned, earning a 4.0 GPA. I know everything will work out because I've navigated that uncertainty many times before. I grow every day and remain eternally grateful for the life I've shaped myself.

I have undergone more surgeries in my life than my current age. Throughout high school, I endured three major, life-changing operations, with another minor surgery the summer before college. Yet these experiences weren't without purpose—through my hardships, I discovered my passion. At age two, I was diagnosed with Nager Syndrome, a rare condition affecting the SF3B4 gene. My symptoms include micrognathia (underdeveloped jaw), thumb hypoplasia, and limited arm extension. By twelve, I was diagnosed with severe scoliosis exceeding sixty-five degrees. This isn't a sob story, however. This is how I chose to thrive rather than merely survive, and how I discovered the tool of resilience. When I entered freshman year, my jaw was so underdeveloped that I couldn't open it more than a centimeter. It was positioned so far back that normal breathing was difficult. Fortunately, surgery was scheduled for that fall—perfect timing during the COVID-19 pandemic. Having already experienced 15 surgeries, the procedure almost seemed routine. The results, however, left me in awe. Metal plates reconstructed my face, allowing me to open my mouth to four centimeters. How marvelous it is to create function out of nothing, especially compared to where I started! The immense joy I felt in the following months confirmed my goal: I would help children like me. I shifted my career focus to medicine, which meant my grades would matter more than ever. Having barely passed my freshman year classes, I vowed never to let that happen again. No one said this would be an easy feat. Sophomore year proved especially challenging after moving from populous Pflugerville to small-town Brenham, losing my main support system in the process. Nevertheless, I joined the marching band and enrolled in my first art class. I loved both activities but struggled to love myself. My scoliosis had progressed to a dangerous degree, threatening to crush my heart and lungs. Despite feeling alone, I persevered. I refused to let my disabilities differentiate me from others as I had in the past. By second semester, my teachers recognized my potential, and I earned straight A's for the first time in my academic career. In November of junior year, I underwent the most traumatic surgery of my life: spinal fusion. I rarely could walk or even sit up, enduring excruciating pain for weeks. Significant blood loss left me prone to occasional fainting. Nonetheless, I maintained a positive mindset to keep up with schoolwork because less than four months later, in February, I would undergo aesthetic jaw surgery to correct my offset mandible. I couldn't afford to fall behind. By the time this final major surgery arrived, I was on track academically. Though still significant, this procedure went smoothly, finishing junior year with straight A's once more. The month before starting college, I began experiencing excruciating jaw pain. My surgeon identified a loose plate from normal wear and tear, assuring me the corrective surgery would be straightforward. On the day of the procedure, I asked countless questions as staff prepared my IVs and monitors. They appreciated my enthusiasm, and I went under anesthesia with a smile. I couldn't wait to join their ranks someday. My medical journey will never truly end—a daunting reality. Yet it has motivated me to pursue my biology degree, with hopes of eventually attending medical school to be a pediatric plastic surgeon. Now after my first year of college, I've already applied the lessons in resilience learned, earning a 4.0 GPA. I know everything will work out because I've navigated that uncertainty many times before. I grow every day and remain eternally grateful for the life I've shaped myself.

I have undergone more surgeries in my life than my current age. Throughout high school, I endured three major, life-changing operations, with another minor surgery the summer before college. Yet these experiences weren't without purpose—through my hardships, I discovered my passion. At age two, I was diagnosed with Nager Syndrome, a rare condition affecting the SF3B4 gene. My symptoms include micrognathia (underdeveloped jaw), thumb hypoplasia, and limited arm extension. By twelve, I was diagnosed with severe scoliosis exceeding sixty-five degrees. This isn't a sob story, however. This is how I chose to thrive rather than merely survive, and how I discovered the tool of resilience. When I entered freshman year, my jaw was so underdeveloped that I couldn't open it more than a centimeter. It was positioned so far back that normal breathing was difficult. Fortunately, surgery was scheduled for that fall—perfect timing during the COVID-19 pandemic. Having already experienced 15 surgeries, the procedure almost seemed routine. The results, however, left me in awe. Metal plates reconstructed my face, allowing me to open my mouth to four centimeters. How marvelous it is to create function out of nothing, especially compared to where I started! The immense joy I felt in the following months confirmed my goal: I would help children like me. I shifted my career focus to medicine, which meant my grades would matter more than ever. Having barely passed my freshman year classes, I vowed never to let that happen again. No one said this would be an easy feat. Sophomore year proved especially challenging after moving from populous Pflugerville to small-town Brenham, losing my main support system in the process. Nevertheless, I joined the marching band and enrolled in my first art class. I loved both activities but struggled to love myself. My scoliosis had progressed to a dangerous degree, threatening to crush my heart and lungs. Despite feeling alone, I persevered. I refused to let my disabilities differentiate me from others as I had in the past. By second semester, my teachers recognized my potential, and I earned straight A's for the first time in my academic career. In November of junior year, I underwent the most traumatic surgery of my life: spinal fusion. I rarely could walk or even sit up, enduring excruciating pain for weeks. Significant blood loss left me prone to occasional fainting. Nonetheless, I maintained a positive mindset to keep up with schoolwork because less than four months later, in February, I would undergo aesthetic jaw surgery to correct my offset mandible. I couldn't afford to fall behind. By the time this final major surgery arrived, I was on track academically. Though still significant, this procedure went smoothly, finishing junior year with straight A's once more. The month before starting college, I began experiencing excruciating jaw pain. My surgeon identified a loose plate from normal wear and tear, assuring me the corrective surgery would be straightforward. On the day of the procedure, I asked countless questions as staff prepared my IVs and monitors. They appreciated my enthusiasm, and I went under anesthesia with a smile. I couldn't wait to join their ranks someday. My medical journey will never truly end—a daunting reality. Yet it has motivated me to pursue my biology degree diligently, with hopes of eventually attending medical school. Now in my first year of college, I've already applied the lessons in resilience learned throughout high school, earning a 4.0 GPA. I know everything will work out because I've navigated that uncertainty many times before. I grow every day and remain eternally grateful for the life I've shaped myself.

For the past few years, I've dreamed of pursuing a career as a pediatric plastic surgeon. My dream was solidified when I was 14, lying in a hospital after a revolutionary surgery that would forever change my life. I was born and diagnosed with Nager syndrome, an incredibly rare condition that affects my hands, arms, ears, and, most prominently, my jaw. Until I was 14, I could not open my mouth beyond 10mm. I had adapted pretty well, considering I lived with this disability my whole life, but I expressed interest in fixing my jaw. Surgery would allow my mouth to open by breaking my jaw. It would be dropped down and forward, also fixing my severe overbite, a facial aesthetic that I was self-conscious about. Despite the drastic measures, I was all on board. The immense happiness and relief I had after waking up from the operation still brings a smile to my face. Surgeries will follow for the rest of my life, but I was thrilled regardless. I could finally open my mouth. I could eat, speak, and breathe normally. I decided soon after that I wanted to give back to those similar to me. When I returned to high school, I began to take and excel in health and science classes. Currently, I am majoring in biology and have maintained a 4.0 GPA. I plan to transfer to the University of Texas in the fall to complete my bachelor's degree, and then transition into medical school. In the meantime, I am constantly finding new ways to volunteer both in and out of medical settings. I am so excited to make a difference in a child's life. Revolutionary medicine is so powerful, and I plan to use that power to its full extent for every future patient I meet. If my doctors were able to perform such a procedure, who's to say I can't do the same?

At the age of two, I was diagnosed with Nager Syndrome, a condition affecting the SF3B4 gene. My symptoms that are caused by this incredibly rare syndrome include micrognathia, thumb hypoplasia, and the inability to extend my arms fully. At the age of twelve, I was diagnosed with scoliosis that exceeded sixty-five degrees. I’m not going to tell you a sob story. I’m going to tell you how I ultimately decided to thrive as opposed to merely survive. I’m going to tell you how I discovered the tool of resilience. My high school years were difficult. Over the span of four years, I had four surgeries. Freshman year was when COVID hit, and I was fully online. I had a groundbreaking jaw surgery that opened my mouth beyond the prior 11mm that it was previously stuck at. But upon my return to my schoolwork, I fell severely behind. I finished the year with a poor GPA, and after we moved, I promised myself that I'd graduate with honors. In my sophomore, junior, and senior years, I made all A's, despite having two more jaw surgeries and an extreme back surgery. I realized the effort I'd have to commit to doing because the world doesn't stop. I remained resilient in everything I did. And I succeeded in my goal to graduate with honors. I was extremely proud of myself, and that motivation has stuck with me as I finish my first semester of college. Because of my noticeable disabilities growing up, my parents signed me up for Texas Lion's Camp, a camp for children of all disabilities. My grandfather was (and still is) a prominent member of the Lion's Club, so he sponsored my way through. I got to meet people just like me in this camp, and I felt totally accepted. I attended the camp for two years. When I arrived at Blinn College, I immediately signed up for the Lion's Club. I wanted to help more kids attend this revolutionary camp, as well as help around in my community. So far, our club has worked at 7 events over the span of this first semester. I also submitted an application to become Vice President of the club, and after debates and speeches, I was elected into the position. I've lead my club through many volunteer events, as well as voiced opinions for those who don't want to speak up at meetings. Not only have I made my grandfather so proud, but also my community. People are starting to recognize me for my work in and outside of the club, and it's so fulfilling to be a helpful part of my community.

At the age of two, I was diagnosed with Nager Syndrome, a condition affecting the SF3B4 gene. My symptoms that are caused by this incredibly rare syndrome include micrognathia, thumb hypoplasia, and the inability to extend my arms fully. At the age of twelve, I was diagnosed with scoliosis. I’m not going to tell you a sob story. I’m going to tell you how I discovered the tool of resilience. As an incoming freshman, my jaw was so underdeveloped that I couldn’t open it over a centimeter wide, and it was pushed so far back that I couldn’t breathe normally. However, I had plans for surgery that fall. I would finally have the ability to open my mouth after fourteen years. I was ecstatic. After surgery, due to the large amount of scar tissue in my TMJ, my jaw shifted into a lopsided state. We knew that we’d need to address this later, but that wouldn’t come for another two years. Sophomore year was hard. I moved and lost my main support system. But I put on a grin, joined band, and got into my first art class. I loved both of these, but I was having a difficult time loving myself. My scoliosis had progressed to a horribly large degree, so much so that it was threatening to crush my heart and lungs. I felt so alone, but ultimately kept pushing forward. I wasn’t about to let my disabilities make me any different than anyone else like I had let happen in the past. By the second semester, I had met so many wonderful people and made all A’s for the first time in my school career. In November of 2022, I had the most traumatizing surgery of my life: my spinal fusion. I was in excruciating pain for weeks. I had major blood loss and was prone to fainting. I was expected to be out for maybe two weeks, but that turned into the rest of the year. I maintained a positive mindset to keep up with my schoolwork because less than four months later, I’d have an aesthetic jaw surgery in February to fix my offset mandible. I couldn’t fall behind. And I was on track by the time this last surgery rolled around. Though still major, this surgery was smooth sailing. I knew my capabilities by now and finished my junior year with all A’s once more. The month before I started college, I began to experience excruciating jaw pain. Despite all of my jaw surgeries, this had never happened before. My surgeon pinpointed a plate that had become loose through wear and tear, and he promised me that this surgery would be an extremely easy one. On the day of surgery, I didn’t receive anesthesia until I had been wheeled into the operating room. I was thrilled, and I asked so many questions as the surrounding staff were prepping my IVs and monitors. They loved my enthusiasm, and I went under anesthesia with a grin on my face, mid-laugh. I couldn’t wait to join them in there one day. Here I am in the midst of my first year of college. I’ve already taken the lessons I’ve learned about resilience throughout my high school career and applied them to the now. I know that everything will turn out okay because I’ve lived through that unknown many times before. I’m growing every day, and I’m eternally grateful for the life I shaped by myself. Now, I want to be a pediatric plastic surgeon. I can't wait to help heal others in my community and give back.

Growing up, I knew I wanted to help people. I wasn't sure how, and my dream jobs switched from game wardens to firefighters to physician assistants. But since I was 14, I set my sights on a career in pediatrics. More specifically, I want to be a pediatric plastic surgeon. At the age of two, I was diagnosed with Nager Syndrome, a condition affecting the SF3B4 gene. My symptoms that are caused by this incredibly rare syndrome include micrognathia, thumb hypoplasia, and the inability to extend my arms fully. But what affected my life the most was a total mouth opening of 9 millimeters. During COVID, my plastic surgeon concluded that I was done growing. Therefore, we were finally able to proceed with my dream surgery: getting my mouth to open. I was told that to aid in recovery, an external device would be bolted onto my face to relieve pressure on my jaw. With everything in mind, I entered the operating room with an optimistic grin. I woke up in a drowsy state of mind, and despite my parents' best efforts to calm me down, I hastily reached for my swollen face to feel for the device. In a barely-understood voice, I managed to mumble "Where's the device?" My mom and dad's words rang in my ear, "It's not there." Relief flooded my body, and I blacked out again. I don't remember much in recovery, but I'll never forget that relief. I also will never forget my surgeon entering the room with an order for me to open my mouth. And I opened. My parents cried, and I looked in a mirror to admire the incredible difference. Four centimeters compared to 9 millimeters is the best difference. The months that followed included many PT appointments, eating a whole bite of a burger for the first time ever, and other various post-op appointments. My favorite appointment was the one where I got my xrays of my face. Metal plates replaced my jaw, and I felt like a whole cyborg. But that was the moment that I decided my career path. I wanted to make other children feel the pure joy that I was feeling in that moment. The feeling of healing is so powerful, and it was inspirational to think that "Wow, I can do that. I want to do that." My doctor, Edward Buchanan, did a revolutionary surgery on me that morning that ultimately changed my life for the better. Not only did he provide me with a face I've finally learned to love, but he also inspired me to change other lives. I'm so excited to continue my education to spread healing to others.