Near-death experiences are life-changing. On November 1st, 2005, I almost died. This is something I will never be able to wrap my head around. This is a very faint memory to me but I still remember discussions at family events and the way people treated me as if I was made of glass. As a child, I never understood why people were so overprotective of me. “Your parents just love you so much” they would say, and when I asked for the honest answer, those familiar with the situation quickly changed the subject. My dad would constantly tell me to be kind to people and to give back to those who have done a lot for you. No one would give me a straight answer as to what happened to me. How would I give back if I didn’t know what happened on that November day many years ago? The only thing I knew is that every time I would look in the mirror I would wear scars that were a constant reminder of what happened. By the time I hit ten years old, I got fed up with being left in the dark and forced the story out of my dad. He told me that around the time I was two weeks old, I had a cyst inside my stomach the size of a golf ball. At first, they assumed that because I was a baby I was just very bloated or “backed up.” The screaming and crying were too unbearable for my dad to manage. At this moment he knew there were things out of his abilities that needed to be taken. It wasn’t until we reached the third hospital after riding around Boston in an ambulance that it was more than that. My stomach looked as if I was blown up with helium like a balloon. The crying wasn’t because I was not fed enough, or needed a nap, I was in fact in pain. It wasn’t until all the loud cries stopped and the doctors had to perform CPR for five minutes before rushing me upstairs to emergency surgery. Lots of doctors had refused to operate because I was so small. They opened me up and just didn’t see the point. It was risky that there would be any positive outcomes from surgery. It was a life or death situation. I could either not go to the surgery and get the short end of the stick, or end up with an ostomy bag for the rest of my life. However, my dad told me about this one nurse who had advocated for me throughout the whole process. Although a top surgeon from Mass General was afraid, an intern nurse from Venezuela was confident enough. He talked the surgeon through everything and saved my life that day. The perseverance and advocacy this man took to save me got me thinking about who I wanted to become. They weren’t just marks on my body when I would look in the mirror. But instead, they revealed a story of survival. When I was a freshman in high school, I found the answer to how I was going to give back. I decided that I want to become a pediatric nurse to give back to those who have done a lot for me. I want to advocate for my patients the same way that the nurse did so long ago for me. Being able to be the reason a kid smiles and enjoys life is how I plan on paying it forward.

Near-death experiences are life-changing. On November 1st, 2005, I almost died. This is something I will never be able to wrap my head around. This is a very faint memory to me but I still remember discussions at family events and the way people treated me as if I was made of glass. As a child, I never understood why people were so overprotective of me. “Your parents just love you so much” they would say, and when I asked for the honest answer, those familiar with the situation quickly changed the subject. My dad would constantly tell me to be kind to people and to give back to those who have done a lot for you. No one would give me a straight answer as to what happened to me. How would I give back if I didn’t know what happened on that November day many years ago? The only thing I knew is that every time I would look in the mirror I would wear scars that were a constant reminder of what happened. By the time I hit ten years old, I got fed up with being left in the dark and forced the story out of my dad. He told me that around the time I was two weeks old, I had a cyst inside my stomach the size of a golf ball. At first, they assumed that because I was a baby I was just very bloated or “backed up.” The screaming and crying were too unbearable for my dad to manage. At this moment he knew there were things out of his abilities that needed to be taken. It wasn’t until we reached the third hospital after riding around Boston in an ambulance that it was more than that. My stomach looked as if I was blown up with helium like a balloon. The crying wasn’t because I was not fed enough, or needed a nap, I was in fact in pain. It wasn’t until all the loud cries stopped and the doctors had to perform CPR for five minutes before rushing me upstairs to emergency surgery. Lots of doctors had refused to operate because I was so small. They opened me up and just didn’t see the point. It was risky that there would be any positive outcomes from surgery. It was a life or death situation. I could either not go to the surgery and get the short end of the stick, or end up with an ostomy bag for the rest of my life. However, my dad told me about this one nurse who had advocated for me throughout the whole process. Although a top surgeon from Mass General was afraid, an intern nurse from Venezuela was confident enough. He talked the surgeon through everything and saved my life that day. The perseverance and advocacy this man took to save me got me thinking about who I wanted to become. They weren’t just marks on my body when I would look in the mirror. But instead, they revealed a story of survival. When I was a freshman in high school, I found the answer to how I was going to give back. I decided that I want to become a pediatric nurse to give back to those who have done a lot for me. I want to advocate for my patients the same way that the nurse did so long ago for me. Being able to be the reason a kid smiles and enjoys life is how I plan on paying it forward.

Near-death experiences are life-changing. On November 1st, 2005, I almost died. This is something I will never be able to wrap my head around. This is a very faint memory to me but I still remember discussions at family events and the way people treated me as if I was made of glass. As a child, I never understood why people were so overprotective of me. “Your parents just love you so much” they would say, and when I asked for the honest answer, those familiar with the situation quickly changed the subject. My dad would constantly tell me to be kind to people and to give back to those who have done a lot for you. No one would give me a straight answer as to what happened to me. How would I give back if I didn’t know what happened on that November day many years ago? The only thing I knew is that every time I would look in the mirror I would wear scars that were a constant reminder of what happened. By the time I hit ten years old, I got fed up with being left in the dark and forced the story out of my dad. He told me that around the time I was two weeks old, I had a cyst inside my stomach the size of a golf ball. At first, they assumed that because I was a baby I was just very bloated or “backed up.” The screaming and crying were too unbearable for my dad to manage. At this moment he knew there were things out of his abilities that needed to be taken. It wasn’t until we reached the third hospital after riding around Boston in an ambulance that it was more than that. My stomach looked as if I was blown up with helium like a balloon. The crying wasn’t because I was not fed enough, or needed a nap, I was in fact in pain. It wasn’t until all the loud cries stopped and the doctors had to perform CPR for five minutes before rushing me upstairs to emergency surgery. Lots of doctors had refused to operate because I was so small. They opened me up and just didn’t see the point. It was risky that there would be any positive outcomes from surgery. It was a life or death situation. I could either not go to the surgery and get the short end of the stick, or end up with an ostomy bag for the rest of my life. However, my dad told me about this one nurse who had advocated for me throughout the whole process. Although a top surgeon from Mass General was afraid, an intern nurse from Venezuela was confident enough. He talked the surgeon through everything and saved my life that day. The perseverance and advocacy this man took to save me got me thinking about who I wanted to become. They weren’t just marks on my body when I would look in the mirror. But instead, they revealed a story of survival. When I was a freshman in high school, I found the answer to how I was going to give back. I decided that I want to become a pediatric nurse to give back to those who have done a lot for me. I want to advocate for my patients the same way that the nurse did so long ago for me. Being able to be the reason a kid smiles and enjoys life is how I plan on paying it forward.