Growing up I was always the kid that had tons of friends, got good grades, and was involved in many different activities. Whether it was cheer, dance, or any other hobbies I did, I never stopped. One day in middle school that all changed when my health rapidly declined. I went from being the kid that never had time to rest, to being the kid that couldn't do anything other than rest. Being sick impacted so much of my childhood from maintaining friendships, participating in activities, and even simply going to school. When I got sick I got left behind, not just in school but in friendships. I went from being everyone's friend, to the “sick girl” who was on the outside looking in. It's hard to keep friendship alive when you are struggling to keep yourself alive. Although I never blamed those friends, it was still devastating. At that point, we did not know what was wrong so if my doctors didn't understand what was wrong, how could I expect middle school girls too? While everyone was learning and growing together, I was growing on my own. When I was finally back in school there were always comments about how “lucky” I was to have accommodations. The accommodations that I have, I had to advocate and fight for. Others didn't understand that my accommodations are not an advantage but rather leveling the playing field. It wasn’t until highschool when I found Fighting Hard, a nonprofit that raises awareness for rare and chronic illnesses, that I realized I wasn't alone. I had finally found “my people” - people who understood the pain I felt, how I was grieving my old life, and the judgments I faced. I finally had people that I could connect with and be completely transparent with, without being judged. Connections can be found anywhere as long as you're looking. People like the courtesy aids, security officers, and receptionists at school that you never thought would make a difference in your life, but do. They are the first people to notice when I'm having a bad day and never hesitate to make it better. I never would have learned how to advocate for myself without these challenges. As a young girl with multiple invisible illnesses, I look “healthy” on the outside. We always hear the phrase “Don't judge a book by the cover” but unfortunately I learned this the hard way. I might have a smile on the outside, but that doesn't mean I'm not crying on the inside. Although my illnesses challenged my inner strength I do not believe I would be this prepared for the future, without it. I now value every moment I get to spend with others because you never know when that can be taken away, so I live everyday to the fullest. Despite all my illnesses took from me it taught me to value relationships, always think about how my actions will affect others, advocate for myself, and never give up.

Imagine waking up one morning in unbearable pain, without being able to feel your neck or arms. That unbearable pain becomes your life for the next 7 years. Day after day, wanting to die, being told repeatedly that nothing was wrong, you were simply “crazy”. Specialist after specialist, test after test, yet nothing. Absolutely nothing. Your hope slowly begins to drift away. I didn't have to imagine this, it is my reality. That was until I was diagnosed with an incurable disease, Complex Regional Pain Syndrome, known as the “suicide disease”. CRPS is the worst known pain to humans, according to the McGill Pain Index. At first, I was reassured that if I went to 7 therapy sessions a week I would be fine. As years passed nothing changed, I was still in terrible pain all of the time despite trying every known treatment. I was out on home instruction, lost most of my friends, couldn't participate in any of my favorite activities, and was barely surviving. The pain continued to win and my hope was dwindling when I convinced my mom a service dog was the right choice. Coming from a single-parent household with a medically complex child doesn't leave room for any extras. Fundraising was the only option. We put the deposit down and less than a year later I was matched, which was shocking considering we were told it would be around a two-year wait. We later traveled almost 600 miles to meet my soon-to-be service dog and to finalize our training. The second I met him I knew he was my second chance, so I named him Chance. Chance quickly became my lifeline, independence, and reason to keep fighting despite it all. Two months later I thought it was just another day, another doctor but this one was different. Dr.Klinge, the neurosurgeon, came into the room, read my medical history, listened to my symptoms, and believed me! She saw something that no one else did, the thing my mom and I were seeing all along—a tethered spinal cord and Chiari Malformation. Surgery was scheduled for less than a month later. She had my entire life in her hands, one wrong move and I was paralyzed. Yet despite it all, I trusted her because she trusted me. Although the surgery successfully untethered my spine, I still have daily struggles that I continue to work through, and will for the rest of my life but I wouldn't change a thing. Throughout the entire hospital stay, Chance stayed by my side, never wavering. He laid on me when I cried, licked my face until I laughed, and stayed strong for me when I couldn't. I would not be here today, applying to college, finally living -not just surviving– if it wasn't for him. I credit so much to Chance, he gave me not only my independence back but also my normalcy. Although this journey has not been an easy one, I wouldn't trade it for the world. It has empowered me to share my story to help others so they know they are not alone. I can't wait to start my medical career and be able to ensure that no patient feels the way I did. I will be the person I waited so long for, the person who knows what it's like to not be believed. I realized through the challenges, the times you want to break down and cry, the times you do break down and cry, the times you want to give up– those are the times when you grow. This is my second chance.

Imagine waking up one morning in unbearable pain, without being able to feel your neck or arms. That unbearable pain becomes your life for the next 7 years. Day after day, wanting to die, being told repeatedly that nothing was wrong, you were simply “crazy”. Specialist after specialist, test after test, yet nothing. Absolutely nothing. Your hope slowly begins to drift away. I didn't have to imagine this, it is my reality. That was until I was diagnosed with an incurable disease, Complex Regional Pain Syndrome, known as the “suicide disease”. CRPS is the worst known pain to humans, according to the McGill Pain Index. At first, I was reassured that if I went to 7 therapy sessions a week I would be fine. As years passed nothing changed, I was still in terrible pain all of the time despite trying every known treatment. I was out on home instruction, lost most of my friends, couldn't participate in any of my favorite activities, and was barely surviving. The pain continued to win and my hope was dwindling when I convinced my mom a service dog was the right choice. Coming from a single-parent household with a medically complex child doesn't leave room for any extras. Fundraising was the only option. We put the deposit down and less than a year later I was matched, which was shocking considering we were told it would be around a two-year wait. We later traveled almost 600 miles to meet my soon-to-be service dog and to finalize our training. The second I met him I knew he was my second chance, so I named him Chance. Chance quickly became my lifeline, independence, and reason to keep fighting despite it all. Two months later I thought it was just another day, another doctor but this one was different. Dr.Klinge, the neurosurgeon, came into the room, read my medical history, listened to my symptoms, and believed me! She saw something that no one else did, the thing my mom and I were seeing all along—a tethered spinal cord and Chiari Malformation. Surgery was scheduled for less than a month later. She had my entire life in her hands, one wrong move and I was paralyzed. Yet despite it all, I trusted her because she trusted me. Although the surgery successfully untethered my spine, I still have daily struggles that I continue to work through, and will for the rest of my life but I wouldn't change a thing. Throughout the entire hospital stay, Chance stayed by my side, never wavering. He laid on me when I cried, licked my face until I laughed, and stayed strong for me when I couldn't. I would not be here today, applying to college, finally living -not just surviving– if it wasn't for him. I credit so much to Chance, he gave me not only my independence back but also my normalcy. Although this journey has not been an easy one, I wouldn't trade it for the world. It has empowered me to share my story to help others so they know they are not alone. I can't wait to start my medical career and be able to ensure that no patient feels the way I did. I will be the person I waited so long for, the person who knows what it's like to not be believed. I realized through the challenges, the times you want to break down and cry, the times you do break down and cry, the times you want to give up– those are the times when you grow. This is my second chance.