The stark gray doors closed behind me with my parents tear-streaked faces still visible in its windows as the nurses pushed my bed into the operating room. I wanted nothing more at that moment than for them to be by side as I bit my lip to stop myself from crying. One of my surgeons did her best to make small talk with me as the anesthesiologist inserted the IV’s into my veins. I then started the countdown that I would never finish, “10, 9, 8…”
As I woke, I stared blankly at the light that illuminated above me as the pain overtook my body. I tried my best to trick my mind into thinking of anything other than the ache and hurt that so consistently overwhelmed me. I heard the hustle of the many doctors and nurses that filled the intensive care unit and surrounded my bed. I felt the touch of my father’s hand as he squeezed mine and listened as my mom whispered, “I love you” into my ear. But I was not really there. I was hidden beneath the oxygen mask that disguised my face and the IV’s that covered my arms. I fought to communicate what I was feeling; yet no words came out of my mouth. I wanted nothing more than for my life to go back to “normal”, whatever that was. I was an independent person and the idea of being defeated and helpless angered me.
My mind flashbacked to the many long days spent at the Mayo Clinic, only to find that my chest was crushing my heart and my lungs. I remembered learning about the incredibly painful procedure where my chest would be broken and reformed, with steel bars weaved between my ribs. I remembered learning that I wouldn’t be able to play basketball for my senior year and that I would have to give up one of the things I loved most. It had always been apart of who I was and helped define my life. But, none of that had prepared me for what I was feeling right then. I dreaded each breath I took, as I listened to the cracking of my broken ribs as my lungs expanded and contracted. I struggled to remember it would all be worth it in the end and there were those who were enduring a lot more difficult trials than I.
A few days later I was finally moved out of the ICU and into my own room, just in time. I had grown to love each of my nurses. Relying on them for my every need created a special bond that I cherished. They did all they could to make me feel beautiful on my special day by washing and braiding my hair.
“Happy birthday to you”, sang my family and nurses as I celebrated my seventeenth birthday at the Phoenix Children’s Hospital. There were no candles on my cake this year, for I didn’t have the strength to blow them out, let alone enjoy a slice. I masked the agony by putting a smile on my face, trying to lighten the mood for those who had been so supportive to me.
“Surprise, Surprise!” yelled my friends as they each stormed into my room carrying gifts and cracking jokes like usual. It truly was a surprise to me on that day. There were so many people who I had no idea cared so much about me. I looked around as balloons and flowers covered every inch of my room. My brother in-law held me as the IV team struggled to find a healthy vein in neck because all the others had collapsed. My sister painted my nails and my friend Nick played his guitar for me. The presence of my dad and brothers warmed my heart for there was nothing they hate more than being in a hospital. And this time I cried. Not because of the pain but because of the overwhelming love I felt that continued to pour out of my room that day.
The next day, after enduring my third seizure, my doctors decided to change my medicines once again. I was constantly fearful as I worried when another one would occur. I was sick of these drugs that occupied my body and caused me to be someone other than myself. I whispered to myself I am strong, I am strong as I was given my fourth epidural into my upper back, for the previous doses had lacked to block the pain in my upper body. I prayed that this would be the one that would work. And it did.
Five days later I was “healthy” enough to go home and I couldn’t have been happier. Luckily, my favorite nurse was there to wish me goodbye as she helped me change into real clothes and wheeled me out to the car where my parents were waiting. This was the next step in my recovery as I was excited that I could breathe normally without putting strain on my fragile heart and lungs. On the way home I sat, looking out the window, reflecting on my journey. I couldn’t but help to recognize the Lord’s hand in my life. He prevented further harm from occurring in my life by allowing the doctors to find the problem when they did. I was blessed to reside in the state where the most renowned doctor who specialized in my condition held her practice. I was blessed to have parents who were in tune with the spirit and to knew what to do in order to help me. There were so many things from my experience that proved to me how much of a purpose I have. This was my new beginning and this was the new me, a woman of steel. If I could do this, I could do anything. 
