In the late afternoon of March 24, 2018, I find myself in the emergency room at Oschner Hospital unable to process the severity of the situation. I can smell the sterilization wipes, and I see the blinding, white, fluorescent lights that hang from the ceiling. I am rushed from room to room as more and more tests are done: cat scans, ultrasounds, and x-rays. I don’t know how long I have been here; it feels like hours. I can feel the lingering heaviness in the air and the overwhelming sense of sickness and despair, while my stomach is in knots. Twisting and turning in excruciating pain, I cannot seem to find any comfort in the pain medications I receive, causing me to become anxious. Trying to hold back any tears that I have, I turn to my mom, who is trying to mask her concern, and I explain the horrible feeling in my lower stomach, as if someone is squeezing my stomach with all their might. But, the doctors cannot figure out the problem. My mind cannot focus on anything other than the pain in my stomach, until the nurses come to draw blood. I can feel the pressure of the needles against my skin as the nurse searches for a vein in my arm, making me uneasy as she cannot seem to find one. Finally, the nurse punctures my skin drawing blood for more testing, leaving a stinging feeling in my arm. Afterwards, I am given a mysterious, red fluid that will “help see the results of the test clearly;” still skeptical of this unknown substance, I taste it, and it tastes like Kool-Aid with even more added sugar. Then… we wait. What feels like hours go by, and eventually the head nurse comes into the waiting area, where Frozen is playing on the television. I can hear “Let It Go” by Idina Menzel clashing with the cries of other patients in pain. The nurse looks concerned, but she has to try to mask her unease, so that I do not begin to worry. She says that the test results came back, and it shows that my stomach was not the root of the problem, but it was my ovaries. Shocked and confused, we ask her to explain what’s wrong. She continues to explain how there is a huge cyst lying on my right ovary and part of my fallopian tube; panic sets in. What did this mean for me? Was I going to be okay? Could this be treated? Was there long term damage? I was unsure. She proceeds to tell me, my mom, and my dad that they are able to fix this problem, but considering the size of the cyst, they will have to perform an invasive surgery. Feeling an indescribable amount of fear, I turn to my parents, who are now showing signs of worry. I cannot hold back the tears any longer. I was petrified. And at that moment I understood why surgery can be so frightening, because you are putting your life on the line, when absolutely anything can go wrong, which could lead to devastating outcomes. And, you never realize until it happens to you.

For the first time, I begin to think about what I had been doing with and my life and what path God intends for me be on. I never understood the expression “my life flashed before my eyes” until this moment, because I started to reflect on everyone close to me, my actions, and my decisions. From this moment forward, I knew that I had to live my life to the fullest, appreciating everything and everyone in my life because tomorrow it all could be gone. My perspective on life was forever changed due to something that I thought was a simple stomach virus.