Freshman year of high school is when a lot of people start collecting firsts. First party. First drink. First real heartbreak.
My first was a little different. It was the first, and only, time I almost died.
Not almost died in the way people say when a car drifts a little too far into their lane. I mean, in the way where my childhood priest read me my last rites while my friends and family stood around me, and somehow, I still survived.
I’ve always been pretty injury prone. Before I was even in middle school, I had dealt with multiple severe ankle sprains. In sixth grade, I shattered my kneecap. In seventh grade, I broke my wrist playing basketball.
The wrist required surgery, and doctors put pins inthatwouldhavetocome out a few weeks later. Being a naive kid, I decided that the obvious next step was to go on a beachside vacation in Florida with a friend.
I love the ocean, but it is not the best place for a non-waterproof cast. We wrapped it as tightly as we could, but water still found a way in. Eventually, that led to an infection.
Due to the infection, when it was time for the pins to come out, my orthopedic surgeon looked like he was trying to start a lawnmowerwithmyarm. After about five excruciatingly long minutes of tugging, and my ICU nurse mother passing out, the pins were out. We thought that was the end of it.
It was not. About a year later, I started having severe lower back and hip pain. I thought it was the sciatic nerve, so I tried to stay off my feet and wait it out. Instead, it got worse. Walking became more difficult, and I ended up in the ER. Doctors found an infection in my blood, but for weeks, they could not find where it was coming from.
Eventually, after a long run of unhelpful tests and a last rites ritual, they found it: osteomyelitis in my pelvis, most likely caused by the wrist procedure. Due to the infection building immunity over the course of my treatment, the doctor told me it would likely eventually resurface, and if it did, they would have to “fight it again.”
I remember thinking he seemed nervous about what the outcome would be next time.
After surgery to remove an infected sliver of my pelvis about the length of a pencil, I was put on IV antibiotics and other medications. Eventually, I made a full recovery and the infection has not resurfaced since.
The overall experience inevitably changed me, though. I realized that in many ways, I am not in control of my own life. I make decisions, but sometimes life hits in a way that forces you to react.
At some point, I decided I would rather react to things that felt negative with curiosity than bitterness. If I don’t know the future, then I don’t think it’s my place to decide whether something bad will stay bad. That probably sounds more philosophical than I mean it to, but it has become a mindset I still practice today.
I don’t think almost dying made me fearless, and it definitely did not make me blindly optimistic. But it did make me better at looking at bad situations without immediately assuming they will stay bad forever. For that, I am extremely grateful.