I went into Target to go to the minute clinic for a scheduled step test on some random January day. I had a sore throat for a few days. The doctor checked my heartbeat like normal but came out to find a murmur. This wasn’t normal. My mom and I were extremely confused. I thought I was just some 6 year- old girl that would be coming out of target with a simple antibiotic, but I was wrong. 

After many calls, my mom had told me we had a doctor's appointment to go get an echocardiogram on my heart. I sobbed and sobbed as my family tried to comfort me not knowing what was going to happen. I told my mom I didn’t want to go and kept asking if we could stay home. I wouldn’t let my mom take pictures because I was embarrassed, nor did I ever share with my friends what was happening. I was a scared 6-year-old who thought this was the end of the world and my life would be over. To me, going to the doctor always seemed like a bad thing. I thought you would go for terrible things, not for a strep test. 

Once a few weeks passed, it was finally time to go to the doctor to find out what this murmur meant. My mom and I pulled into the Children’s Hospital in St. Paul while my dad met us there from work. We made our way into the cold, confusing place, and I was in tears. It had a smell I knew I would never forget. From the first glance, I could already tell I was going to hate this. I got checked in and the nurse was there to greet me. She took me in for my echocardiogram and was super welcoming. She made me feel comfortable in this environment, as she could tell I was scared. Maybe this isn't going to be as bad as I thought it would be.

  The nurse took me into a dark room with a hospital bed and a TV with a movie of my choice. As I climbed up onto the very uncomfortable bed, she had told me she was going to be putting on this icky, and cold gel on my chest. This was the worst thing that's ever touched my skin. It was almost like I had just fallen right on my face in cold mud. Once we finished the echo, she told us to go back into our original room because they were going to examine the heart pictures. After a few minutes passed, they finally came into the room to tell us what they had found.  I had a hole in my heart the size of a dime. 

Going to the hospital started to become a regular thing for me. I wasn’t in tears every time I would have an appointment. I was becoming more comfortable with the nurses, the environment, and what was going to be happening. I’d go just to get those stupid echos with that cold and icky gel that I hated and complained about each time. But I did know I had to get surgery. I was most likely the most scared little kid you would've known, but the nurses would make me feel so much better. I enjoyed seeing them and being able to check in with them as each appointment would come. I was still a scared 6 year- old though.

As months passed, it was June 2nd and operation day. The day my little 6-year-old self dreaded. Six in the morning as we entered the hospital, the preoperational nurse was waiting for me as she asked me to wipe down my body with a wet rag. This nurse was by far my favorite. I went into my surgery not as frightened as I would have been of how the nurse had calmed me down. She told me I was going to be back in her room before I’d know it.  I remember telling my mom countless times, “I loved that nurse so much, she was my favorite!”

Fast forward about 8 years later after all those stupid echos I hated, or the nurses that had the sweetest hearts, the doctors finally told me I would never have to worry about the dimed-sized hole in my heart again. If it weren’t for that strep test on some random January day or the nurses that made sure I knew I was going to be okay, I don't know where I’d be to this day. After that year and a half of appointments, I realized going to the doctor is never a bad thing. They are here to help and heal us.