Pain. A stabbing pain in the pit of my stomach was just the beginning of a terrifying experience I would never forget. At 11 years old, I was just an average, healthy sixth grader. One average Friday night, I was sitting on the couch, watching TV, and taking the load off from a long day of elementary school. I remember the day so clearly. My mom was in the kitchen, so I called to her and informed her that my stomach hurt. She handed me a few Tums and figured I’d be okay. Neither of us knew that the cause of my stomach ache would eventually turn into a horrifying experience that no one would soon forget.

I went to sleep that night, but when I woke up in the morning and with a horrible stomach ache, I knew deep down that something was wrong. My mom has told me afterwards that she honestly thought I would be fine. I spent the whole weekend in bed, laying in the fetal position and begging God to help me.

As a kid, and even now, I liked to tough things out. My pain tolerance is fairly high, and I tend to put on a brave face as to make people not worry about me. Therefore, I don't blame my mom for ceasing to think twice about it until Monday came along and I said I couldn’t go to school. My mom drove me to the pediatrician, where my doctor said the stomach ache could be a few things. Worst comes to worst, she said it could be Crone’s Disease or Appendicitis. Despite the possibility of potentially fatal complications, I was sent home.

My mom would end up taking me to the doctor a total of four times before a diagnosis was made. She kept taking me back because I was still sick. I wasn’t eating. I lost about 10 pounds in a matter of a week. On Thursday, I began to feel better. I thought the sudden onset of my unexplained sickness was finally behind me. When I told my mom I felt better, she considered canceling the appointment she had made with my pediatrician. Ultimately, my mom decided to go ahead and take me back to the doctor again. I’ll never forget it. When the doctor came in and told us that my mom needed to drive me to the hospital because I had appendicitis, I felt like I got punched in the gut. My mom started crying, but I was kind of in a daze. There’s really no way to describe what I was feeling. I didn’t care what they had to do. I just wanted to feel better.

Appendicitis is an infection of the appendix, a vestigial organ located by the intestines. On that same Thursday, my appendix had ruptured. When this occurs, the person begins to feel better, when really, they are getting sicker. When the appendix ruptures, the infection begins to spread. Within a few days without treatment, it will lead to death, since the infection will spread to vital organs.

My mom drove me to Holmes Regional Hospital, where a nurse had to try five times before successfully getting an IV in the dehydrated veins of my arm. An ambulance then drove me and my mom, at around midnight, to Arnold Palmer Children’s Hospital in Orlando.

Early upon arriving at Arnold Palmer’s, I underwent a procedure in order to get rid of the infection before it spread further. A total of 10 days was spent in the hospital. This time was chock full of test and x-rays, mediocre food, and all the Spongebob Squarepants a bed-ridden child could endure. About six weeks later, after the infection was gone, I had surgery to remove my ruptured appendix. The whole experience was extremely scary. But that was in the past. It was just an obstacle that I had to overcome. I’m okay now, and in my mind, that’s all that really matters. If I could overcome such a dangerous and deadly disease, then I can do anything.