In the month of April, my mother gave birth to a son born with Spina Bifida, a defect where the spinal column does not close completely during fetal development. Sometime within the first four months of pregnancy, my mother was undergoing an ultrasound to reveal my gender. The doctors introduced that I, her baby, would possibly be unable to speak, see, hear, or walk. The next day, the doctor called, insisting that they had to “interrupt the pregnancy,” robbing me of the possibility of living a fruitful life. After hearing my heart beating, my mother, being a woman of strong faith in God, firmly rejected the suggestion and decided to follow through with the birth.
As she lay in a hospital bed surrounded by doctors, I cried a cry of victory after she was constantly told that I was going to be stillborn. I was then placed into a baby crib of glass, clear like crystal, where I stared into my mother’s eyes before I was ushered to close my spine. My mother looked into my eyes once more as she said, “Vamos campión a pelear por tu vida,” Let’s go fight for your life, champion.
After praying in the recovery room for a couple of hours, my mother was told that the surgery was successful, and I was being closely monitored, considering the frequent development of Hydrocephalus, the abnormal buildup of cerebrospinal fluid (CSF) within the ventricles of the brain, in patients who go through the same surgery.
Three days later, I was once again rushed into surgery, where the doctors implemented a Ventriculoperitoneal Shunt (VP Shunt) in my head to reduce the brain fluids from the Hydrocephalus. I was then placed into intensive care for 31 days, where my mother claims I “cried, ate, and then cried again.” My fight against death continued after my VP Shunt malfunctioned, bringing me to the surgery room for the third time. The doctors placed the shunt on the right side of my frontal skull, where it remains to this day. After one month of life, three surgeries, and gallons of breast milk, I was finally allowed to go home.
Five years later, I found myself in a wheelchair, learning my ABC’s as a kindergarten student at the Ferryway School. It was in that building where I faced direct bullying for my disability, enjoyed thousands of elevator rides, and discovered my love for music when I joined the band in the fifth grade.
As I attended Malden High, I discovered my satisfaction in communicating with my peers through emotional struggle, the importance of journalism, and the strength I have gained through my disability. Now, as a senior with leadership in both the band and The Blue and Gold, I thank my peers, teachers, and loved ones for their support through a successful high school career.
I have immense gratitude for the band director, Ms. Foley, who sparked my satisfaction with life through her passion for the arts; Mr. Gallagher, who showed me the beauty of collaboration through journalism and visual art; and my family, who have encouraged me to keep fighting for my place in this world for 18 years.
As I finish the year, I’m proud to say that I will be taking my struggles, perseverance, and talents to UMass Boston as a Sociology major. Just like many other students, my experience at Malden High wasn’t easy. But I can proudly say that I have few regrets, because as Frank Sinatra once said, “I did it my way.”
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