“ I think she will need to be admitted,” the doctor said. Confusion painted my face, I turned and looked at my mom. 

“I have to go to the hospital?” my trembling voice asked. 

“Yes, if you don’t you could have a heart attack in your sleep.” That’s when the tears fell. I was only 13 and I was being told I could die. This was not what I was expecting today. My mom had brought me to the doctor to review my blood test. The most I was expecting was to get some medicine and then resume my day at school. I wasn’t prepared to be told that I was potentially moments away from death. Before this day I wasn’t even aware that something could happen to my heart. All I was trying to do was become a better swimmer and somehow now I am in danger of death. I was scared that I had gotten myself to this place. Trembling with fear. How had I worked so hard, trained my body so much that I almost died? What if I wouldn’t have come to the doctor today? Would my parents be at their own daughter's funeral? Questions filled my mind, questions of how, what, and why. The questions were racing in my mind, tearing through my skull while tear after tear fell. But my tears were more than tears. They were tsunamis of confusion, anger, and fear. I was terrified, what was happening? 

The clock is ticking, today is day three of surviving at the hospital. I am struggling. I am a bird stuck in a cage. Every day I sit here, spending hours and hours in the same white bed. My view is the same, never changing. The heat expands and the room grows stuffy. For as long as I am here the beige walls remain. The smell maximizes and grows thicker, more sickly. The weather transforms from rain to snow to sunshine and the sun rises and sets. The heart rate monitor's beep dominates and it becomes my closest companion, always attached to me. People continue to leave, happy to be free of a place haunted with hard memories but no matter what I remain. I am at the hospital, cemented at the hospital. I know I could have died but I feel like I am a prisoner stuck in the same jail cell, spending days the same way. Spending moments the same way. Wasting time the same way. I can’t help it, I feel trapped. 

I am laying in bed, but this is not my bed, it's a stranger's. I am in a room but it is not my room. The walls are beige, features of light green fill the room and to my left, there are two blue chairs. A warm smell overwhelms the room and the atmosphere is stuffy. I am still here. I am in the hospital. It has been five long days. While relaxing into the nice white foam of my bed, I turn my head and see the clock it is, 5:40 pm. That means the day will start to wind down leading to another day in this constant routine. In this constant spiral. Then my mind starts to wander into the dark and I can’t help but dream of being out of this cage, out of this place. I can’t help but think negatively but then I look out the window. I look out the window and see the sun starting to set. It is stunning. Absolutely beautiful. The sky is a mix of the best combinations of pink, blue, and orange and my thoughts change. The darkness and the gloom that was once there are overtaken by a sense of peace. As I look out at the beauty, while sitting in a bed that I have hated for so long I realize how lucky I am. How blessed I am to be seeing the sunset, how blessed I am to be seeing the small miracle in front of me, and then it hits me. Life is precious and I am here. I am alive. At that moment I realized that everything was going to be okay because God kept me here for a reason. He wanted me to live and see that sunset and he will always be there for me. When it is my time he will take me home but until then I will live life to the absolute fullest. Because life's too beautiful to waste and life’s way too short to see the glass half empty. 

 Since I was admitted on Thursday, it has been a rollercoaster ride. There are moments all I want to do is cry out of fear, moments when all I want to do is yell out of anger, and moments all I want to do is smile out of gratitude because I am alive. I despise it here but I am alive. The first day was rough. I was sleep-deprived, in shock, and confused but that was Thursday, today is Monday. I am adjusting, I am accepting the situation. This is better than death. This is heaven compared to where I could be, I keep repeating these thoughts over and over. Trying to convince myself, trying to look for the silver lining. But it is hard. It is hard to look for the good when things are taken away from you, things that used to be second nature. Like taking a shower, now that is too much of an effort so I have to sit and walking exerts too much energy so my mother has to push me in a wheelchair, and right now going outside is a luxury. The wind in my face is a sweet treat and the feeling of sunshine on my face is a blessing. Besides all the hard parts, the days are getting better and I am getting more comfortable here. The bed doesn’t seem so rigid anymore and the free time is turning into a treasure. I also look forward to the daily privileges I earn because as the days go on my freedom increases. Every day when the doctor tells me about my new privilege, I am like a little kid opening a Christmas present. First, they were more wheelchair rides which were like rides of happiness. Then it was short strolls, something I used to take for granted and now on my 5th day, I have been the ability to get up and move. Today I am not a prisoner of the heart rate monitor, a prisoner of my bed, today I am like a bird free to roam. So, today I got up and moved from bed to couch to chair and the feeling of freedom tasted sweet. Before I grasped it the day had gone by, artwork had filled hours. Conversations have filled moments and visitors illuminated the darkest parts of my day. I am feeling okay, the privileges have lit my world up, brought some sunshine, and seeing the glorious sunset really made me appreciate the treasures of living. 

I am riding home now and it doesn’t feel real, I feel like I am going to be pulled back. Today the beige walls are disappearing and the stale smell is dissipating. The bed I will sleep in is not a stranger’s but mine because today I am going home. I am leaving the hospital. When the doctors revealed this news I was like a kid on their birthday, excited and anticipating the next moment. I feel like the leather seat below me will go back to the white foam bed and that the changing view outside the car window will turn back to the hospital walls. I feel like my mom’s car is going to be pulled over and I will have to go back to that cage but that is not true. This segment of my life has finally ended and I am ready to embark on a new chapter, grateful to be going home. Now, I am a bird free to fly. As I look out the window of the car I think back to the past seven days. The tears, the anger, the worries, and the darkness but I also think back to the sunset and the beauty. When I look back I am grateful. I am grateful for the little things like the wonderful feeling of the sun on your face. I am grateful for my body and its strength. I am grateful for the amazing people that were there for me at the hardest times but most of all I am grateful that I am free to fly and I am grateful to be alive. At that moment I can’t help but smile because life is beautifully ugly.