I kicked my clothes to the corner of the hospital room I was in as I pulled my scrubs on. I took in a deep breath, my small twelve year old hands clenching and unclenching. I paced the small room waiting, dreading for the inevitable. 'What’s the big deal? It’s just a small bump', I thought to myself. I stopped and pulled up my gown to look at my stomach where a bump the size of a quarter rested right above my belly-button. I let my gown fall back down and continued my pacing. I mean what could a small bump do to me? Everyone is clearly overreacting about this, I’m perfectly fine. Are they doing this to scare me, I wondered, my fingers intertwined twisting against each other in my hands. On my 8th circle around the room I heard a knock. The gigantic knot in the pit of my stomach tightened again after loosening in my time of distraction. The nurse entered the room. "Okay we are ready for you now Hun.” she said. I swallowed hard like those people in movies do before they enter a scary situation, and she walked out into the hall, me trailing behind her slowly.

As we walked my vision started to tunnel. I heard a buzzing sound but it was only the nurse talking about how my hernia would be handled. I couldn't care less; I really didn’t want to know. My mind was fixated on coming up with possible scenarios I could make to escape this place. The memory of when I was in second grade flashed back to me.

Hands held me down as I struggled. I kicked a screamed but only more nurses came to restrict me from lashing out. “Mommy, help me, get them away from me!” I cried. She had been holding my hand, but when I had realized what was about to happen, she was forced out of the way so I could be kept down. Now I couldn’t see her and I was terrified as the man advanced towards me with a needle and thread. As his hands came closer to right above my eye I lost it. “MOM, KILL THEM, KILL THEM! MAKE THEM STOP PLEASE!” He backed off and yelled at me for saying such a horrible thing. I knew it was but words were the only weapon I had at the moment. As if saying something terrible would make them stop. I was crying now and blood had started flowing down the left side of my face again. The cut had re-opened from exerting me so quickly. I felt claustrophobic from the extra weight of the nurses pushing me down, and I felt so out of breath. I heard my mother's soothing voice, telling me everything would be okay. ‘Why did she lie to me? She told me we were just getting it cleaned out!’ I thought helplessly. The male doctor came towards me again.

Before I could dwell too much on that disturbing experience we were already at the operating room. We walked in and I stopped dead. The scariest parts of this day were right in front of me. A cold hard metal table very much like the one I had been on when I was seven. The thought of being held down again, even how many people that might have died on that very table did not sooth my nerves. The anesthesia, that if too much were to be pumped into me I might not ever wake up. ‘Well maybe that won't be so bad’, I thought. At least I won’t be conscious for this. The gleaming sharp tools that would be cutting me open where there sitting on a little table next to the IV. Now I started trembling and breathing really fast. Goosebumps crawled up my arms. Everything was too much. The neatness, the antiseptic smell all hospitals have was swirling around me making my hairs stand on end. I wanted my mom. “Come on sweetheart, just sit down for right now”, my doctor said gently while guiding me towards the table.

Her hand left my shoulder, I hadn’t even noticed she put it there, but a sense of warmth spread through me, and when she pulled it away the comfort went with it. The rest of the nurse team had piled in by then. Tears started pricking at my eyes but I did as I was told. ‘I have to be brave’, I kept chanting over and over in my head. This won’t be like the last time. Really living is when you do things that scare you and everyone has to do things that scare them. And these doctors were much kinder than the ones that gave me stitches five years before. Reluctantly I laid back onto the table that had a soft sheet over it and I started counting the tiled ceiling. I could do this. A mask was put over my face and the sound of my heart pounded in my ears. The more deep breaths I took of the sweet scented anesthesia, the more my muscles relaxed and my breathing slowed. We're halfway there now. The room was coming in and out of focus. A tugging in my left arm. Darkness. Doctors putting an IV there. Silence. I faded out for the last time and didn't open my eyes again until 5 hours later in recovery.

When I had woken up I had felt slightly sore in my abdomen. A few weeks from now I would find the thinnest, tiniest incision tucked away right underneath the top of my belly button. Even though I had been groggy from the medication, I remember with absolute clarity the feeling of triumph because I got through what I had been most afraid of. And now ever since that operation, I’m not as scared as I had been. I still really prefer not to be poked and prodded at, but now I am a lot more comfortable and sometimes a little bravery can go a long way.