It all began on a normal Friday afternoon in the month of July, spending time at my friend Gabrielle’s hunting camp in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. I was looking forward to going four wheeling down the hunting trails, swimming at the creek in the woods, making s’mores by the fire, camping out under the stars, and so much more. It was truly a beautiful day. The sounds of crickets chirping, leaves crinkling, children giggling, and four-wheeler engines roaring all surrounded the camp. I felt like nothing bad could come out of this day, but I was wrong. What started as a peaceful day soon turned into a hectic nightmare.

“Call 911! There’s a boy down the back trail who flipped his Polaris! He can’t move and needs help! Someone call 911!” Mr. Johnny, one of the camp owners, and his son were taking a ride on their four-wheelers when they noticed the young boy laying still, ejected from a flipped over heavy duty golf cart on one of the hunting trails. Mr. Johnny stayed with the injured boy while his son drove back to alert the rest of us. The parents rushed to gather up their children to make sure it was not one of theirs that was injured. There was a moment of relief that came from me when I realized it was not one of Gabrielle’s brothers. What then followed was the heart wrenching moment a man on the other side of the camp grounds sprinted to the trail yelling, “My boy!” that brought us all back to reality: someone’s child was badly injured and needed immediate help. One of the parents called 911 as Gabrielle’s mom gathered supplies that may have been needed to help the boy.

My first instinct as a certified lifeguard was to do anything I could to help, but the parents only saw me as a child and shouted, “Children stay back!” “Don’t move him or else it could paralyze him, keep his neck steady and do not let him move,” was all I could think about while I was forced to sit back and not do anything. As heat rushed to my cheeks and the palms of my hands became clammy, I began to feel angry. I was angry because I felt like I was doing nothing when I could have been helping the young boy. I felt furious that the parents only saw me as a little child, and not as someone who was educated and trained to rescue people in those types of situations. I felt enraged when I saw they had the boy sitting upright and riding on the back of a four-wheeler up the rugged trail. They did all of the things I told them specifically not to do that was detrimental to making sure that boy was not paralyzed for the rest of his life. The ambulance had soon arrived to the camp followed by the county’s sheriff. While the medics were inspecting the boy’s condition, one of them shook their head and stated, “moving him was the worst thing you could have done.” At that moment, all I could think was “I told you so.” That moment made me truly realize why I wanted to be a doctor, to make sure that if I was ever in a situation like this again, I would be able to take charge and do everything right to protect that person’s life.

When the medics strapped him to a backboard to be loaded into the ambulance, I could only pray that the thirteen-year-old boy was not paralyzed for the rest of his life all because the parents thought they would take matters into their own hands and not listen to “a child” like me. Although I was most likely more certified than any of those adults at the camp, because of my age, I was portrayed as useless in a tragic situation.