By Jessica Lauer
I am a believer and a fighter. I believe that there is always hope in every situation; no matter how dark the night may get, tomorrow will always be a better day. I believe that you can pull off anything when you put your heart and soul into it. .
When it came time for surgery, hope was the only thing I had left to hold on to, especially when counting four, three, two, one and it’s all gone. You remember nothing until your time is up.
You’re lying there on your stomach feeling the most helpless and vulnerable you have ever felt, waiting for what seems like a lifetime in a cold white room. A nurse to your left tries to get to know you by making simple conversation. You can’t help but grin with tears in your eyes, but you know she means well. You answer the questions she asks with “yes ma’am and no ma’am.” Then one question comes to mind. You just aren’t sure if you want to ask now or if you want to wait just a little while longer so you won’t have to dwell on the answer for very long.
She asks “What’s wrong dear? What can I get you?” I simply say “I’m good. I’m just not as ready as I thought I was for this.” She looks away and I could tell something was wrong. I rolled my head and looked at the other side of the room to where the x-ray equipment and the surgical supplies were. She puts her hand on my back and says “I’m so sorry you have to do this sweetheart. I’m not going to lie, you are the youngest one that I have seen in here, and I have done this for almost twenty years.” As she was saying this the doctor entered the room. He came over to me and knelt down to my level. He looked me in the eye and took my hand. Before they started the process he said these few words… “Yes this is going to hurt and it is not going to be fun, but you are a fighter. I can see it in your eyes.”
From this moment on nothing would ever be the same. Four, three, two, one.
As I lay in the hospital bed just starting to come to, I overheard the doctors talking to my mother and my step father. The tone in the doctor’s voice was not what I wanted to hear. He said “We have done all that we can do for now and it is a time to play the waiting game.” They looked through the curtain to see me looking back at them with tears in my eyes. They gathered around and leaned in close. They assured me that everything went great and everything was going to be alright. Sooner than they expected I attempted to sit up in my bed and I said firmly, “I could hear you out there. That’s not going to be me. I’m a fighter.” My mother turned to look at the doctor, and before she could say a word he said, “That’s what I thought you would say, and if that’s what your mind says you are then that is what you will be.” I looked up at him with a pain-filled smirk, laid back down and replied, “Okay.” I looked up at my mom and began to cry just a few tears.“Mom it’s going to be okay, I believe I can do this, and he believes in me too. Remember I’m a fighter.”
I believe as time went on the days got longer, but they also got easier. Physical therapy started and the pain came with it. This was nothing new to me. Weeks and weeks went by going from a wheelchair to crutches. When the time came to relearn how to walk I thought that it was near impossible. I put in every ounce of hope and determination I had and went for it; a leap of faith you might say. I took things day by day, and then after a long while of getting frustrated with myself I told myself that today was the day. I was going to do it – I was going to walk again on my own. I would go against the odds and prove everyone wrong, no matter how much it hurt or how long it took. You know what I did? I crutched back down the long hall way to the therapy room, set myself up between the bars with a determined ‘ready to go’ look in my eyes. The physical therapist looked me straight in the eye and asked if I was sure about this. I said I was positive, handed over my crutches, and prepared myself for something unimaginable. As I looked at my legs I said aloud “Right, Left, Right, Left,” and moved my legs accordingly. Although I was slow, I was walking.
If you have the determination, drive, and most importantly the hope to do something, the mindset alone will take you where you want to go no matter what you are doing or where you are going. This is why I believe in hope.
My name is Jessica Lynn. I’m from a small town in Pennsylvania called Oil City. I am a girl of few words at times, but the few people that are around me often know that I’m not afraid to speak my mind. My passions include playing my guitar, singing, being outdoors, and playing sports. I drive a black Chevy Silverado and she runs like a champ. I also am a fire fighter in three departments – two right here in New York: Paul Smith-Gabriels and Burtonsville – and I belong to my department back home of Seneca. I must say, being a fire fighter is the best decision I have ever made.