“We love you and we will be right here when you wake up,” my mom explained with tears in her eyes. I couldn’t help but cry with her. I was extremely scared. I was three years old and about to go into my first surgery alone. The very large doctor slipped the cold mask over my head and covered my mouth and nose. My heart started to race with the new restrictions. I was having tons of trouble calming myself and becoming brave. Huge men in masks asking me to calm down surrounded me. All I can remember doing was closing my eyes and saying the prayer my dad and I would say every night before I went to bed, “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” I slowly drifted off.

This all started about half a year ago. My mom and dad were concerned with me falling all the time and running into things. Our family friends suggested to my mother that she take me to an ophthalmologist. My father and mother took me to meet a new doctor, Doctor Hitner, who is the meanest doctor I have ever encountered.

“Can you point to your mommy and daddy?” the doctor asked sweetly. I just sat there; I didn’t move. I didn’t point; I just sat there because I couldn’t see my own parents. I broke down into tears. I felt as if my life had been taken away from me right before my eyes. The world was crashing down around me and my parents weren’t there to help me, I couldn’t see them. The reality of it spun around my head until it finally clicked, I can’t see. The doctor came to the conclusion that I had a lazy eye that was basically blind. My parents later said it was the worst moment in there life. They would always question God, not knowing what they had in store for them. It was devastating for them and soon it would also be for me.

To correct my eyesight, the doctors had to make my weak eye stronger. They started by putting a patch over my good eye and forcing me to use my bad eye. Let me remind you, I was blind in this eye. I was even worse now. To help this they added glasses on top of the patch. I felt like a freak walking around with all these things attached to my face. I absolutely hated my glasses so much that I would break them constantly and rip off my patch. The skin around my eye was torn up. I would always cry and complain. Anger was an often emotion at this time in my life and my parents had to deal with it. They now tell me that the thing that got them through this time was praying with each other every night. The doctors were hoping that the eye would be able to correct itself. After turning three and a year of testing and procedures, Dr. Hitner thought it would be best for me to have surgery. I was too young to completely understand what this meant, but I knew it wasn’t good. My parents were really uptight and worried starting as soon as the told us; their faces were always full of sadness and worry. I rarely saw them smile unless it was fake. All too quickly, the night before the surgery came. I wasn’t allowed to eat the whole day: I could only drink. When the morning came everybody was scared and nervous. My aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins were all waiting at home with their phones in hand and continually praying.
My parents drove me to the hospital and cautiously walked me in. We were immediately met by an anesthesiologist who somewhat comforted me. They gave me a medicine that made me as loopy as a fruit loop. All I remember after taking that medicine was going to the restroom and crying with my mom. They took me away from my parents and carried me across the threshold and the doors closed behind me.

I woke up disoriented. “Would you like some apple juice honey?” was the first thing I heard. I replied with a weak head-shake and magically a straw was in my mouth. I just started sipping my apple juice when my parents basically ran in. They hugged me and stroked my hair. At the point it seemed I was braver than they were.

Before I even turned four they decided I needed another surgery. I went into this one a little more confident. It wasn’t a scary the second time. I turned seven and they thought I needed two more surgeries. These I was a tad scared but not nearly as scared as was the first time. Little by little my courage and bravery were growing. I was like the Lion in the Wizard of Oz. My bravery continued to grow all the way until I was nine and Dr. Hitner told my family and I that I don’t have to wear glasses or the patch any more! I was so excited my dad and I literally danced out of the doctor’s office and to the car thanking God for all he has done to heal me. It was the best news I think I’ve ever gotten.


I would never wish this upon anyone but it was this experience helped me grow in so many ways. First of all my bravery grew though out everything I did. Secondly my trust in God grew. Even though I was so young my mom would continue to encourage me to pray and talk to God. I also believe it helped my family’s trust in God also. I know for a fact I wasn’t the only person in my family praying for stretching and healing. God got me through my worst time and I was able to grow in Him.