Personal Narrative: My Near-Death Experiences

My parents jokingly say I have a knack for “ruining” things and “dodging death.” According to them, I ruined my mom’s lesson at school the day I was born. At the time she was a third grade teacher, and she had to bail on her children unexpectedly because of me. I was born later that day, December 10, 1999, in the Ouachita County Medical Center in Camden, Arkansas. I was a perky baby for the first few months of my life. According to my parents, I was always awake and smiling. I was this way until I began succumbing to my illness. Unbeknownst to my family, I had acquired a condition called Pyloric Stenosis, an abnormal thickening of the opening between the conjunction of the stomach and the small intestine. This meant I was unable to digest food that I ate. Consequently, anything that I ate was converted directly into projectiles. Food would go down, and then come back up later. This issue required surgery to fix; if I hadn’t have received surgery, I wouldn’t be writing this paper now. The operation was a success; the first of many of my near-death experiences. After I recovered from my condition, I became the stereotypical toddler as I grew up: virtually unlimited energy, and the ability to create messes wherever I ventured. My curiosity also peaked during this time, as I began venturing into places I
I actually went a few years without experiencing a life-or-death event, surprisingly. It wasn’t until I was 10 that I faced another life-threatening situation, and in this instance, I wasn’t the only person being harmed. During a routine drive from my house to my grandmother’s house, a drunk driver crashed into us. We were going about 65 miles an hour, as the road we were on was similar to an interstate. The wreck put all of us in the hospital, and for the first hour or so, I thought one of us was not going to survive. Luckily, we all pulled through and recovered over the next few