His words confirmed the fear lodged deep within my heart, yet hearing them aloud sent a shiver of cold dread through my body. I nodded, trying to remain composed as the weight of his words settled over me like a heavy fog.

Surgery was the only option, a chance to repair the damage and salvage what mobility they could. As they prepped me for the operating room, I thought of Jason, of my father, of the laughter that had followed my fall. I thought of my mother’s disapproving gaze.

I thought of the life I had known, teetering now on the precipice of the unknown.

In those moments before the anesthesia claimed me, I made a promise to myself, a quiet vow wrapped in the sterile cocoon of the hospital room: I would rise from this, no matter how long it took. I would find my strength, even if I had to crawl to find it. And I would no longer be the punchline of another’s joke. This was my story, and it was far from over.