I grew up in church. My mother would faithfully take me every single Sunday as a kid. I was a part of the children's choir until I was 14. We sang to God on the big burgundy stage amongst the congregation.
Christmas is when people who attend church regularly and those who don't come together as one to be in the presence of the festivities and proclaim the birth of Jesus. My mother would dress me in red and white and fix my hair just right.
I always enjoyed singing in the children's choir. Looking back at being heavily involved in the church’s scenario, I was carefree about what obstacles may come my way. But a health scare does not care about age.
On December 19th, 2010, I was 10 years old. I had a Christmas show to perform at my church because the children's choir had three services to attend. The services would be held at 10:00am, 3:00 pm, and 6:00pm.
The theme of the show was “Around the World.” My culture is Black / African American. My mother purchased a customized African dress from a clothing boutique in Harlem. I do not remember much of the design pattern of the dress. I do remember that it was pink, yellow, and white.
After I sang with the choir at the 10:00am service, I was feeling under the weather. I ignored it and continued to proceed with the 3:00 pm service. Then the 6:00 pm service came, and my young life would never be the same.
I remember walking into the girls bathroom. The bathroom began to spin, and everything went blank. As I would later learn, I hit the wall, passed out, turned pale, and my mouth began to foam. It was my first seizure. I do not remember how it felt and to this day doctors have never been able to give a valid reason for it.
My mom was frantic. Someone called an ambulance. I was rushed to New York Presbyterian on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.
After I was admitted, I spent exactly two weeks being a patient. I was in a coma for the first three days and the doctors had to shave the top of my head to drain fluid from my brain. When I woke up my first words were “mama.” After the coma, I had to relearn how to walk, talk, and eat all over again.
Numerous people came to visit me. My mother, father, sister, aunties, uncles, cousins, grandparents, family friends, and pastor. On Christmas, my whole family came to keep me company while I watched them eat scrumptious soul food while I lay in the hospital bed. I remember a man dressed as Santa Clause gave me an American Girl Doll named Rebecca, doll of my dreams.
Doctors had no clue why I had my seizure. I was labeled the miracle child because not many young children survive such trauma.
When I turned 11 that January, my mom threw me the biggest birthday party as a celebration of my testimony. I had another seizure that same year and the doctors prescribed a six-year seizure-prevention medication.
Well into my teen years, a neurologist performed procedures to examine my brain. Now, at 23, I am seizure free, though I still expserience excruciating migraines and sensitivity to flashing lights.
My testimony of how I survived an unexplainable seizure defines who I am today. The experience made me realize I am a fighter and I have a purpose in life. And that purpose is to demonstrate how the power of prayer and medical support.
At a time when so many feel they must decide between God and medicine, that faith is all they need, I want my story to serve as a plea to trust in both. Our lives may depend on it.