Typically when people first see my zipper-like scar peeking up my chest, often through and over my shirt, they say, "What's that? If you don't mind me asking."

I never do of course, I've lived with it my entire life and you tend to become accustomed to the various questions that come up. I have nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about; it's the opposite. I'm proud of how far I've come in my journey and how I am able to lead a happy, healthy life.

I don't tell my story in order to gain pity from others; I tell it because it defines so deeply who I am as a person. Because of my condition, I have learned so much about the importance of personal strength and gratefulness. I am beyond thankful for my wonderful friends, family, doctors, and nurses who have supported me throughout the difficult times, given me hope when I thought all was lost, and shown me how to love myself through it all. With that, I give you my story ...

I was born with a backwards pulmonary, which means that (be aware this is not a medical definition) that there were problems with blood flow and getting enough oxygen to the heart. There were no signs of this in any ultrasounds or tests that ran it when my mother was pregnant, so the news came as a shock to my family. The doctors quickly put me into the NICU and began to prepare me for my first surgery. It took place on Jan. 6, 1997, merely three days after I was born. They performed an operation called an arterial switch, which is when the backwards valve is switched into the correct position.

I went five years without another surgery until at one of my yearly checkups, the doctors informed my parents that the valve had calcified too much and it would have to be replaced. This news crushed the hearts of my poor parents because they had been reassured that my surgery was "one and done" and I could continue to live a normal life. Instead, they had to brace themselves and me for a second surgery. Thankfully, it was successful one and was able to make a healthy recovery.

I am unable to recall most of the memories that I have from my first two surgeries because of how young I was, so it is my third surgery that stands out in my mind when I remember my journey.

The summer before I entered my junior year of high school, I started noticing several worrying symptoms. I would become fatigued quite easily, becoming short of breath, I was having heart palpitations in the middle of the night, and it got so bad that I physically could not climb a flight of stairs or even run a short distance without vomiting.

I had to wait until January to get an appointment with my cardiologist and when I finally did get to see her, she gave my family and I a hollowing prognosis: I would need another surgery right away because the valve had completely calcified. In fact, they had never seen anything deteriorate that quickly.

Without delving too much into the emotional details, it's safe to say this was one of the weakest moments in my life. I felt completely helpless and alone; I was scared of the pain and length of recovery time (I had to miss over two months of school). I knew it took a long time for the sternum to fully heal and the thought of being stuck in bed for that amount of time terrified me. I doubted my strength and ability to get through such a heavy experience. If it weren't for the love of those around me, I couldn't have done it.

All and all, I don't consider my condition to be a burden, it's a blessing. By telling my story to others, I am able to show them that strength comes from within and you can always pull yourself through any challenge.