Kidney cancer. Scoliosis. Pancreatic cysts. Multiple surgeries: two for each eye, two for my heart, three for my knees. The list goes on. Many people are faced with the deceivingly simple, yet challenging, question of who they are. In my case, a barrage of thoughts surrounding my health rapidly enter my mind. The one underlying theme I find in each trait I possess is uniqueness. In the seventeen years I’ve been given thus far, each illness, setback, or challenge I have faced amplifies the definition of who I am.

On my third birthday, instead of ending the day with leftover cake and cookies, I was given the devastating news: I had cancer. That six-letter word I barely comprehended tore through my family as I was rushed to the hospital the same day, only to find out I had a massive tumor on my right kidney resulting from stage four cancer. Chemotherapy, a partial nephrectomy, and extensive hospitalization awaited me. Looking back, even though I was just three, I realized in that moment, my life would never be the same.

After years of chemotherapy and numerous operations, I was finally cancer-free. To the extent of my understanding, I felt like I could finally be a normal person: a new Bronte. After only three short years of my rejuvenating cancer-free life, I was diagnosed with scoliosis. For years I carried the weight of not only my worried parents, but also the wretched back brace that failed to prevent the option I was even more afraid of– another surgery.

In May of 2014, I had two titanium rods and twenty-four screws drilled into my spine, resulting in months of rehabilitation. Walking, an inherent skill I took for granted, became a challenge I failed to overcome when I was wheeled across the stage during my fifth-grade graduation. I felt helpless, as if the health improvement I fought for was nonexistent; setbacks with my health only kept coming. Over the past six years, I have endured eight other surgeries due to complications resulting from chemotherapy treatments. These range from the removal of pancreatic cysts to heart surgery on two separate occasions while trying to survive a global pandemic. Each surgery has brought its own limitations to my life. However, if I were to consider each of these challenges an obstacle, I would not have made it this far.

I don’t view my life shamefully; in fact, I am proud of it. These “obstacles” drastically changed my perspective on what life is. I am more compassionate, giving, and perhaps most ironically of all, happier to be who I am. From my experiences in growing up on surgery tables, I found my calling in life is to help others. I hope one day that the pièce de résistance of my life is becoming a pediatric oncologist. I want to mentor and give back to children who go through the same diseases I went through. I am an enormous enthusiast and advocate for the fundraising group Relay For Life. I have made it my goal to raise money for those battling mental and physical ailments related to cancer. The challenges I overcame not only allowed me to grow closer to God, but also strengthened my relationship with my family and friends. I know who I am now, and I find power in that.

As odd as this may sound, I feel incredibly fortunate to have experienced this journey. It truly inspired me and defined the person I am today. I have been incredibly blessed in the past, and now, with open arms, I can share my gratitude with many others. When thinking of the inevitable and challenging question of who I am, the answer that perfectly fits is: I am a survivor. I am a fighter.