It was September 17, 1925, summer was quickly reaching its end, I was eighteen, walking with my boyfriend, Alejandro. We were crossing the street walking home from a long day at school. Not to mention, It was grey, gloomy, and overall an overcast day. I was so distracted because I was talking to Alejandro, I forgot to look for ongoing cars or buses charging forward in our direction. I made it around halfway through the sidewalk, then I heard a thunderous “Guys! watch out!” from an unfamiliar voice.

I tried to take cover as quickly as I could. It was way too late though, the bus rapidly charged forward hitting me and Alejandro forcefully. I yelped out extremely loud as I was in an unspeakable amount of excruciating pain, everyone looked over with the expression of a mixture of absolute fear and utter confusion on what just happened in front of them. Then after that so quickly, I blacked out and didn't remember what happened from that moment on except for something terrible had happened.

Thankfully I woke up a day later, but this time in a hospital, with casts and bandages all over my wounded and badly bruised body. I was terrified and it didn't help that I had already had an amputated leg before this from catching Polio at the age of six. The Polio shrunk one of my legs so I had a limp in my walk, unfortunately. Quickly after I woke up from the bus accident, the doctor rushed in, happy to see I had finally awoken from blacking out. Right as I realized where I was, My immediate question was, What happened, Am I going to be okay? What about Alejandro? The Doctor looked me in the eyes, as if he was as worried or terrified as I was and slowly stated so I could understand “You have gotten into an incredibly tragic bus accident, you broke your spinal column, collarbone, ribs, pelvis, and eleven fractures in your leg, you got impaled in the chest with a metal bar from the bus. Also, your right foot was dislocated and crushed, and your shoulder popped out of your joint.”

I froze for a few seconds, “All of that… and I'm still here, this must be a miracle. Thank you! Oh, Thank you!” I exclaimed. The Doctor then reassured me that Alejandro was fine and had minor injuries. Then the Doctor smiled, then left to care for another patient.

Right when my family and friends came to visit, they brought me a gift to help me feel more at home and hopefully ease the raging pain inside of me, My beloved paints and Canvases. I was over the moon with excitement. Over the time I had in the hospital I had continued to paint for over three ½ months when I was bedridden in a dreadful body cast in the hospital. It felt constricting and now painting was the only way I could escape the pain. During that extensive recovery, I painted my inner feelings and my pain, mostly in my world-famous self-portraits.

Over that long period, I started to recuperate from all that trauma from the accident and sold some of my paintings. The money I had earned from selling my paintings went straight to the expensive hospital bills as I had over thirty-two agonizing and very costly surgeries, some failing and ending in tragedy. Finally, after those three ½ incredibly long months I was all well and returned to my normal life painting and with my family and loving husband once again, but this time with chronic pain and trauma. But really after all of that time in the hospital, I had time to rethink everything and learn so many new things that I had never thought of or learned ever before. One of the most important things that I had learned is that even though you may be different from someone, or have a disability of any sort, that does not make you any less than anyone ever or you can't do something because of it.

On the other hand, My fame was pretty short-lived as I, unfortunately, passed away at the young age of forty-seven in my own house from unnoticed pneumonia. Still no matter what, my artistic legacy lived on to this day and age, disregarding the fact I had passed on almost seven decades ago.