I don't believe I’ll live to grow old. It's not that I think I'm going to die young or burn out before thirty because I'm living so hard. Rather, I know all too well that life could end at anytime.
When I was sixteen years-old, a mosquito bite almost killed me. I went to bed with a piercing headache, and if it wasn't for my mother's investigation of “strange noises,” I would have been dead the next morning. More than a close encounter with death, though, I struggled with the consequences of that illness the following two years.
This mosquito transferred a virus to me that infected the fluid surrounding my brain, causing it to swell and compress my brain resulting in multiple grand mal seizures, a stroke, and leaving me in a coma for four days. Over the couple years it took to fully recover my speech, my struggles were a constant reminder of how close to the edge of life I had gone. Every time I lost my train of thought, every word that wouldn't come out mid-sentence, every time I was told,“It's alright, Ethan” when I stopped a conversation dead in its tracks, was yet another reminder of life's fickleness.Read More