I’ve always been an athlete. At 16, sports weren’t just something I did, they were who I was. I loved basketball and rugby, but rugby was my future. My goal was to play in college, and everything I did was work toward that.
On January 7, 2025, I came home from my first day back at school after Christmas break feeling off. I had a cough that wouldn’t go away and felt more tired than usual, but I didn’t think much of it. The next day at school, I felt a sharp side stitch that wouldn’t go away. Still, I pushed through.
By Thursday, I wasn’t feeling like myself, but I went to basketball practice anyway. That’s just how I was—I didn’t like sitting out. When I got home, I went straight to bed. The next morning, when I tried to get up for school, I felt like I was going to be sick. Something wasn’t right.
At first, doctors thought it was just a virus. But within a couple of days, everything changed. I started having chest pain, and at one point, it got so bad I told my mom I couldn’t take it anymore. The pain started going down my left arm, and that’s when things got serious.
After more tests, I was told something I never expected to hear: a virus was attacking my heart.
I was transferred to the Children’s hospital of a Philadelphia, where more tests confirmed it—myocarditis. Not a typical case either. It was affecting both sides of my heart. I was admitted to the cardiac intensive care unit. Where I would spend the next week.
Then came the part that hit me the hardest.
I couldn’t raise my heart rate for six months.
Six months without sports.
Six months of doing nothing physical.
Six months of watching everything I loved move on without me.
I didn’t know how to process that. I was angry. Sports were my life, and just like that, they were taken away. It felt like everything I had been working toward was slipping out of my control.
But over time, I realized this was a different kind of challenge.
There were no practices, no games, no ways to “push through” like I always had. The only thing I could do was be patient and trust the process. I had to show up in a different way—going to appointments, getting tests, and hoping each time that I was getting better.
Slowly, things started to improve. My numbers went in the right direction. My heart was healing.
Those six months felt longer than anything I had ever experienced, but eventually, I reached the moment I had been waiting for. I had to go through one last round of testing—a cardiac MRI and a stress test.
Then, on June 1, I got the call.
I was cleared.
I didn’t waste a second. That same day, I signed up for as many college camps as I could. I knew I was behind. While everyone else had been training and improving, I had been forced to stop. But I wasn’t going to let that define me.
I worked for it. Every day.
A few months later, I received my first college offer.
That moment meant more than just an opportunity to play. It meant that everything I had gone through—the fear, the frustration, the six months of waiting—was worth it.
This experience changed me. It taught me that things can be taken away in an instant, but it also showed me what I’m capable of when I don’t give up.
I used to think strength was about pushing through anything.
Now I know it’s also about being patient, trusting the process, and coming back stronger when life forces you to stop.
Those six months didn’t end my story.
They made it!
