Two of the scariest moments of my life happened not on a hospital bed while I was getting surgery — a fairly common part of my childhood — but when I was vacationing with my family.

I was born with the severest form of Spina Bifida and in the 1980s there wasn’t much knowledge about the disability. My parents, Tom and Laura, were both 19 years old when I was born. They tried to give me as much of a “normal” life as possible, by taking my brother and me to various weekend outings and holiday vacations, but they weren’t prepared for what was to come over the next 41 years — including on some of those ill-fated trips.

My childhood

The great poet Maya Angelou once said, “ You can’t really know where you are going until you know where you have been.”

In my case, the “where” involved a lot of time in healthcare facilities.

There were a lot of uncertain moments. I didn’t know whether or not I would come out alive after a major surgery or after an event that had an unexpected turn.

Those moments were terrifying because I was a child: I didn’t know any better. 

Children’s Hospital of Los Angeles is the hospital I was transported to for medical care immediately after my mother gave birth to me at Garfield Hospital in Monterey Park.

“If nothing was going on with you, we would take you to Children’s at least two to three times a year,” she said. In other words, when medical issues did flare up, the visits were much more frequent.

The days we went to Children’s, she said, it would be an early morning affair because we would get there before 7 a.m. to ensure the various doctors I needed were available and I was one of the first patients seen at the Spina Bifida Clinic.

“We were there for at least six hours for every appointment that you had,” she said. “Not every doctor would’ve been available if we got there late.”

She has been by my side for everything that I’ve been through, including the 24 surgeries I’ve had throughout my life and stayed with me in the hospital while I recovered from surgery when I was little, so I wouldn’t be alone.

Having surgery is a scary thing to experience when you’re a kid, especially when the doctor says that he has to operate and the anesthesiologist says that there’s a “small” chance that I could die from the anesthesia.

I cried every time I heard that. I still get choked up as an adult whenever the doctor utters those words.

‘Adventures’ while vacationing

I didn’t go on family vacations until I was 4-years-old. My mother felt that camping for days would be too much because of my disability, at least during the first few years of my life. I’ve never had the ability to stand or walk on my own.

Despite my physical challenges, my parents made sure that I was able to do things that kids who could walk could do.

One day, in the summer of 1986, my family and I were camping at a spot known as “The Ponds,” man-made lakes in Palm Springs.

My family enjoyed jet-skiing there. One highlight for everyone was watching in amazement as my cousin Roland Jimenez rode a stand-up jet-ski. Everyone but his sister, Celine, apparently. She was about 9 years old at the time. 

“Celine was getting mad because everyone was looking at how good Roland was riding the jet-ski,” recalled my mother.

So, my uncle, Raymond Davila, decided to teach Celine how to drive a jet-ski. He taught her the basics: how to accelerate and how to brake while they were still on land. 

I was sitting in my white metal chair watching them. While the watercraft was on rocks, she pushed the gas and it headed my way.

“Is this really happening?” I recalled thinking, frozen. But there was no way out and there was nothing I could do. I was on a white metal chair in the sand.

When the jet ski landed, it struck the chair I was on and pieces of metal flew into the air, including the handlebars. One hit me and cut my lip open, and blood oozed out. I wailed.

With a towel covering my face, my family got me in the car and we drove hours to San Gabriel Hospital to get my lip stitched up.

My cousin, Celine Jimenez, felt terrible.

“I remember that I pushed the gas instead of the brake,” she recently recalled.  “I was so scared not only because I fell off the jet-ski, but because you got hurt.”

It could have been a lot worse if the jet ski made a direct hit.

“Your uncles, David and Victor, pushed the ski out of the way so it wouldn’t hit you and Grandpa Davila got you from the chair and gave you to me,” mother recalled.

No one is to blame for what happened. Accidents happen, even when you’re on vacation — or in my case, perhaps especially when I’m on vacation.

Case in point: In 1991, when I was about 8, my family and I were camping at a lake in Blythe and we were, again, near the water. The adults were lounging on top of a rocky-sandy hill, while my younger cousins Christopher, Denise, Jessica, Stephanie and I were at the bottom of the hill. I was sitting on the sand and my cousins, who were ages 5-8, were digging into the hill. 

My cousin, Christopher Chacon, said he decided to stop and leave the area, recalling a bad feeling in his gut.

“I stopped digging because I felt something bad was going to happen,” he said.

By the time Denise, Jessica and Stephanie got bored and went into the water to rinse off, I was relaxing on a beach chair in the water, near the area they had been digging.

I didn’t think anything of it as they walked away. I was enjoying the beautiful weather and the calmness of the water.

All of a sudden, part of the hill collapsed and buried me in the process. I didn’t see anything but complete darkness. I thought for sure I was going to die.

My uncle Victor frantically moved rocks and debris out of the way.

After a few minutes, my uncle freed me from the rubble and thankfully, I only had a big cut on my left arm.

A paramedic came to clean and treat the injury.

“I didn’t know that the hill caved in on you until Uncle Victor got you out. When I saw that you got hurt, I threw up” from the anxiety of it all, Christopher recalled.

Life after the accidents

Although the cut is now just a tiny mark, these accidents scarred me emotionally.

Being buried alive and almost killed by a jet-ski drilled into me the reality that I really don’t have the ability to protect myself because of my physical disability. I must be extra cautious and aware of what goes on around me at all times.

Nowadays, my family doesn’t vacation in Blythe or Palm Springs. In fact, the Ponds isn’t there anymore.

They go to Laughlin, Nevada. I used to go with them but I haven’t gone to Laughlin since 2016. I decide where I go — so that I don’t have another accident while on vacation. 

It’s not that I’m afraid of death. If I’m going to die, I’m going to die. There’s no way to prepare for it.

It’s more that I want to be as healthy for as long as possible so I have time to spend with my family and friends.

I love my parents and I’m grateful for everything they’ve instilled in me. I feel like I get my “never give up” attitude from them.

That attitude has led me to persevere through numerous health challenges over the years and this May, it will allow me to achieve my dream of crossing the stage at Cal State LA’s graduation ceremony to earn my bachelor’s degree in journalism.

I will dedicate that accomplishment to my parents.