My Body, My Choice

They told me I was too young to refuse the surgery. I'm seventeen. My body.

My choice. Right? Wrong. The tumor was benign but my parents signed

the consent anyway. The nurses whispered behind clipboards. One doctor called me selfish.

Another said I'd regret it forever. But here's what they didn't know. The surgery would

leave me unable to dance. And I'd already been accepted to Juilliard.

My mom cried. My dad wouldn't look at me. Then my surgeon walked in.

Turns out she was a former ballerina too. She tore up the consent form.

Sometimes the best medicine is understanding what living actually means. Would you have fought