The day is Veteran's Day, a day remembering those who have fought in battle. Though I was never in any physical battles,
looking back this felt like a foreshadowing of what was to come. Because I had something similar to those veterans that day — I had a close encounter with a small but deadly piece of steel.

My mother has prepared a cookout, and my grandmother is here to eat with us. (This was not unusual; she lives only a mile away.) In front of me, there was a plate with a large, perfect hamburger, cooked as close to perfection as my dad could get. I was just about to take a bite of it when my mom gave me a sharp look.

“No eating until grace,” my mom said. Though it was only four words, she said it so slowly that it made the message clear to me that I had caused enough trouble this evening.

Earlier that evening, before we had food prepared, I had made an extremely ill-minded decision. At this point in my life, I was very interested in carnivorous plants. I had one large pitcher plant with a small saucer containing water, as it is the only way it would grow. I moved it to the center of the table, as I thought for some reason in my mind it would be a good idea to eat in front of the glorious table decor of a plant that slowly eats insects alive. Unfortunately, I spilled the water saucer all over the table. My mom gave me a sharp look and we cleaned it up, as she never shows her anger in front of grandma.

Parents never say grace, so my brother Connor and I were the only options. I always like to volunteer him, and my dad would always go along with it because he loved the way he would always say grace.

Naturally, I said, “I think Connor should do it. He always makes it the best.” Which wasn’t a lie. He always has the best grace.

After Connor said grace, we were officially permitted to eat. I took one large bite out of my hamburger, but what should have been juicy and delicious, had a sharp, metallic taste followed by that feeling when you get a potato chip stuck sideways in your throat, but much, much worse.

I started choking and stood up to see if that would help. I swallowed the last bite of the hamburger, but a different feeling was in my mouth when I swallowed. Something felt weird about this swallow; it was like I was missing something. That’s when I realized what was wrong — I had lost my dental expander. It suddenly made sense now — since when does a hamburger taste brittle?

My mom jumped up, all the previous frustration gone from her.

“What’s wrong?” She exclaimed frantically. I looked her straight in the eye and said, “I think I swallowed my expander.”

Her face went pale and she quietly commanded “Open your mouth.” She looked and her eyes went wide. She looked at my grandma and dad and said, “Oh my god. He’s right.”

Most people say that, in situations of extreme stress and terror, everything feels like a blur. That is not entirely how I would describe it.

I remember my panicked mom calling the hospital.

I remember my dad taking me in the car.

I remember him telling me to try to cough it up.

I remember the feeling that, maybe, I wouldn’t make it through this.

I remember going to the first hospital and them telling me to lay down on a bed.

I remember myself trying to calm down.

I remember my dad saying we are going to the children’s hospital. I remember sitting in the waiting room.

I remember being calm when the doctor told me I was going to be all right. He said that he’d seen kids who’d swallowed fish hooks before.

I remember the doctors taking my COVID test.

I remember my mom finally making it into the hospital.

I remember calming down and watching "Moana" with them.

I remember falling asleep after they gave me an anesthetic.

I remember waking up and the doctors telling me I’m doing just fine, though they couldn’t get it out yet.

I remember the horror of seeing the X-ray of the vile dental expander stuck in my throat.

I remember going to sleep again and this time, waking up without a sore throat. For the first time since I took a bite of that hamburger, I felt at ease. There was no longer a piece of metal in my throat, and no longer the feeling of lead chains over my shoulders.

The situation hit me hard, but I’m thankful it didn’t blur like all of those people say. I began to realize how random the expander incident was, and how I never even expected it. The truth is, I could die any moment. Anyone could.

I resolved something that day. I was going to live life to its fullest. I began to develop a more positive attitude, and I began to live in the moment. Instead of just watching TV or playing video games all day, I took up painting, a deeply relaxing activity. I learned to be more positive than before, causing me to eventually turn into a leader at my Boy Scout Troop and feel much better around other people.

If I’m being honest, I don’t regret swallowing that expander. Sure, it would have saved me a lot of stress and horror and medical bills at the time, but it eventually caused me to become a different person. I now have a much better understanding of how fragile life is, and it helps me to live life to its fullest.