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On Dec. 1, 1997, my twin sister Mandy and I were attending a prayer circle in the lobby of our high school, Heath, in West Paducah. It was part of our routine every day school was in session during our sophomore year, but that morning was unlike any other. A 14-year-old boy brought a .22 hand gun, rifles and a sawed-off shotgun wrapped in a blanket. He pulled the .22 out of his backpack and opened fire as we ended our prayer and headed to class. He hit eight students, killing three.

I was one of the most seriously wounded. The bullet entered into my left shoulder, bouncing around in my body (that’s what I learned a .22 can do), missing my heart, hitting my lung, then passing perfectly in between my esophagus and aorta, hitting my spinal cord, and then exiting on the right side of my back — not even leaving my shirt. My injury left me paralyzed from the chest down. Little did I know how much that day would change my life forever.