My earliest was when I was about two years old. My mom had been getting sick and went to the hospital. She was sent home, then went back with a very high fever. The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong with her. She started turning purple everywhere, arm first. Well my memory is of sitting outside her ICU room looking through the blinds. It was the very moment when the doctor told my father that she would be dead by morning. I remember him taking me home and him praying. But beyond that I was told the rest.

Her doctor just knew there was something wrong with her arm but not exactly what. He wanted to cut her whole arm off as a preventive measure, making sure whatever it was didn't spread. My dad actually told him if he cut her arm off during the night he would remove the doctors arm with a hatchet. But my dad went home and found an infection specialist in Boston, and called him. He flew all the way in and knew what it was right away. Back in 99 the disease flesh eating bacteria was hardly heard of. But that's what it was and he ended up telling my dad at this point she still had a very low chance of surviving that night. He removed her ring finger on her right hand. The next morning the purple color left her skin. She woke back up.

A sad detail is that her doctor, the one that saved her life. Took his own life a few years later, he told people he didn't want to play god anymore. If he hadn't been there I would have grown up with one parent.