My school nurse said I was faking it. Then my heart stopped in the hallway. The notification appeared on my Apple Watch during first period calculus. Irregular heart rhythm detected. It is recommended you contact your doctor. I stared at the screen while Mrs. Abernathy explained derivatives. My pencil hovering over blank notebook paper.

 The watch had been buzzing all morning with warnings I’d been ignoring for 3 days now. High heart rate 189 bpm. Low heart rate 54 bpm. Irregular rhythm. The numbers jumped around like they couldn’t decide what my heart was supposed to be doing. I pressed my palm against my chest and felt it hammering, then stuttering, then racing again.

Something was definitely wrong, but I’d convinced myself it was just stress from college applications and AP exams. By lunch, my watch had logged 14 irregular rhythm notifications. I sat in the cafeteria with my best friend, Zara, pushing food around my tray while she talked about her disastrous chemistry lab.

 My chest felt tight, not painful exactly, but compressed, like someone had wrapped rubber bands around my rib cage. Every few minutes, my heart would do this weird flip-flop thing that made me catch my breath. Zara noticed me rubbing my sternum and stopped mid-sentence. You okay? You look really pale. I showed her my watch.

 The heart rate graph looked like a seismograph during an earthquake, spiking and plummeting in jagged peaks. Her eyes widened. Dude, that’s not normal. You need to see the nurse. Nurse Campbell’s office smelled like hand sanitizer and fake floral air freshener. She was typing on her computer when I knocked, not bothering to look up when she said, “Come in.

” I sat in the plastic chair across from her desk and waited while she finished whatever was more important than a student seeking medical attention. Finally, she swiveled toward me with this expression like I’d already wasted enough of her time. What’s the problem? I held out my wrist, showing her the watch face displaying my current heart rate of 178. I’ve been getting these warnings for 3 days.

 My heart rate keeps jumping all over and my chest feels tight. She glanced at the watch for maybe 2 seconds before leaning back in her chair. Smart watches aren’t medical devices. They’re designed to make anxious teenagers panic. You’re fine. I pulled up the health app on my phone, showing her the data from the past 72 hours.

 Dozens of irregular rhythm notifications, heart rate recordings that looked nothing like the steady patterns from previous months. But look at this. Something’s definitely wrong. It never did this before. She barely looked at the screen before waving her hand dismissively. Those devices have a huge false positive rate. They’re basically expensive anxiety generators.

 Every kid comes in here now thinking they’re having a heart attack because their watch told them so. My chest tightened more. Whether from actual cardiac distress or frustration, I couldn’t tell. My chest really hurts though, and I feel dizzy sometimes when I stand up. She typed something into her computer, probably noting that I was a hypochondriac wasting her time.

 That’s anxiety. Classic presentation. You’re probably stressed about something. College applications, boyfriend problems. I wanted to scream. I wanted to demand she actually examine me, take my pulse manually, listen to my heart, do something besides dismiss me because I was a teenager with a smartwatch.

 But I’d been raised to respect authority, to trust adults who supposedly knew better. Can you at least check my blood pressure or something just to make sure? Nurse Campbell sighed like I’d asked her to perform open heart surgery. She pulled out the blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around my arm with unnecessary force, pumping it up while staring at the wall clock like she was calculating how much time I was stealing from her. The cuff deflated. She unwrapped it. 120 over 75. Perfectly normal. See, you’re fine.

 This is what I’m talking about. You’ve worked yourself into such a state that you’ve convinced yourself something’s wrong when there’s absolutely nothing wrong. She turned back to her computer. Conversation over. I sat there for another moment, feeling stupid and dismissed and scared all at once.

 But what if it’s not anxiety? What if something really is wrong with my heart? Now she looked annoyed. Actually annoyed that I wasn’t accepting her diagnosis and leaving. Listen, I’ve been a school nurse for 18 years. I see kids every single day who think they’re dying because they felt their heartbeat or got a headache or saw something on the internet. 99% of the time it’s nothing. You are 16 years old.

 16-year-olds don’t have heart problems. They have anxiety problems. You need to stop obsessing over your watch and stop googling symptoms and go back to class. She stood up clearly done with me. If you’re still feeling anxious tomorrow, we can talk about a referral to the counseling office for stress management techniques. I walked out of her office feeling worse than when I went in.

 The tightness in my chest hadn’t gone away. My watch buzzed again. Irregular rhythm detected. I silenced the notification and headed to AP English, wondering if maybe she was right. Maybe I was just anxious. Maybe I’d convinced myself I was sick, except the symptoms had started before I’d even noticed the watch warnings.

 The chest tightness came first, then the dizziness, then I’d checked my watch and seen the concerning data. But nurse Campbell was the medical professional. She’d done this for 18 years. Surely she knew better than a scared teenager with a smartphone. I tried to focus on the discussion of symbolism in The Great Gatsby, but my heart kept doing that stuttering thing that made me lose my breath. Fourth period was world history with Mr.

 Brennan, who had a policy against phones or smartwatches being visible during class. I kept my watch face covered by my sleeve, but I could still feel it buzzing against my wrist with notifications I wasn’t allowed to check. The room felt too hot. My shirt collar felt too tight. I loosened my tie and unbuttoned the top button, trying to breathe deeper, but the pressure in my chest just kept building. Mr. Dr.

Brennan was talking about the Treaty of Versailles when my vision started doing this weird tunnel thing like I was looking through a paper towel tube. I gripped the edge of my desk, trying to ground myself, telling myself this was just anxiety, like nurse Campbell said. Anxiety couldn’t actually hurt you. It just felt scary. I just needed to calm down and breathe.

 Except breathing was getting harder. Each inhale felt shallow, insufficient, like my lungs couldn’t quite expand all the way. My heart was hammering now, fast and irregular, and I could feel it in my throat, in my temples, in my chest. The kid sitting next to me, Leo, something leaned over and whispered, “Yo, you good? You’re really pale.

” I nodded, not trusting my voice, not wanting to cause a scene over what nurse Campbell had assured me was just anxiety. Leo didn’t look convinced. He raised his hand. “Mr. Brennan, I think Kieran needs to go to the nurse.” Mr. Brennan looked up from his lecture notes, saw my face, and his expression changed immediately. Kieran, yes. Go.

 Do you need someone to walk with you? I shook my head and stood up too fast. The room tilted. I grabbed my backpack and made it to the doorway before everything started spinning. The hallway was empty. Everyone in class, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. I leaned against the lockers, trying to steady myself, but my legs felt wrong, disconnected, like they belonged to someone else. My watch was going crazy against my wrist. Buzz after buzz after buzz.

 I pulled my sleeve up to look at it. Heart rate 203 BPM. irregular rhythm, high heart rate alert. I pressed my hand against my chest and felt my heart racing, skipping beats, racing more. This wasn’t anxiety. Something was actually wrong. I needed help. I needed to get back to nurse Campbell and make her understand that this wasn’t in my head. I took two steps toward her office and my heart just stopped.

 Not slowed down, not skipped a beat, stopped. I felt it happen. This horrible empty sensation in my chest where the beating should be and then everything went black. I don’t remember hitting the floor. Don’t remember the impact or the sound or anything.

 The next thing I knew, I was looking up at the ceiling tiles, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything except stare up at the fluorescent lights while my body seized and jerked without my permission. Somewhere far away, someone was screaming, feet were running, voices shouting, “Call 911. Get the nurse. Oh my god. Oh my god. Someone help him.” I tried to tell them I was okay. Tried to move, but nothing worked.

 My body was doing its own thing, convulsing on the floor while I was trapped inside, watching it happen, but unable to control anything. Then there were hands on me, someone rolling me onto my side, someone else yelling about seizures. Except I wasn’t having a seizure, my heart had stopped.

 Why didn’t they understand my heart had stopped? Nurse Campbell’s face appeared above me. And even through the fog and the confusion and the terror, I saw the exact moment she realized she’d made a catastrophic mistake. Her face went white. Her hands shook as she felt for a pulse in my neck. No pulse, no breathing. Someone time this. Start timing now.

 She began chest compressions, pressing down on my sternum with the heel of her hand, counting out loud. 1 2 3 4. Each compression sent shock waves through my body. I could feel it happening, but couldn’t respond. Couldn’t tell her I was still in here. Still conscious somehow, despite my heart not beating. More people arrived.

 A teacher I didn’t recognize took over compressions when nurse Campbell’s arms got tired. Someone else was on the phone with 911, reading off our school address. A student was filming everything on their phone. The camera pointed right at my face, and I wanted to tell them to stop, to give me some dignity, but I couldn’t speak. Then, suddenly, I could breathe. One second, nothing.

 The next, my lungs pulled in air with a horrible gasping sound that didn’t seem like it came from me. My heart stuttered back to life, beating wrong, arythmic, and chaotic, but beating. Nurse Campbell’s face was above me again, tears streaming down her cheeks. Stay with me. Ambulance is coming. You’re going to be okay. Just stay with me.

 I tried to tell her I wasn’t going anywhere, that I was right here, but my mouth wouldn’t form words. The world was starting to make sense again, sounds becoming clearer, my body responding to my brain’s commands again. I could wiggle my fingers, could feel the cold floor beneath me, could hear the approaching sirens getting louder and louder until they were right outside. And then paramedics were rushing through the school doors with equipment and urgent voices.

 They cut my shirt open right there in the hallway, stuck electrodes all over my chest, attached me to a monitor that started beeping frantically. One of the paramedics, a woman with gray hair, pulled back in a ponytail, looked at the screen and her eyes went wide. VIB. He’s in VIB. Charging to 200. I didn’t know what Vfib meant, but I knew from her tone it was bad. Another paramedic held something that looked like paddles.

 The gray-haired woman counted. Clear. My body arched off the floor as electricity shot through me. The monitor beeped differently. Still in VIB, charging to 300 again. Clear. Another shock. This time I felt it. this horrible sensation of my chest exploding and contracting at the same time.

 The monitor changed its pattern. Sinus rhythm. We got him back. Let’s move. They loaded me onto a stretcher and ran toward the ambulance. The gray-haired paramedic squeezing a bag connected to a mask over my face, forcing air into my lungs. I saw the crowd of students lining the hallway, phones out, filming, faces shocked and scared. I saw Mr.

 Brennan standing there with his hand over his mouth. I saw Leo, the kid who’d noticed I was sick, crying openly. I saw nurse Campbell standing frozen in her office doorway, watching them take me away. Her scrubs stained with my blood from where she’d done chest compression so hard she’d broken my skin. The ambulance doors slammed shut and we were moving. Sirens wailing.

The paramedics working over me with practiced deficiency. Someone was putting an IV in my arm. Someone else was attaching more monitors. The gay-haired woman was calling ahead to the hospital. 16-year-old male, cardiac arrest, shocked three times. Currently stable, but needs immediate cardiology consult. The emergency room was chaos.

 Doctors and nurses swarming around me, shouting medical terms I didn’t understand. Someone was asking me questions. Can you tell me your name? Do you know what day it is? Does anything hurt? I tried to answer, but my throat was raw. My voice coming out as a raspy whisper. My chest hurt. Everything hurt. A doctor with dark skin and kind eyes leaned over me. I’m Dr. Okonquo.

 You’re at Mercy General Hospital. You had a cardiac arrest at school. Your heart stopped. Do you understand? I nodded. He continued, speaking slowly and clearly like he wanted to make sure I comprehended every word. We’re going to run some tests to figure out why this happened. You’re going to be okay, but we need to figure out what’s going on with your heart.

 Do you have any history of heart problems? Any family history? Family history? The words triggered something in my foggy brain. My dad’s brother, Uncle David, he died of a heart attack at 23. I’ve been too young to remember him, but I’d heard the stories. My grandmother mentioning it sometimes with this sad look on her face. How he’d just collapsed one day.

 how they couldn’t save him. Nobody had ever connected it to me because he’d been an adult and I was just a kid. And besides, heart attacks happen to old people, not young, healthy people. My uncle died, I managed to whisper. Heart attack. He was 23. Dr. Okonko’s expression changed. He turned to a nurse. Get me a full cardiac panel and genetic testing.

 I want an echo cardiogram and a stress echo. And call cardiology. We need Dr. Patel down here now. They wheeled me to different rooms for tests. an echo cardiogram where they pressed an ultrasound wand against my chest and I watched my heart beating on a screen.

 The four chambers pumping blood in their eternal rhythm except not so eternal anymore because mine had stopped. An EKG where they attached electrodes all over my chest and arms and legs. Printing out long strips of paper with my heart’s electrical activity drawn in jagged lines. Blood draws. So many blood draws. My arms ending up covered in cotton balls and tape.

 Through it all, I kept thinking about nurse Campbell’s face when she realized I’d been telling the truth. the horror in her eyes when she couldn’t find my pulse. The way her hands had shaken doing chest compressions, she’d been so certain I was just an anxious teenager with a smartwatch, so confident in her 18 years of experience, and she’d been completely wrong. My parents arrived 2 hours later, both of them having left work the moment the school called.

 My mom was crying before she even made it through the door, rushing to my bedside and grabbing my hand like she could keep me tethered to life through physical touch alone. My dad stood at the foot of the bed, his face gray, his jaw clenched tight. What happened? The school said, “Your heart stopped. How does a 16-year-old’s heart just stop?” I told them everything.

 The watch notifications I’d been ignoring the symptoms that had been building for days, going to nurse Campbell and being dismissed, collapsing in the hallway. My mom’s tears turned to anger. You told the nurse something was wrong and she sent you back to class. She sent you back to class when your heart was failing. My dad’s hand tightened on the bed rail. We need to talk to her.

 We need to talk to the principal. This is unacceptable. Dr. Patel, the cardiologist, arrived before my parents could storm out to confront anyone. She was a small woman with silver streaked hair and an intensity that filled the room. She pulled up a chair next to my bed and opened a tablet showing us images of my heart from the echo cardiogram.

 Kieran, I’m going to explain what’s happening in your body. Your heart structure looks normal. The chambers are the right size. The valves are working correctly. Everything looks fine anatomically, but your heart’s electrical system is malfunctioning. Based on your symptoms, your family history, and your EKG results, I believe you have long QT syndrome. It’s a genetic condition that affects the heart’s electrical signals. Do you know what that means? I shook my head.

 She continued, “Your heart has its own electrical system that tells it when to beat. In long QT syndrome, the electrical signal takes too long to reset between beats. The QT interval, the time it takes for your heart to recharge electrically, is prolonged. This makes you vulnerable to dangerous arhythmias.

” She pulled up another image, an EKG strip with colored markings. See this section here? This is your QT interval. In a normal person, it should be around 400 milliseconds. Yours is measuring at 560 mconds. That’s significantly prolonged. This is why your heart went into ventricular fibrillation. The irregular rhythm you were feeling was your heart trying to beat normally but getting confused by the faulty electrical signals.

Eventually, it went into VIB, which is when the heart just quivers instead of pumping blood without immediate intervention. It’s fatal. My mother made a choking sound. My father’s face somehow got more gray. I felt strangely detached. Like Dr. Patel was talking about someone else’s heart, someone else’s mortality.

 The good news is that now we know what’s wrong. We can treat it. You’ll need an implantable cardioverter defibrillator. An ICD. It’s like a pacemaker, but it also shocks your heart if it goes into a dangerous rhythm. An ICD, a device implanted in my chest that would shock my heart back to life if it stopped again. I was 16 years old.

 I should be worrying about ESATs and prom dates, not cardiac devices and genetic heart conditions. Will I have to have this forever? Dr. Patel nodded. Yes. Long QT syndrome doesn’t go away. The ICD is a permanent treatment. We’ll also put you on beta blockers to help regulate your heart rate and reduce the risk of arhythmias. You’ll need to avoid certain medications that can worsen the condition. No contact sports.

 We’ll need to monitor you regularly, but with proper management, you can live a normal life. Well, relatively normal. This isn’t a death sentence. It’s a chronic condition that requires management. My dad finally spoke, his voice rough. Her brother, my brother David, he died at 23. Sudden cardiac arrest. Is this the same thing he had? Dr.

 Patel’s expression softened with understanding. Very likely. Yes, long QT syndrome is genetic. It’s passed down through families. If you had one relative with sudden cardiac death at a young age, there’s a good chance other family members have the condition. Everyone in the immediate family should be screened.

 Parents, siblings, cousins, anyone who shares Kieran’s genetics should get an EKG to check their QT interval. She turned to me. Your uncle probably had undiagnosed long QT syndrome. He probably had the same symptoms you did, the irregular heartbeats, maybe chest discomfort. But back then, we didn’t have smartwatches giving people cardiac data. He might not have realized anything was wrong until it was too late.

 Your watch might have saved your life by making you aware something was wrong. Even if the school nurse didn’t listen, the irony wasn’t lost on me. Nurse Campbell had dismissed my smartwatch as an anxiety generator, but the watch had been trying to warn me I had a life-threatening cardiac condition. If I hadn’t been wearing it, I might not have known to seek help at all.

 I might have just collapsed at home one day like Uncle David with no one around to do CPR, no one to shock my heart back to life. The surgery to implant the ICD was scheduled for the next morning. Dr. Patel explained the procedure would take about 2 hours. They’d make an incision below my collar bone, create a pocket in the tissue, and insert the device, which was about the size of a matchbox.

 Then they’d thread wires through my veins directly into my heart, testing the device to make sure it could properly sense my heart rhythm and deliver shocks if needed. I’d have a visible scar and a noticeable bump under my skin. I’d set off metal detectors. I’d need to avoid MRI machines unless they were specifically compatible with my device. My life would never be the same. That night in the hospital, I couldn’t sleep.

 Every time I closed my eyes, I felt that horrible sensation of my heart stopping. The emptiness in my chest. The terror of being conscious but unable to control my body. A nurse came in every hour to check my vitals. The blood pressure cuff inflating automa

tically through the night. The pulse oximter on my finger measuring my oxygen levels. At 3:00 a.m., I was staring at the ceiling when my phone buzzed with notifications. Text messages, dozens of them. I opened my phone and started reading messages from Zara, from Leo, from kids I barely knew. They’d all seen the video. Someone had posted the cell phone footage of me seizing on the hallway floor. Nurse Campbell doing chest compressions.

 The paramedics shocking my heart. The video had gone viral at school. Everyone was talking about it. Some messages were supportive, hoping I was okay. Others were morbidly curious, asking what it felt like to die. One message from a number I didn’t recognize said simply, “Nurse Campbell is a murderer.

” I clicked on the link someone had sent to the school’s anonymous confessions page. The post had 300 comments already. students sharing stories of times nurse Campbell had dismissed their medical concerns. A girl with diabetes saying nurse Campbell had accused her of faking low blood sugar to get out of class.

 A boy with asthma saying she’d refused to let him use his inhaler during a severe attack, insisting he was just having a panic attack. Kid after kid describing being told they were fine when they weren’t. Being sent back to class when they needed medical attention. Being dismissed and belittled and accused of exaggerating. The pattern was undeniable. Nurse Campbell had been failing students for years.

 and I’d just been the first one whose heart had literally stopped in response. The comment section was calling for her to be fired, prosecuted, stripped of her nursing license. Some were even more extreme, suggesting she belonged in prison for negligent homicide attempt. The surgery went smoothly, according to Dr.

 Patel, though I felt terrible afterward. The incision site throbbed with a deep ache that painkillers only barely touched. I could feel the device under my skin, a foreign object that would be part of my body forever. Dr. Patel tested it before I left the operating room. deliberately triggering an arhythmia to make sure the ICD would respond appropriately.

 I felt the shock, a brief painful jolt in my chest, and then my heart corrected itself. “Perfect,” she said with satisfaction. “It’s working exactly as it should. If your heart goes into VIB again, the device will shock you automatically. You might not even know it’s happening unless you’re paying attention. Most patients describe it as feeling like being kicked in the chest by a horse.

It’s not pleasant, but it’s better than dying. Better than dying. That was my life now. constant vigilance, medication schedules, regular cardiology appointments, a device in my chest that might kick me like a horse at any moment to keep me alive. I spent three more days in the hospital recovering from the surgery. My parents barely left my side.

 My dad made calls to lawyers, to the school board, to anyone who would listen about what had happened. My mom alternated between crying over me and raging about nurse Campbell’s negligence. Zara visited, bringing homework I couldn’t concentrate on and gossip about how the whole school was in an uproar.

 They put nurse Campbell on administrative leave, she told me, sitting in the chair my mom had vacated to get coffee. The principal made an announcement saying they’re investigating the incident and taking it very seriously. But everyone knows that’s code for trying to avoid a lawsuit. Your parents are suing, right? Please tell me they’re suing. I didn’t know. Probably. My dad had been on the phone with lawyers, but nobody had told me the details.

 I was too tired to care about lawsuits. I just wanted to understand how my life had changed so drastically in less than a week. The day I was discharged, a reporter from the local news was waiting in the hospital lobby. She tried to shove a microphone in my face as we walked to the car, asking how it felt to survive cardiac arrest.

 Whether I blamed the school nurse, if I thought smart watches should be taken more seriously by medical professionals, my dad physically blocked her path. My son just had major surgery. Leave us alone, but she persisted, walking alongside us to the parking lot. Her cameraman filming the whole interaction. The video of your collapse has over 2 million views online.

Students are calling for nurse Campbell to be criminally charged. Do you think she should face charges? My dad opened the car door and practically pushed me inside. We have no comment. Stop harassing a minor. The reporter finally backed off as we drove away, but I could see her in the side mirror, still filming our departure.

 At home, I was supposed to rest and recover, but my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing with notifications. The story had spread beyond our school. News outlets were picking it up. Teens heart stops after school. Nurse dismisses smartwatch warnings. Apple watch detects heart condition. School nurse missed. Family sues school after teens cardiac arrest.

 The articles included stills from the viral video, my face visible as I seized on the floor. They’d interviewed Dr. Patel, who’d given a statement about long QT syndrome, and the importance of taking cardiac symptoms seriously regardless of patient age. They’d tried to interview nurse Campbell, but she’d declined comment on advice of her attorney.

 The school district had released a bland statement about prioritizing student safety and conducting a thorough investigation. My story had become a cautionary tale about medical dismissal and the dangers of assuming teenagers were too young for serious health conditions. The lawsuit moved forward quickly.

 My parents’ lawyer, a sharp woman named Francis Deoqua, filed suit against both nurse Campbell personally and the school district. The complaint detailed everything. My repeated visits to the nurse’s office. The documented symptoms I’d reported, the smartwatch data showing clear cardiac distress, nurse Campbell’s dismissal of my concerns without performing even basic medical assessments, her failure to check my pulse manually or listen to my heart with a stethoscope.

 Her insistence that I was just anxious despite textbook symptoms of cardiac emergency. The complaint argued gross negligence, medical malpractice, and systemic failure to protect student safety. It demanded compensation for medical expenses, pain, and suffering, and punitive damages. Francis told my parents she’d never seen such a clear-cut case of medical negligence.

Most malpractice cases require expert testimony to establish what a reasonable medical professional would have done. This one doesn’t. Any firstear nursing student could tell you that a patient presenting with chest pain, irregular heartbeat, and documented arrhythmia needs cardiac assessment. She did nothing, less than nothing.

 She actively prevented you from seeking appropriate care by reassuring you nothing was wrong. Discovery revealed documents that made everything worse. Nurse Campbell had documented my visit in her patient log, but her notes told a different story than what actually happened. According to her records, I’d come in complaining of vague anxiety about a smartwatch reading.

 She’d assessed me as alert and oriented, no visible distress, vital signs within normal limits. She’d concluded I was experiencing health anxiety related to wearable technology and recommended counseling. There was no mention of my chest pain, no documentation of irregular heartbeat, no record of the concerning data I’d shown her. She’d created a narrative that made her appear competent and thorough while making me seem like a worried hypochondriac.

 If I died, those notes would have been her defense. She’d tried to cover her tracks before I’d even left her office, already anticipating she might need to justify her decisions later, but her notes contradicted the discovery of her browser history from the school computer. Francis had subpoenaed the district’s IT records, and they revealed something damning.

 After I’d left nurse Campbell’s office, she’d spent 14 minutes googling Apple Watch false positive heart rate and teenagers faking heart problems for attention. She’d clicked through multiple articles about smartwatch accuracy and adolescent health anxiety. She’d been trying to confirm her own diagnosis after the fact, looking for information that supported her decision to dismiss me rather than reconsidering whether she might have been wrong.

 The timestamps proved she’d been more concerned with validating her judgment than with my actual well-being. If she’d been truly confident in her assessment, she wouldn’t have needed to research it afterward. She’d known she might have made a mistake. She’d felt doubt. And instead of calling me back to her office or alerting my teachers to watch for warning signs, she’d tried to reassure herself that she’d done the right thing.

The deposition started in August. Francis prepared me extensively, explaining how opposing counsel would try to make me seem unreliable or exaggerated in my symptoms. They’re going to ask if you have a history of anxiety, if you’ve ever skipped class for mental health reasons, if you’ve been diagnosed with panic disorder or depression.

 They want to paint you as an emotionally unstable teenager who overreacted to normal body sensations. Don’t let them rattle you. Just answer honestly and stick to the facts. The actual deposition was in a conference room at a law office downtown. Nurse Campbell and her lawyer on one side of a long table, me and Francis on the other. A court reporter sat at the end typing everything said.

 Nurse Campbell wouldn’t make eye contact with me. She stared at her hands the whole time, picking at her cuticles, her face carefully neutral. Her lawyer asked me to describe my symptoms in detail. the chest tightness, the irregular heartbeat, the dizziness, and you believe these symptoms indicated a cardiac emergency. I frowned at the questions phrasing.

 I didn’t know what they indicated. That’s why I went to the nurse. I knew something was wrong and I needed medical evaluation. But you’re not a medical professional, correct? You have no training in cardiac assessment. I kept my voice steady like Francis had coached me. No, I’m not. That’s why I sought help from someone who was supposed to have that training. The lawyer consulted his notes.

 Nurse Campbell’s records indicate you were primarily concerned about your smartwatch readings. Would you say your anxiety about the watch was the main reason you sought medical attention? Francis objected before I could answer. Asked and answered, “He’s already testified he sought attention because of physical symptoms, not anxiety about a device.” The lawyer rephrased, “Did you show nurse Campbell your smartwatch data?” I nodded.

 “Yes, I thought it was relevant medical information. My watch had detected irregular heart rhythm multiple times over 3 days. That seemed important.” He leaned forward. Are you aware that consumer- grade smart watches have a false positive rate of approximately 67% for arhythmia detection? I felt my pulse quicken, my ICD sitting heavy in my chest under my shirt. I’m aware they’re not perfect, but mine was right. I did have a cardiac arhythmia, a life-threatening one.

 If nurse Campbell had taken my symptoms seriously and done any actual medical assessment, she would have found it. The lawyer’s expression didn’t change. So, you believe that school nurses should treat every teenager who comes in with smartwatch data as having a potential cardiac emergency? Francis objected again. Argumentative.

 The witness hasn’t testified to any such belief, but I wanted to answer. I believe school nurses should take all symptoms seriously. Nurse Campbell didn’t just dismiss my watch data. She dismissed my chest pain, my irregular heartbeat, my dizziness. She didn’t check my pulse. She didn’t listen to my heart. She didn’t do any assessment at all. She made assumptions based on my age instead of my symptoms. The lawyer made a note.

How would you characterize your relationship with nurse Campbell prior to this incident? I thought about it. I didn’t have one. I’d been to her office maybe twice in 4 years for routine stuff. I didn’t know her personally. He nodded. So, you had no reason to distrust her medical judgment? That felt like a trap. I trusted her because she was the school nurse.

 I assumed she would help me. I was wrong. Nurse Campbell’s deposition was scheduled for the following week. Francis played me the recording afterward since I hadn’t been allowed in the room. Campbell’s voice came through the speaker, defensive and shaky. I made a clinical judgment based on the information available to me at the time.

 The student presented with vague anxiety complaints and showed me data from a consumer device known for high false positive rates. His vital signs when I checked them were within normal parameters. Blood pressure was perfect. He had no visible signs of distress. Based on my 18 years of experience, I concluded he was experiencing health rellated anxiety which is extremely common in adolescent populations. I made an appropriate referral to counseling services and sent him back to class.

 How was I supposed to know he had a rare genetic heart condition? Should I order cardiac workups for every teenager who comes in feeling stressed? Francis’s voice on the recording, sharp and pointed. Did you manually check his pulse? A pause. I checked his blood pressure. That’s not what I asked. Did you place your fingers on his wrist or neck and count his heartbeats? Another pause. Longer. No.

 Did you listen to his heart with a stethoscope? No. Why not? Campbell’s lawyer interjected something about the question being asked and answered. But then Campbell answered anyway, her voice rising defensively. because it wasn’t medically necessary. His presentation didn’t warrant cardiac assessment. He was a healthy teenage boy having an anxiety attack about his smartwatch.

 I see 50 kids a week. If I did a full cardiac workup on everyone who came in feeling nervous, I’d never have time for students with real medical needs. Francis pounced. So, you’re testifying that Kieran didn’t have a real medical need. Campbell realized her mistake too late. That’s not what I meant.

 Obviously, in retrospect, he did have a medical condition, but at the time, based on the information I had, my assessment was reasonable. I can’t be expected to diagnose rare genetic conditions in a school nurse’s office. That’s not my job. Francis’s voice was cold. Your job is to provide competent medical care to students. A student presented with cardiac symptoms.

 You failed to perform even basic cardiac assessment. Because of your failure, he went into cardiac arrest 20 minutes later. His heart stopped. He died on your hallway floor. How is that reasonable? The recording went on for another hour. Campbell getting more defensive and contradicting herself repeatedly.

 She admitted she’d been concerned enough to Google smartwatch accuracy after I left, but not concerned enough to call me back. She acknowledged that chest pain combined with irregular heartbeat would typically warrant cardiac assessment, but insisted my specific presentation hadn’t seemed serious.

 She claimed teenagers were prone to exaggerating symptoms, but then said I hadn’t seemed distressed enough to be genuinely ill. She tied herself in logical knots trying to justify her decisions, and with every answer, she made Francis’s case stronger. By the end, even her own lawyer seemed to have given up trying to rehabilitate her testimony. The damage was done.

 She’d admitted to making assumptions based on my age rather than my symptoms, to failing to perform basic medical assessments, to prioritizing her own convenience over patient care. Her 18 years of experience had become 18 years of developing bad habits that had nearly killed me. The school district’s defense was somehow worse.

 Their lawyer argued governmental immunity, claiming the district couldn’t be held liable for the actions of individual employees. Francis demolished that argument by showing the district had received three formal complaints about nurse Campbell in the previous 5 years, all regarding dismissive treatment of students with legitimate medical conditions. The district had done nothing except require Campbell to attend a single continuing education seminar on adolescent health.

They’d been aware of a pattern of poor care and had failed to take meaningful action. The district’s risk manager testified that they’d considered replacing Campbell, but decided against it because she was close to retirement and finding qualified school nurses was difficult in the current market.

 They’d prioritized administrative convenience over student safety. The risk manager actually said on record that they’d calculated it would be cheaper to handle occasional lawsuits than to hire a new nurse. That statement became exhibit A in the punitive damages phase. Meanwhile, my junior year of high school had started without me. I’d been cleared by Dr.

 Patel to return to school in September, but my parents insisted on keeping me home for the first few weeks while the media attention was still intense. By the time I finally went back, the viral video had mostly faded from public consciousness. Though kids at school definitely still remembered. Walking through the hallways, I felt everyone’s eyes on me.

 Some kids stared at the visible bump of my ICD under my shirt. Others whispered to their friends when I passed. A few came up to tell me they were glad I was okay or to share their own stories of being dismissed by nurse Campbell. The school had hired a new nurse, a young guy named Nurse Gregory, who’d apparently been briefed extensively on my case because he introduced himself during my first day back and assured me his office door was always open if I ever had any concerns whatsoever about my health.

 He seemed nervous, like he was terrified I’d collapse on his watch, too. Classes were harder than they used to be. I’d missed enough school that I was playing catch-up in every subject, but beyond that, I just couldn’t focus the way I used to. My mind kept drifting to my heartbeat, hyper aware of every skip and flutter. The beta blockers made me tired all the time.

 I’d fall asleep in afternoon classes, my body heavy and slow. I couldn’t do gym class anymore. The doctor’s note excused me from any physical activity, more strenuous than walking. I’d been on the cross country team before, running varsity since freshman year, but that was over now.

 No contact sports, no competitive running, nothing that would elevate my heart rate too much. Sitting in study hall while my former teammates practiced outside the window, I felt like I’d lost part of my identity. Being a runner had been who I was now. Now I was the kid with the heart condition. The kid who’d gone viral dying on camera. The kid everyone had to be careful around because I might drop dead at any moment. The lawsuit dragged on through fall.

 Francis filed for summary judgement, arguing the facts were so clearly in our favor that a trial wasn’t even necessary. The judge denied the motion, saying a jury should decide questions of negligence and damages. Jury selection was scheduled for January. Meanwhile, nurse Campbell’s nursing license hearing was happening separately.

 The state nursing board had opened an investigation after my cardiac arrest made news. Her license was suspended pending the outcome of the hearing. Francis encouraged my parents to provide testimony at the hearing. My mom testified about finding out her son had died in the school hallway, about the genetic condition that had killed her brother now manifesting in her child. My dad testified about Campbell’s complete failure to provide appropriate care.

 Then they played the hospital security footage. The footage showed me arriving via ambulance, still in VIB, the paramedics shocking me in the ER. It showed Dr. Okonqua working on me, calling for Dr. Patel ordering tests. It showed the moment I regained consciousness, disoriented and scared. The nursing board watched the entire video in silence.

 Then they watched the cell phone footage from school, the viral video, seeing me collapse and seize and receive CPR. Campbell sat at the defendant’s table, forced to watch the consequences of her negligence play out on screen. One of the board members asked her directly, “Miss Campbell, after watching this footage, do you believe you provided appropriate medical care to this patient?” She consulted with her lawyer before answering.

 I believe I made a reasonable clinical decision based on the information available at the time. The board member’s expression hardened. The appropriate answer was no. The board deliberated for 3 hours before issuing their decision. License revoked. Effective immediately. Campbell could petition for reinstatement in 5 years, but she’d have to complete additional education and demonstrate she’d remediated the deficiencies that led to her negligent care. The board chair read a statement explaining their reasoning.

Miss Campbell’s failure to perform basic medical assessment on a patient presenting with cardiac symptoms falls below the standard of care expected of a reasonably prudent nurse. Her decision to dismiss the patients concerns without proper evaluation demonstrated a dangerous pattern of assumption-based care rather than evidence-based care.

 Most concerning is her statement that she didn’t believe the patients complaints warranted cardiac assessment despite his report of chest pain and irregular heartbeat. This represents a fundamental failure to understand basic nursing practice. The civil trial started the first week of January.

 I had to miss school to attend, sitting in the courtroom while lawyers argued about my life. The jury was selected quickly. Francis’s opening statement was devastating. She walked the jury through everything chronologically, the smartwatch warnings, my decision to seek medical help, nurse Campbell’s dismissal without performing basic assessment, my collapse 20 minutes later, the viral video of my heart stopping, the emergency surgery to implant the ICD. She showed the jury my scars. She had Dr.

 Patel testify about long QT syndrome and how easily it could have been detected with proper assessment. Campbell’s lawyer tried to argue contributo negligence. Francis countered that students are taught to trust authority figures. When a medical professional tells you you’re fine, you believe them. The testimony went on for days. Witnesses describing Campbell’s pattern of dismissive care.

 The school district’s risk manager squirming on the stand. Dr. Okonquo describing how close I’d come to permanent brain damage. My parents breaking down, recounting the moment they got the call that their son had died at school. Campbell took the stand and apologized, but Francis’s cross-examination was merciless. The jury deliberated for 2 days before returning.

 We find in favor of the plaintiff. Compensatory damages, $800,000. Punitive damages against Campbell, $1.5 million. Punitive damages against the school district, $5 million. Total judgment, $7.3 million. Six months after the trial, my parents launched the Kieran Ashford Foundation for adolescent cardiac awareness.

 The foundation offered free cardiac screening for teenagers and educational programs for school nurses. They partnered with Apple to study smartwatch cardiac detection accuracy in adolescent populations. My mom ran it full-time. Francis joined as legal council proono. I graduated high school on time despite everything. College acceptances came in the spring.

I chose a university with a strong premed program. I decided to become a doctor, the kind who listened to patients. My ICD has never had to shock me. The beta blockers keep my heart stable. I barely noticed the device anymore. It’s just part of me now. Nurse Campbell never worked in healthcare again.

 Last I heard, she was working retail. Her career of 18 years had ended with her license revoked and her name synonymous with medical negligence. The viral video eventually faded from the internet, taken down as part of the settlement, but nothing ever really disappears online. Sometimes I still get recognized. It’s weird being known for dying.

 That’s what the viral fame is based on. But I’m alive. That’s what matters. My uncle David wasn’t as lucky. I’m 19 with a full life ahead because of a smartwatch and paramedics who knew what to do. And a cardiologist who caught what killed my uncle. and a jury who believed a teenager’s smartwatch over a school nurse’s assumptions.