By Sulei Mejia
August 3, 2024, was supposed to be one of those perfect summer nights you remember for the rest of your life. It was only two days before the first day of senior year, and everything felt light and exciting, like the whole world was opening up. I was in the car with my best friends, the windows down, the music turned up so loud we could feel the beat in our chests. We were dressed in our usual summer clothes, still warm from the sun, laughing about nothing and everything at the same time. The air smelled like sunscreen and river water, and the sky was glowing with that deep August sunset that made everything look softer. We were on our way to our friend’s house on the river, a place that had become our summer hangout spot. It was the kind of drive where you forget about time because you are surrounded by the people who make you feel invincible. I remember thinking that this was exactly how I wanted to end the summer before senior year. I had no idea that before the night was over, everything in my life would change in a single moment.
Our group of five wandered toward the dock that towered about 12 feet above the murky river water. We had been jumping off it all day, taking turns launching ourselves into the dark water below. With the sun slipping behind the trees, we decided we wanted one last jump to end the night. Every time we jumped, we followed the same rule: Whoever went first had to yell back up to the dock to let the next person know the water was clear. A group of our football friends waited behind us, hyped up and ready to jump right after we did. I remember running, screaming, feeling the rush of warm air as my feet left the wood. The second I hit the water, everything changed. Before I could kick toward the surface, I felt a heavy force slam into me from above, driving me straight down to the bottom. It was instant and violent. My neck snapped forward, and the world went black for a moment. Later, I learned that losing consciousness underwater from an impact like that can be considered a traumatic brain injury, a type of concussion that causes immediate loss of awareness. In some cases, people experience what is known as a hypoxic blackout, where the brain shuts down from lack of oxygen. Underwater, I remember the panic rising in my chest. I could not move. I could not tell which way was up. It felt like I was being held down by something I couldn’t fight.
The seconds stretched into what felt like minutes as I waited for my body to float back toward the surface. When I finally broke the surface, I knew something was terribly wrong. My body would not move. Every motor function felt shut off, like someone had unplugged me from myself. The only sense I still had was my hearing, and even that felt distant. In high school, I was the captain of the swim team, which meant no one expected me to struggle in the water. It took longer for my friends to realize I wasn’t swimming, wasn’t joking, wasn’t OK. The person who pulled me out of the water wasn’t even someone I knew. I remember trying to speak, but the words came out slurred and broken. I was muttering random sounds, trying to call for help, but nothing made sense. When I finally regained full consciousness, embarrassment hit me before fear did. I didn’t want anyone fussing over me. I didn’t want to ruin the night. I could still walk, so how bad could it be? I laid on the dock for a minute, trying to gather myself, then mustered the courage to walk inside alone. For the next 30 minutes, I sat on the couch, trying to breathe through the pain, convincing myself it would pass. But the pain didn’t fade. It grew sharper, heavier, spreading through my neck and back until I couldn’t pretend anymore. That was the moment I finally accepted that something serious had happened. I picked up my phone with shaking hands and called my dad.
When I finally made it to the emergency room, the pain in my neck and upper back had become unbearable. The nurses put a neck brace on me immediately, and the moment it clicked into place, the seriousness of the situation hit me harder than the water had. A series of scans, including an MRI, showed my C7 vertebra had snapped in half. When you break your C7 vertebra, the nerves that control your arms, hands and upper body are disrupted, which can cause intense pain, weakness and numbness that makes even the smallest movements feel impossible. The doctor told me that my injury didn’t require surgery, but if the football player had landed on me any other way, I would’ve been paralyzed. For the next three months, I was bedridden. I couldn’t go to school, couldn’t even shower. I felt like my life was over.
After the accident and throughout my recovery, it became clear just how much that night had changed every part of my life. The physical pain was one thing, but the emotional shift was something I hadn’t expected. I couldn’t shake the feeling that what happened to me shouldn’t happen to anyone else. I started learning everything I could about water safety, and eventually I got a job as a swim instructor. Teaching kids how to be safe in the water became something I cared about deeply. That passion grew even more when I realized Hillsborough County, where I lived, is the county with the highest drowning rates in Florida. So, I founded a water‑safety club at my school, and we began visiting local elementary schools to give presentations on how to stay safe and respect the water. What started as the worst night of my life slowly turned into a sense of purpose and responsibility. My injury didn’t just change me — it pushed me to make sure no one else had to learn these lessons the way I did.
Water safety is one of the most overlooked public health issues in the United States, even though it affects thousands of people every year. It does not get the same attention as topics like mental health or chronic disease, but it should, especially in Florida, where water is part of daily life. Florida has some of the highest drowning rates in the country, and drowning is the leading cause of death for children ages 1 to 4 both in the state and nationwide. Teenagers and young adults are also at high risk for water-related injuries, including spinal fractures from diving or jumping into bodies of water. Many of these incidents are preventable with stronger education, better community programs and more awareness. Simple safety habits can save lives, such as checking the depth of the water before jumping or diving, never swimming alone, avoiding alcohol around water and making sure someone nearby knows basic rescue skills. These tips sound like common sense, but every year children and teenagers die because no one taught them how dangerous water can be. From a public health perspective, water safety needs far more recognition and support than it currently receives. This is one of the reasons I want to become the chief operating officer of a hospital one day. I want to be in a position where I can advocate for stronger water‑safety initiatives, expand outreach in schools and neighborhoods and make sure this issue is treated with the seriousness it deserves. My experience showed me how quickly a fun moment can turn into a life‑changing injury, and I believe public health leaders have a responsibility to make sure fewer families ever have to face that reality.
Sulei Mejia is a third-year public health major.
“My Public Health Story” essays originated from an assignment on public health storytelling for a public health messaging and dissemination course led by Gaia Zori, Ph.D., M.P.H., coordinator for the social and behavioral sciences and public health practice concentrations in the Master of Public Health program.