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Traveling in Palawan earlier this year, I noticed my friend’s gaze lower to the scar on my right shin. She asked, “what happened?” I thought of the sunny, hot day in Jarabacoa, the Dominican Republic. January 3, 2015. The van was packed with all the medications, fold-up tables, medical record binders, medical supplies and volunteers for the day. Doing a final check, I headed back up to the apartment into the supply area to make sure we had gotten everything. That day, our medical outreach team was traveling to the villages in the mountains far from Jarabacoa to set up clinic. After locking up, I came downstairs. Little did I know that after crossing the street I would not be joining my team for the day. Blinded by a parked van, I did not see the two motorcycles turning into that same cross walk at full speed. Hitting me with great force into my right leg, I projectiled into the street, landing on my lower lumbar region, and scraping my head. Bleeding, bruised, and severely disoriented, I was rushed in an ambulance to the main hospital in La Vega with my friend, Melissa. With severe pain after the head injury, my body experienced shock, and as a result was shivering and uncontrollably vomiting. The paramedics held me upright as Melissa gave me her sweater to hold onto. Upon getting to the hospital, I saw Dr. Encarnacion, the physician our medical team was working with. My attention quickly shifted as I heard nurses screaming “Chica Americana, Chica Americana,” as they rushed toward me. I saw and felt needles pointing at me from a myriad of directions. All vitals and medical instructions were said in a tongue foreign to me. Terrified, an extreme and utmost sense of vulnerability came over me. Trauma. Shock. Needles. Sensory overload. Minutes later I was slowly sedated waiting for my X-rays and went into another room for examination. I woke up 48 hours later in the hospital room ready for my final check up to be released. This was the first time I personally experienced trauma. Trauma, for me, meant being on the back end of medicine. It meant truly being able to experience being a patient. and understanding the lasting impact of the power of human connection. Accidents happen. You never know when they will, how big or small they may be and how much of an impact they may have on you. The memory of that experiences will forever be embodied within the scar I left with.