Kayla Scott

Asking for help does not come naturally to me.

For most of my life, I’ve been the person who tries to handle things quietly, keep moving, and take care of everyone else. Even through nearly three years of serious illness, I kept believing the next treatment would be the one that finally gave me my life back.

But my story with my lungs began long before that.

I came into this world struggling to breathe.

As a newborn, I aspirated meconium, required three chest tubes, and was life-flighted to what is now Arnold Palmer Hospital for Children. My parents were told I would need ECMO. Miraculously, I improved enough to avoid it, and after nearly a month in the NICU, they finally got to bring me home.

That was not the end of hospitals for me.

I spent a lot of my childhood in and out of them, and even as a kid I remember realizing that the nurse could really make or break the whole experience. A good nurse could make things feel less scary. They were the person who explained what was happening, noticed when something felt off, stood up for you, or sometimes just stayed with you when you needed someone there.

I remember thinking, I want to be that person.

So I became a nurse.

I wanted to be there for people when they were scared, overwhelmed, or facing something they didn’t understand. During COVID-19, that meant helping people through an unprecedented time filled with fear, changing information, and more questions than answers.

I never imagined that only a few years later, I would be facing so many unknowns of my own.

This time, the questions were about my health, my lungs, and what my future would look like.

At 28, I was diagnosed with microscopic polyangiitis, a rare autoimmune disease that has caused severe damage to both my lungs and kidneys.

For nearly three years, I tried to keep that part of my life as quiet as possible. I kept working whenever my body allowed it. I kept hoping the next medication, procedure, or treatment would finally turn things around.

Then this summer, everything changed.

I became critically ill, spent weeks in the hospital and ICU, and was evaluated for a double-lung transplant, with my kidney disease also becoming part of the transplant process.

I improved enough to come home, but getting through that hospitalization did not make the underlying disease disappear. Right now, I have something incredibly important: time to recover, prepare, and put the pieces in place for whatever comes next.

That is why I am fundraising now.

My goal is to raise $16,500 to help cover transplant-related expenses, including the caregiver and housing requirements needed during transplant and recovery.

For most of my life, I have tried to be the person who helps.

The baby my parents once watched fight to breathe grew up to become a nurse who spent her life caring for other people.

Now, at 32 years old, I’m learning how to let other people show up for me.

My hope is that, with enough time, treatment, and support, I’ll get the chance to be that person for someone else again.

My family and friends are raising funds through the nonprofit Help Hope Live. Contributions are tax-deductible, and funds are used only for approved medical and related expenses.

If you can donate, share my story, pray for me, or simply take the time to read this, thank you.

Thank you for helping me keep fighting.

And, quite literally,

thank you for helping me keep breathing.