I’ve had “first days” with more than 50 nurses. But none was as memorable as my first day with Jean.

Most of my childhood was spent with one home care nurse after another, each of whom picked me up from school and took care of me at home until my parents returned from work. They took my vital signs, watched me do my homework, cleaned my tracheostomy tube and helped me take a bath.

They were essentially babysitters-slash-experts on “trach tube” kids like me. I was born with vocal cord paralysis, which doesn’t affect my voice or my ability to live and work, but does affect my breathing. I’ve worn a trach tube to help me breathe ever since I can remember.

Jean’s first day began like all the others: Her beat-up red Chevy Corsica rolled into my school’s driveway, and I quickly shuffled my way into her car before the other kids saw me. I was in fifth grade, and who picked you up after school was important.