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What would you do if you knew today was your last?

At nine years old, that wasn't a hypothetical question for me. It was my reality.

After being burned on 100% of my body in a gasoline explosion, I was given less than a 1% chance to survive the first night. Although I survived that night, and the following five months in the hospital, the prospect of death never faded. It felt closest, though, on the nights before surgery.

Because burned skin doesn't grow back, doctors had to take skin from one part of my body and graft it onto another. In my case, the only usable donor site was my scalp. So more than a dozen times, they took skin from my scalp and transplanted it, piece by piece, across my body.

Each surgery carried the very real risk that this could be the last.

To alleviate my anxiety and sadness, the night before became a celebration. My parents and siblings would come, we'd eat pizza, drink milkshakes, stay up late. Sometimes they'd bring gifts. On those nights, they did everything possible to diminish the fear and elevate me.

So let me ask you again: If tonight were your last, how would you spend it?