It was a hot morning in the summer of 2010, the sky was clear, the sun was scorching and in front of me the highway that took us to Civitavecchia. It would have been a great family vacation if something had turned out differently. Hi, I'm Concetta and I'll tell you the story of my hypertrophic heart disease.

I was traveling peacefully by car with my family when suddenly my father, who was driving, began to feel unwell, had blurred vision and was sweating cold so he promised himself to undergo a cardiological examination upon our return. And so it was.

The result was not long in coming, Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. As a result, both my younger sister and I underwent a full cardiac examination. I still remember the astonished look of the doctor who visited me, he called together many postgraduates to observe my "particular" cardiological situation. In my heart I knew that something was wrong. Since I was a child I have always had a hard time making any kind of effort, from the stairs to a simple run, I always had breathlessness and palpitations and I remember living the summer as if it were a nightmare. But I've always been a child who never complained so I kept everything to myself. The outcome was quite obvious, hypertrophic obstructive heart disease inherited from the father, while my sister tested negative for the problem, fortunately.

Thus began our series of appointments with the most illustrious doctors from all over Italy until in Rome they advised us to contact Prof. Franco Cecchi from Florence, a specialist in heart disease.

I was 16 when Prof. Cecchi visited me for the first time and subjected me to a series of tests which confirmed the diagnosis. The genetic origin of my and my father's cardiomyopathy was confirmed. Given my condition, the cardiac surgeon of the Careggi hospital in Florence fixed me the operation as soon as possible. It was October 26, 2011, I was 17 and I was about to be operated on. I still remember that night, the darkness of the room, the fear of something so much bigger than me, I was alone and I was wondering if I ever saw my family, my boyfriend and my friends again. At 5 in the morning the nurse started preparing me for the operation with all the usual procedures. After a while my parents arrived at the hospital and after a greeting full of tears and fears the elevator doors closed in front of me.

A few hours passed, maybe a dozen, and I woke up in intensive care with a nurse who checked my vital signs. That night was the most difficult of the entire hospitalization, I remember that I had tremendous pain in my back and chest and a great thirst which unfortunately could not be fully satisfied. From the next day on, my recovery began. One step after another every day, without much effort, I was getting better and better going from sub intensive therapy, to the ward and finally to a rehabilitation center. I stayed here for two weeks: every day we did a light gym to reactivate the muscles of the body.

After a month of hospitalization, I was finally able to go home, taking my life and daily life back into my hands a little at a time. For the first few years, I often went back up to Florence for routine checks. Now, however, my appointment is set once a year. In the following years, even my father was operated on and subjected to the same hospital path as me, and he too was the winner.

Now I am 25 years old, I study, I am engaged to my historical boyfriend who has never left me alone and I live a normal life. I will never be a marathon runner, of course, but I can easily do all the stairs I want, walk, do a light sport without depriving myself of the pleasures of life.