When I was 13 years old, my Nonna was living with uncontrolled diabetes. One summer, she developed a blister on her right great toe from wearing sandals. When she went to her primary care provider, he examined her foot and told her the toe needed to be amputated immediately. He warned her that the infection would turn gangrenous, spread through her body, and ultimately kill her.

My Nonna was devastated. She already had a steel plate in her left knee, and losing her great toe would severely compromise her balance and independence. She refused the amputation, saying, “Then I’ll die—but you’re not cutting anything off my body.”

When she came home upset, I asked to see her foot. With nothing more than toenail clippers, a nail nipper, warm water, antibiotic ointment, and careful attention, I began caring for her wound. Through the grace of  God, He made me a healer.  I soaked her foot, gently debrided the dead tissue, applied Neosporin, and dressed the wound. I repeated this twice daily while she continued her prescribed antibiotics. Foot soaks were done several times a week.

Over the next three months, what began as a quarter-inch crater transformed into healthy, pink granulation tissue. When my Nonna returned to her PCP, he was shocked—he admitted he had expected her to die. Examining her foot, he asked how this healing had occurred. She replied simply, “My 13-year-old granddaughter took care of me.” He told her he was deeply impressed and encouraged her to keep doing exactly what she was doing.

That experience profoundly shaped how I view healing. It taught me early on that the body has an incredible capacity to repair itself when given the right support—and that thoughtful, attentive care matters. It was one of the first moments I realized that healing is not always about drastic interventions, but about understanding the whole person and supporting the body’s natural ability to recover.