My hero is my brother, Franko Vincent Fabbro. He is 8 years old and he saved my life. And here is the story of how he became my hero. When I was born I was not breathing, so the doctors had to resuscitate me. My mom, Kristie, and I spent three days in the hospital and my dad, Franko, and my other brothers, Matthew and Michael, came to see me every day. The doctors said I was fine, and my mom and I got to come home when I was four days old.  

My brothers played with me every day and everything seemed fine, until one evening when I was nine days old. I was in my baby bouncer. (My brothers played with me a lot when I was in this seat!) My mom was cleaning up the kitchen and my Dad and big brothers were helping--everyone except Franko and me. We were just playing. All of a sudden I stopped breathing. Franko yelled to everyone that he thought I needed help. I looked the same as I did when I slept in that chair, and everyone thought I was just sleeping. So they said, “He’ll be fine. He’s just sleeping.” But Franko knew something just wasn't right. He yelled again and again to let know them know I needed help. By the time my mom ran over, I was "blue" from lack of oxygen. I was life-flighted to The Children's Hospital of Pittsburgh, PA, where I spent 49 days. So my hero is my brother Franko. Most people think he's a hero because he got me help when I most needed it, but he's really my hero because he always plays with me--just like my Dad, mom, and other brothers!

Me watching my hero play baseballNonna FabbroMe and my mama on my first ChristmasNonna FabbroThat's me, a few days after I rode a helicopter with my Dad to The Children's HospitalNonna FabbroMe meeting my hero for the first timeNonna Fabbro