“I don’t have my long legs anymore.” These poignant words were spoken by Natalya “Nat” Manhertz at the tender age of 17. Her mother recalls this moment vividly as they watched April flowers bloom, a time synonymous with the anticipation of senior prom, a milestone event for many teenagers.

The ordeal began with something as seemingly trivial as a sore throat. That’s all it took to change Natalya Manhertz’s life forever.

She had barely survived sepsis. She wasn’t sure she’d ever feel beautiful again. 

But this story isn’t about what she’s lost. This is about all that she refused to let go of in her over two-year journey and those who never stopped holding on to her. 11Alive’s Cheryl Preheim has followed her journey for more than two years, from ICU to prom, graduation and now her first steps on prosthetic legs.

Natalya Manhertz had a sore throat. That was all. 

A healthy, athletic high schooler who played tennis and laughed loudly with her friends, she had her whole life in front of her. Then her body started shutting down. Then her heart stopped. 

Then, almost everything changed. 

A rare and aggressive form of strep turned septic. Doctors at Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta rushed to place her on ECMO, a form of life support that takes over the function of the heart and lungs when they are too sick to work on their own. 

It was a last resort. If she did not go on the machine, she would likely die. If she did go on the machine, there was still a chance she would not make it. Her mother, Thelia, had to decide in seconds. 

“I had to choose,” Thelia said. “And I chose the chance.” 

Natalya’s survival came at an extraordinary cost. Sepsis had ravaged her limbs, turning them dark as blood flow stopped. No blood was passing, and the tissue was dying. Her doctors knew early on that her arms would not make it. Later, they realized neither of her legs would survive. 

She would lose them for a shot at another day. And still, even with ECMO, there was no guarantee. And even through the pain, everyone around her remembers how she pushed on. 

Michael Hadd, one of the ECMO specialists, remembers what most people wouldn’t have noticed in a room filled with machines: Natalya’s smile. Even when her prognosis was grim. Even when her body was shutting down. Even when everyone around her was fighting just to keep her alive. 

“Her strength is remarkable,” Hadd said. “She handles it with grace.” 

Behind every vital decision was a mother holding on. Holding her breath. Holding her daughter’s life in her hands. Thelia stayed by Natalya’s side through the surgeries, the monitors and the silence. She saw things no mother should ever see. 

“I never imagined this day,” Thelia said, her voice full of wonder and fatigue. “But I was grateful for every second. It gives me hope.” 

Doctors had warned her that the path ahead would be brutal. That Natalya might not survive. That even if she did, nothing would be the same. The infection had ravaged her limbs, starving them of blood. 

Dr. Margo Rollins, a tissue specialist who supported the team during those harrowing weeks, doesn’t speak in hyperbole. But when it comes to Natalya, she doesn’t hesitate. 

“If you didn’t believe in miracles,” Rollins said, “she is one standing right in front of you.” 

But Natalya doesn’t remember those early days. She doesn’t remember the machines or the codes or the doctors racing to bring her back. She was unconscious of much of it, kept alive by ECMO, a machine that took over her heart and lungs. She woke up in pieces. 

“I was just not alive,” she said. “They helped build me back up. Put me back together.” 

And while the story could end there, with surviving, being able to take a morning breath, Joel Davis, one of the clinicians on her ECMO team, knows better. Survival isn’t just a chance. Technology is revolutionary and those with the care working behind the machine, equally as amazing. ECMO, more importantly, gave Natalya time. 

“Without it, she would not have survived,” Davis said. 

With scars. With strength. With memories pieced together by others, she survived. Through emergency medicine, human instinct and unrelenting love, Natalya lived. 

Waking up without arms or legs is not something anyone prepares for—especially not a 17‑year‑old girl. 

At first, Natalya didn’t want to leave the house, let alone go back to Trinity Christian School. She told her mom she didn’t want to go to prom. She had survived, yes. But coming back to life meant facing the world with a body she didn’t recognize, and a fear she didn’t speak out loud at first. 

“I didn’t know if my friends would still be my friends,” she admitted. 

It wasn’t just the physical change. It was everything. The missed time. The blank spots in memory. The new body she was learning to inhabit. Her limbs were gone. And along with them, she feared, maybe the version of her that others once loved. 

“What dress would I even wear?” her mother remembers her asking. “I don’t have my long legs anymore. I loved my long legs.” 

Her mom gently reminded her: she could go in her wheelchair. And still be beautiful. And still be her. 

So many days were filled with silence, doubt, and body grief. Her identity fractured. The things that once defined her were suddenly gone or unfamiliar and she felt confined to her freedom. 

But slowly, things began to shift. She started attending therapy. She learned how to move with her new prosthetics. She started speaking again, smiling more. Nurses who had once cared for her became extensions of her family. They showed up on their day off to help her get ready for prom. 

 ”She’s still the same Nat, you know, she still has the same heart and the same personality,” Sara Beth Odom, a friend, said. 

Sophie Tillas, one of her nurses at CHOA, watched the day unfold with pride and excitement. 

“It’s emotional for all of us,” she said. “This was one of her big goals. It’s the biggest celebration of how far Nat’s come and how incredibly strong she is.” 

They weren’t just helping her into a dress. They were helping her reclaim her place in the world. 

“She’s just so fiery,” Tillas said. “From the moment I met her she was fierce and strong. She has this amazing ability to find a positive in everything. Her tenacity is part of what got her here.” 

Getting dressed for prom was not just emotional. It was physically hard. A process of trial and error. Of patience and frustration. Needing others to help her zip and secure, clip and adjust. But it was also filled with joy. 

“We are giving Barbie, and I love it,” Natalya joked from her bed. 

Her mom looked at her daughter with joy. 

“Six months ago I didn’t think it would happen,” Thelia said. “And to see her embrace it and go through it… it’s amazing.” 

There was laughter. There were tears. And there was a transformation. Natalya showed up to prom in pink. Radiant. Razzle‑dazzle. 

“The dress is incredible,” Tillas said. “It has the perfect amount of girly pink and sass. It’s perfect for her.” 

Natalya graduated, too, meeting all the milestones of a high school senior. Her nurses came again, proud. She rolled across that stage with her shoulders back, head high. 

And she made another declaration: she still wants to drive. The car will need to be customized. But she’s already planning. 

“Did you get your car?” someone asked. 

“No! But I still want it!” she answered. “I’m going to get it one day.” 

At the hospital where she was once clinging to life, Natalya returned. This time, she came through the doors for a different reason. She was there for a reunion. 

Her survival placed her in a unique circle: ECMO survivors. The room was filled with children and families who had all been to the edge and come back. 

Some children were unrecognizable to the doctors who treated them. And many didn’t remember the care teams who saved them. Natalya didn’t either. But the staff remembered her. 

“You see them at their worst,” said Joel Davis. “When they had no hope. But then you see them here laughing, living. It means everything.” 

“They were there for me during my most vulnerable time,” Natalya said. “They don’t even know how far their support goes. But it goes a long way.” 

One doctor called her a legend. Another called her a miracle. To the nurses, she was family. To her mother, she was her purpose. And to herself, she was something more now. 

Natalya saw pictures of herself unconscious, hooked up to machines. “I looked like a zombie,” she said. “It’s a nice thing that these nurses love me for me.” 

She speaks with the clarity of someone who has lived too close to death. “Even on your deathbed, have faith. I am a testament to that,” she said. 

Not long before Christmas, 21 days ahead of the holiday, she took her first steps all on her own at home. No one holding on. No extra hands to catch her if she fell. Just her, her prosthetic legs, and the same determination that had carried her through.

Michael Hadd agreed. “She should speak to crowds. She’s absolutely amazing.” 

Now 20, Natalya is more than a survivor. She is a storyteller. A sister. A daughter. A prom queen. A graduate. A driver in the making. A young woman taking careful, hard-earned steps on new legs. 

She is living proof that light can live in even the darkest places. 

📲 Follow her journey @natmanhertz on Instagram