Trypanophobia- the fear of needles. It is one of the most prominent phobias of the modern day, with as many as one in four adults suffering from it worldwide. Statistically, at least one person who reads this will have it. I’ve had my fair share of anxiety around them, too. As a young woman with Hashimoto’s disease- an autoimmune disorder that targets the thyroid’s production of thyroxine and triiodothyronine- I have had to have more blood tests done this past year than any other in my life. Although the process may be frightening, it never fails to ignite my curiosity. It amazes me how laboratory technicians can glean so much information about me from such a small sample of blood. Everything from the presence of life-threatening diseases to my genetic heritage is there within that little vial. That is one of the reasons that I was first inspired to enter the field of microbiology. The idea that something so small could have such a large impact on someone- that a few minutes’ worth of blood testing could completely change their life- is nothing short of miraculous. People may think that getting my diagnosis was one of the worst moments of my life- and I won’t deny that it was pretty scary- but the truth about it is that it was incredibly eye-opening. You would be hard-pressed to find anyone kinder than the medical technologists who worked with me. They were incredibly patient with me and made sure to put my fears surrounding the tests to rest. The whole process felt freeing, in a way. Before, I was constantly tired and beleaguered with no explanation as to why. I experienced near-constant nausea and aches, as well as heart palpitations and spikes in anxiety. The worst part was being in the dark about it all. But now, I was no longer plagued by ‘what-ifs’ and frantic Google searches trying to figure out what was wrong with me. Instead, those tests pinpointed exactly what was wrong. From there, I had the freedom to choose the best path for me. From an outside perspective, the medical technologists played a relatively small role in my journey with Hashimoto’s. But in reality, my entire diagnosis- as well as my life after it- hinged on the work of those incredible men and women. Those short minutes that they took from their busy schedule completely altered the course of my life. Some day, I hope to do the same for someone else- for the countless other people who walk through the doors of the lab, scared of the needles or the possibilities or anything else. I hope to be the person to put their fears to rest and encourage them to use their newfound knowledge of their inner workings to figure out the best course of action for them. Even if they may seem insignificant from an outside perspective, it is in those small, fleeting moments that you can open a door that can change someone’s life for the better.

When I was a girl, my dad and I would sing together every night. He’d get his battered old guitar and I’d sit in front of him, singing as loud as my little lungs would let me. If we were lucky, my mother and sisters would join in. No matter what we played, my favorites were always those my parents had grown up on- the gospel, folk, and rock of their youth. It was like getting to know a whole different side of them- the parts of them that were younger and carefree, not weighed down by stress. For a little while, our house was happier. As I got older, my love for music grew. It wasn’t just a way to grow closer to my parents, but to my siblings as well. There is a significant age gap between my siblings and me- over ten years, to be exact. Sometimes, it felt like there was no way for me to connect with them. That changed when I was six. I was singing along to a song on the radio. It was one that I had heard once or twice, but never made much note of. Somehow, I was able to remember every word to it perfectly. It didn’t make much difference to me. I was just having fun singing. My siblings, on the other hand, were very impressed. It was one of the first times that I can remember them being genuinely excited over something I’d done. It changed everything. From then on, I tried to memorize as many songs as I could. Any music my family liked, I loved. When I was eleven, one of my sisters became a fan of Van Morrison. She taught me some of his songs and we sang them together every afternoon. That year, I entered into a competition. I planned to sing “Ophelia”, one of Mr. Morrison’s songs and a personal favorite of mine. Everything seemed to be going well- up until the end of the first verse. Suddenly, my background music cut out. I was onstage, completely alone, with no music to shield me from the dead quiet of the audience. I was pulled off stage while they fixed the bug. It was nerve-wracking. After an eternity, they were done and I finished my performance without issue. The most unexpected part of the experience was the reaction from the strangers who had seen what happened. Audience members and performers alike came to tell me how proud they were that I kept going despite everything that happened. The sense of community in that moment is something that I treasure every day. Even if I didn’t win, their kindness meant more to me than a trophy ever could. Whether they knew it or not, those incredible people gave me a lesson that day- music isn’t about perfection. It’s about following through, even if it’s hard. My life, when it comes to music, has been a series of trial and error. While it’s true that not everything has worked out as I planned, I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s taken me a while to get where I’m at, but today I am a proud member of my school and church choirs, and will have my first opportunity to give vocal lessons to children ages five to eight in my community this November. Music has taken my life in so many wonderful directions that I never could have predicted, and I couldn’t be happier. Thanks to the music in my life and the support of my loved ones, I believe that I’ve finally found my purpose.