1. The diabetic’s unrelenting cycle of doctor’s appointments has been both a burden and a privilege; on one hand, I’m tired of check-ups, bloodwork, waiting rooms, and MyChart messages. On the other, I’ve had ample opportunity to determine what, in my opinion, makes a “good” healthcare provider. While education and medical competency are nonnegotiable, the real key is empathy—taking genuine interest in patients’ concerns, reading their body language, and empowering them to participate in their own care. My experiences have shown me both the presence and absence of these qualities. One experience, in particular, solidified this belief. I remember a previous endocrinologist who spoke with my mother about charts and pump settings as if I wasn’t the one managing my care daily. I felt like an observer at my own appointments. Looking back, it was a valuable lesson in self-advocacy—but it also motivated me to “do it better.” That motivation pushed me to better understand the science behind my condition. I’ve always loved biology and chemistry, and as both a lifelong athlete and a type 1 diabetic, I developed a strong interest in human physiology and a future in healthcare. During a pre-health summer program, a lecture by emergency medicine physician Dr. Scott Kanagy reinforced this path. He encouraged us to regularly audit our “why,” arguing that without a genuine desire to help others, a career in healthcare is unsustainable. That's when it "clicked"; I want to attend medical school so that I can fully realize my passion to help others. I hope to become a physician known not only for expertise, but for empathy. 2. While “change is the only constant,” my response to it has been anything but. In high school, I was consistently optimistic. Where others agonized over a poor test grade or race time, I found the positive. Praised by mentors, my GPA, race times, and A1C were stellar. But beneath that "success," I was overworked and underfueled—three stress fractures, falling asleep in class, and frequent hypoglycemia were part of my reality. I coped through perfectionism, ignoring the toll it took on my body. At the University of Florida, that structure disappeared. Erratic schedules and loss of team-based training left me struggling to establish routine. My mental health declined, and I cycled through diabetes burnout and stress eating—similarly unhealthy responses to setbacks. Through therapy, I’ve developed stronger strategies: time in nature, connecting with friends, and expressing myself through art, for example. These practices help me stay grounded and resilient, allowing me to face challenges without losing course. 3. One distressingly overlooked issue in the diabetes community is diabetics' relationships with food. I began struggling with perfectionism, body image, and “clean eating” in 7th grade, which progressed to anorexia and hospitalization in 8th. I often used diabetes to justify restriction, arguing it “wasn’t worth it” to eat certain foods. My A1C was exemplary—my endocrinologist called me one of her best patients, ironically. While not every type 1 diabetic develops an eating disorder, their relationship with food is rarely “normal.” Since Dr. Allen’s starvation method was developed over 100 years ago, food has always been central to management. Even with insulin, constant calculation compounds with every meal. Some avoid foods that require effort, others restrict carbohydrates; many eventually experience burnout, which can become dangerous if unaddressed. If I could contribute one meaningful change, it would be to integrate nutrition and mental health support into standard diabetes care. Every patient should have access to a registered dietitian and therapist alongside an endocrinologist. Early, comprehensive support would not only improve outcomes, but promote a healthier, more sustainable relationship with food.

Since age five, "summer" has always been synonymous with "Sunshine Camp." Sunshine Camp is a week-long summer camp directed by a local preschool teacher at one of our city parks. When I was younger, I remember waiting with eager impatience for the Monday that would kick off my week at Sunshine Camp; summer didn't really start until Sunshine Camp did. As I got older, I became a veteran camper–one who could, when polled about how many years I'd been coming to Sunshine Camp, claim seven, eight, or even nine years of attendance. Camp counselors would look to us to teach new campers the camp songs and much-loved field games. At age 13, I became eligible to give back to the camp that had given me so much for eight consecutive summers: I became a camp counselor. For three years, I learned all about the "behind the scenes" components that went into camp; I filled water balloons, helped facilitate drop-off and pick-up, portioned out snacks, wiped down the playground on rainy mornings, and offered my creative talents to the chalk murals we drew with campers on the pavilion floor. One summer, I became too busy to volunteer as a counselor, so I asked the camp director if there was any other way I could help with camp. She told me I could stuff t-shirts into bags. I spent multiple hours that summer folding, stuffing, and labeling the shirts in the bags, which (I'll admit) was not the most fun work–but it was valuable. Wanting to further lessen the stress of her duties, I offered to prepare the campers' name tags for the camp director that summer. It was then I discovered a true need to which I could contribute my skills. The spreadsheet with all the campers' information was dreadfully disorganized and manually populated. In other words, she would record the data from hundreds of registration forms by hand: a process that took almost the entire summer to complete. I knew there was a better way, so I suggested converting to a completely online registration process. Being familiar and comfortable with paper systems, she was hesitant about letting me construct an online system but agreed that it was necessary with the current demand for camp. Soon, registration day was upon us, and we both held our breath as over 300 campers were registered and cataloged within ten minutes of opening the new system. It was a success! As tickled as I was by the fact that the system worked smoothly on registration day, I was even more delighted to see the impact of my simple solution on the camp community. The camp director was visibly relieved and has since told me multiple times how helpful converting from paper to online registration has been. But it wasn't just she who benefitted from the change; we received a flood of messages from parents of campers who were so thankful for the update. Many used to have to take time off work or rearrange their schedule in order to secure their child a spot in camp when registration was in-person, and now they can register their children from their home or workplace. I felt immense gratification from the idea that by simply offering my technology skills to this project over the summer, I was able to take a little bit of stress away from a lot of parents in my community. Having once been a camper and a counselor myself, I understand the preciousness of Sunshine Camp to my community and am immensely proud to have been involved in its betterment this past summer.

Some of my worst memories have been beside tennis courts. That's not exactly a statement you'd expect from someone who has played tennis for over eight years, but as a high school athlete with Type 1 Diabetes, it is a genuine reality. Due to my condition, I have to pause physical activity when my blood glucose level (BGL) drops dangerously low and wait until it returns to a safe range. Unfortunately, tennis is very efficient at using up the sugar in my body, so I am not unfamiliar with the experience of having to sit out and ingest juice boxes while watching my teammates continue to play, eagerly waiting for my BGL to come up. It's similar to the feeling of desperately wanting to go outside on a beautiful, sunny day but being stuck indoors finishing homework: the epitome of frustration. However, there are always lessons to be learned from any undesirable experience. For example, as I have grown as an athlete and a Type 1 Diabetic, I have learned how to best prepare myself for the unexpected challenges that either identity might present. The physical intensity of a tennis match can affect the extent to which my BGL is impacted, so I must always have an adequate supply of glucose sources with me; a certain match might require me to guzzle two or three juice boxes, while another might only warrant chewing a glucose tablet (or nothing at all). Besides physical activity, there are several other factors–adrenaline, food, hydration, sleep, and sickness, to name just a few–that can affect BGLs. Managing these variables is enough to worry about without the additional stresses of a high-stakes tennis match or a hard conditioning session. Nevertheless, the necessity of meeting my body’s needs (playing tennis or not) has been an opportunity for me to learn how to responsibly manage my mental and physical health. Habits such as proper nutrition, quality sleep, adequate hydration, and stress management have become integral to me as a tennis player. Without tennis, I do not believe that I would be as mature in these areas as I am today. Though episodes of low BGLs have decreased as I learn to fine-tune my tennis preparation, they still occur, forcing me to miss conditioning or drills at practice. Diabetes aside, hard work and perseverance are necessary to maintain an adequate level of physical fitness to play the sport, but missing practice time due to diabetes presents another challenge. Practicing and putting in work outside of scheduled team practices is critical to my success as a (diabetic) varsity tennis athlete. Time management skills go hand-in-hand with work ethic, too--learning how to fit school, practice, homework, extracurriculars, and diabetes management into the limited hours of the day can be grueling, especially as the demands of school and sports increase over time. That said, I know that these skills and values that help me succeed as a high school tennis athlete today will empower me to handle life's many challenges in the future. As I look ahead, I see myself going to college, getting a "real" job, and then–who knows? Grad school? Family? Though I cannot predict where life will take me, I know that an appreciation for tennis and the desire to live an active, stimulating life will always stay with me. I can say with confidence that the lessons I have learned and the skills I have acquired as a high school tennis athlete with Type 1 Diabetes have enabled me and will enable me to achieve success in whatever I choose to do in the future.