Scars tell a story. A story about a wild bike ride gone wrong or about a tree you fell out of as a kid. For my uncle, his scar tells a different story. His scar represents time. It represents the family he was never supposed to have. It represents luck. It represents a hope. When my uncle was born, what should have been one of the happiest days of my grandparent’s life quickly turned grim when the doctors told them he most likely wouldn’t live past six years old, that the heart condition he was born with would limit his activity for how ever long he survived. How does any parent process that? How do you erase all the happy future memories you made the moment you found out you were having a child? That was the reality my grandparents faced when they brought my mom’s brother home from the hospital. My mom was only two and had no clue what my uncles cardiomyopathy diagnosis meant. It was 1982 and she was a two year old excited to have a baby brother. What she didn’t realize was the condition my uncle was born with would require multiple long trips to NHS in Washington a year, medication, doctors visits, and living in constant fear as time ticked on. While the long nights and all the tests were challenging, the fear and uncertainty scary, what got them through was hope and a never going to give up attitude. What ever it took, everyone was all in on figuring out a way to give him more time. It wasn’t easy and wasn’t without pain. My uncle had multiple heart surgeries, multiple pacemakers installed, but fast forward forty one years and my uncle is not only going strong, but he grew up playing hockey, snowboarding, fishing, and living life to the fullest. He got married and had a son of his own. All things that he should have never been able to do. So while his scar may just represent a surgery to someone who doesn’t know his story, to me it represents how precious life is. It reminds me how lucky I am to be an athlete and not have to restrict my physical activity. It represents the bond he was never supposed to have with my little cousin. It reminds me to live each day like it could be your last because my uncle’s reality is that he doesn’t really know how much time he has. He’s on borrowed time if you consider his initial six year time line, but nothing has ever slowed him down and that determination inspires and drives me.

Setbacks are difficult at any age but even more difficult as an athlete. Playing sports my entire life, competing is all I've ever known. As a three-sport, varsity athlete, I'm committed to playing lacrosse in college in 2023 and I've spent countless hours devoted to athletics since I was a little kid. When I was sidelined my senior year halfway through fall soccer season, I was devastated to learn the condition that was causing me so much pain would result in multiple surgeries that would inevitably take me out of my final basketball season. It was a crushing prognosis for someone who only knows how to be on a field or court, helping her team win games. I felt like I was letting my team down. Even though I knew it wasn't my fault, I felt like I had disappointed my coaches. Mentally it was something I struggled with. My first surgery was on December 6, 2022, three days before our team's first game. I could have stayed away, feeling sorry for myself for not being able to play, but that's not how I'm built. I committed to my team freshman year and nothing was going to keep me away. I may not be able to help out on the court, but I have yet to miss a practice or game. I keep stats for coaches, making notes of every turnover, shot, and rebound so we can work out our issues in practice. I'm also my teammate's biggest cheerleader, there to give them a pep talk or an ear to just listen when they need to vent. It's not how I saw the season going, but it's showing me that what I do off the court is perhaps more valuable than what I can do on it. I know the importance of my role this year. As a senior, I need to show the incoming freshman as well as the girls I've played with since 4th grade that there are different levels of commitment. That commitment doesn't just come in the form of throwing on a jersey and playing. Being the best teammate I can means committing to the players and coaches even when I knew going into the season I would never step foot on the court in a uniform. It's becoming a leader that the team needs and setting the right example for the younger players. Missing out on a sports season is hard, but even harder is working to get back. When I'm not with the team, I'm at physical therapy, spending hours a week getting stronger before my second surgery at the end of January. Taking the time to put in the work in this case is no different than if I were able to play. I'd have to put in the work. It would mean missing out on certain things others are doing. It would mean waking up early to get homework done, knowing I would have to go to therapy after class to get to practice on time. It's a discipline that I'm used to because as a student-athlete to succeed, I have no choice but to be disciplined. I will get back to the field. I have my eyes set on March 19th, day one of lacrosse season and the sport I love more than any other. It will take hard work, and commitment to get back after two leg surgeries, but with discipline and the support of my family and teammates, I will be on that field for opening day, because not playing isn't an option.