This is me and my beagle, Elly, on the day that my sister was taking her senior pictures. I decided to dress up and go so we could have some family pictures as well, and that included everyone in my family. Before we left, I called Elly to me, and this photo is the product of about ten minutes trying to get her to be still. Even though I caught her with her mouth open, it's my favorite one of her because it made me laugh so hard when I first saw it.

As a member of a very small school, I have had less opportunities when it comes to extracurriculars. However, I had the great pleasure of recently helping a drama program get started. We have had one successful production so far and I can confidently say that I was part of the organization as well as the actual performance of it. Because of this base that has been built, this program is continuing to grow this year and I feel that it will only get better in the future.

Failure is a funny thing. I say this because it is generally seen in a negative light. However, it may be the catalyst that affects the most change in our lives. Sometimes, we are so stuck in what we are doing, that we don't even realize that we've just been going in circles. I've experienced this more times than I can count, but there’s one event that was particularly poignant for me: my first speech and debate tournament. As an avid arguer for most of my life, speech and debate was an attractive option that appeared to be tailor made for me, and I joined as soon as I could. As my first tournament arrived, I was equal parts nervous and excited, with all of that all mixing together to make for a stressful and exhilarating weekend. While I only ended up losing one round of debate that weekend, that loss is something that I often recall. I had no regrets specific to my competition, but I felt that I had personally failed. During that specific round, I allowed my opponent to get under my skin. I let them irritate me, which in turn, distracted me. I felt myself becoming more and more flustered and felt panic setting in. Because of my anger and panic, I lost my ability to clearly articulate my thoughts, and subsequently lost the round. The devastation I felt afterwards was palpable, and it took me a while to fully understand what had really happened. It wasn’t until after the tournament had finished, and I had some time to think, that I realized what had occurred. I had lost sight of what I was doing because I let my emotions take over, a reaction that couldn’t happen again. Let me clarify; emotions are what makes us human, and they are necessary to our survival. However, they can’t control us to the point that we lose our ability to react appropriately. Emotions are powerful and can easily consume us. Therefore, we have to know when to let them prevail. While this lesson was a difficult one to learn, I’ve reflected on it often, and have been able to apply what I’ve learned to many different scenarios in my life. For that, I am grateful for the loss, as it has fundamentally changed how I approach challenging situations.

Everything is fine until it isn’t… everything is normal until the world tips. We can’t predict the future, yet we pretend that we have some sort of clarity about what is going to happen. We plan and plan and hope that nothing will go wrong, knowing that it most likely will, and we are still surprised when it happens, when everything changes. That December night started out completely normal. I had dinner with my family and we sat down afterward to watch a show. I remember a dark feeling of sickness in the pit of my stomach. It was nothing more than an occurrence, nothing that I put any thought into. That is, nothing I put any thought into until half-way through our show. I was sitting on the couch, and I could feel the soft cover under me. The flashing lights of the TV filled my vision. The roaring fire crackled in the background… and all of that faded away. The feeling in the pit of my stomach grew worse, and suddenly, the only thing that filled my thoughts was the ripping pain that was in my abdomen. Nothing helped, and the pain was all I could focus on. I was not okay, and it only took a small amount of time for my parents to decide I needed to go to the hospital. Arriving at the hospital, I felt a cold dread pool in my stomach where the pain used to be. Walking in the entrance was like crossing the gate into a terrifying reality in which nothing was familiar and everything was different. My mom checked me in, and everything took on a robotic nature. Come right over here; go ahead and lay down; if you could just sign here, Mrs. Bleicher, and there; I’ll be right back. It didn’t take long for the pain and the attendant to come back. “Were just going to take a little bit of blood to test, okay? It will only take a minute and you’ll barely feel it,” the nurse said. It was completely believable… until she returned with the needle. “Oh, don’t worry. It will really only take a minute. Just don’t look at it.” Four tries later with needle pokes in both of my arms and my belly empty of its contents, I felt worse than ever. My body was drained, and I felt sluggish. The time between the attendant leaving with my blood and the nurse coming back with my results seemed like forever. Forever staring at the white ceiling and clutching my mom’s hand. The tears had come back, along with the pain in full force, and every minute was agonizing. The nurse informed us that I had a very high white blood cell count which meant one of two things: I either had the stomach flu or my appendix was about to burst. My stomach dropped. I was eleven: of course my mind went to the worst place possible. I was going to die, no way around it. Despite my imminent death, I was taken for a CT scan. Try to stay as still as possible and hold your breath. Yeah right, but okay. Trying to get back up and back to my bed afterwards, however, quickly washed away my joy at being done with the scan. Every movement that I made brought back the pain with a fresh force. Every motion brought a new grimace to my face and more tears to my eyes. More waiting, and then finally, the results. The doctor was called; my mom called my dad, who had stayed home with my sister; and I was in shock. Two nights before Christmas, I was going into surgery to have an organ removed-- albeit an unnecessary organ, but an organ nonetheless. My mom told me it was going to be alright. When the doctor finally arrived, my mom squeezed my hand, and I was taken away, everybody again telling me that I would be fine. I was still terrified. I had never felt more alone than when my mom disappeared from sight, when I could no longer see her face, and feel the weight of her hand in mine. I was soon positioned and a mask was brought over my face… anesthesia. It smelled like… caramel. My thoughts went… fuzzy… and… Breathe. Just a few more minutes. Just a… My eyes opened four hours later; although, I didn’t want them to. I just wanted to stay asleep, and trust me, I tried. My brain disagreed, and I moved enough to catch my mom’s attention. She moved over to me, as did the nurse. The pulse oximeter on my finger beeped, and I noticed the nasal cannula. My mom looked down at me. “Great early Christmas present, don’t you think?” I smiled. Huh, I didn’t die, believe it or not. I could certainly do without my body’s indecision about wanting to sleep or get up, though. The relief I felt when I went home the same day was palpable, and the next few days passed in a blur. Christmas morning was strange. With not being able to move and all, it was very different. That’s all that went through my mind; it was different. All at once, I felt like the world had changed and stayed exactly the same. I now had one less organ and couldn’t even walk up my stairs, but the sun still rose and fell. I now slept in the living room to avoid stairs while in recovery, and Santa still managed to sneak presents in on Christmas Eve. I was different, physically and mentally, and perhaps that was the greatest change of all. The shift in my perspective, the realization that some pieces are more important than others in the grand scheme of things, didn’t hit me right away, but, looking back, this ordeal was one of the best things to happen to me.