My very early life was spent in hospital rooms; my parents have memorized the monotonous white walls of waiting rooms, memorized the anxiety that turned their bones to lead. My life hung in a delicate balance, and the doctors never believed I could live a normal life. My lungs were a constant ticking time bomb, and they got dangerously close to detonating more than once. That time I  stopped breathing on the way to another hospital trip. That one Halloween I carted an oxygen tank around Sacred Heart hospital wearing a princess dress and nose tubes. Admittedly, I was a pitiful child; I was too sick to even attend regular preschool.. and kindergarten. My mom homeschooled me in between hospital visits and asthma attacks that left me gasping for air. I think that’s why I play so hard now. I mean, my doctor said I would probably never play sports even recreationally. Now, I play volleyball year round at a highly competitive level. Defeating the odds makes me so much more appreciative of how far I’ve come (and definitely adds to my already fiercely competitive nature). I barely remember what a hospital bed feels like; barely remember what it’s like not to sleep through the night because I can’t breathe.