As I walk into the building my ears immediately recognize the hustling and bustling of patients and doctors, my eyes adjust to the bright white walls, and my nose inhales the smell of antiseptic and saline that lingers in the air. All of these senses remind me that I have entered the Cleveland Clinic for the third time this week, the 12^th time this month, and the 150^th time this year. Appointments, procedures, and surgeries have become part of my daily routine. The hospital has become my second home.

I consider myself a medical freak of nature, a medical mystery if you will. Doctors dare to discover the reason behind my debilitating orthopedic issues, and most of the doctors fail gloriously. I have groggily awoken from a deep anesthetic sleep eleven times, felt the searing pain of a needle the size of Mount Everest enter my joints eight times and have laid painfully still in an MRI seventeen times. After enduring all this testing, however, doctors at one of the most highly acclaimed hospitals in the country are still dumbfounded by my situation.

Due to my complex situation, I have had to miss spending time with my friends, special family occasions, and many days of school. At first, not being able to feel the breeze rush through my hair while jumping on the trampoline, or laugh until my stomach hurt at lunch with my friends was upsetting and disappointing. However, having this frustration be a part of my daily life has had a profound impact on me. Having to sit on the sidelines, watching my friends and family laugh and have fun while support them on the sidelines, has made me humbler and more appreciative of the things I am able to do. By coping with the disappointment, I value the experiences I am able to participate in.

Before my injuries occurred, I was able to competitively dance for 25 hours a week without feeling any pain. Needless to say, coming to terms with my new lifestyle was, and still is, difficult. However, this ongoing experience has altered my perspective of life. For me, being able to walk my dog around the block and feel the warmth on my face without pain is an achievement. This has made me greatly value the smallest accomplishments and opportunities in my life; now when I make it around the neighborhood, I focus on this large feat, even though it may seem like a small triumph for others.

The white walls blind my eyes as I sit in the waiting room of the Cleveland Clinic. A nurse wearing her ocean green scrubs calls my name. I stand and walk towards her. She takes me back into another room. White walls, two gray chairs, and a computer make up the tiny room. A few minutes later, I hear a sharp rap at the door. The door swings open and the doctor walks in. He sits in the gray swivel chair by the computer and looks at me. He sighs, his shoulders fall and he looks me in the eye. “I don’t know,” he says. I take these words in. I look up at him and smile. The doctor looks confused. “Me either,” I reply. This is my reality and I have come to terms with it. I may never know why my body functions the way it does, but I do know that struggling with pain, attending doctors’ appointments, missing school, and enduring surgeries and procedures for the last five years has changed my values and outlook on life. It has made me value small experiences with friends and families. Finally, it has made me appreciate and respect the smallest tasks, and experiences in life, even if it is just going to the doctor.