The Fountain of Miracles

This week has been a wonderful oddity in my life. The fountain of miracles started trickling into my life on Tuesday when I managed my time wisely (shocker, I know) and accomplished everything I put on my to-do list in my ever neat handwriting. Wednesday is where the fountain started spurting at an alarming rate into my life. If you have ever met me (mom and dad, my most avid readers), I cannot handle blood. Wait, lies. I cannot handle my own blood coming out of my body. While seeing others blood is far from enjoyable, it certainly isn't the nausea provoking, vagal overloading experience watching my own seep from my body is. We had a hematology physiology lab on Wednesday and I had been dreading it for three dreary days leading up to it. I quite logically deduced in the three days leading up to it that the small finger prick required of me would go terribly wrong. The lancet would undoubtedly rip through my entire finger causing all of the nasty metallic smelling life force in my body to pour out within two minutes. The front page of the Daily Universe would have my ID picture splashed across it with a beautifully tragic article on my untimely death. The headline would read in bold letters"BYU Student Dies Heroically in the Name of Hematology". A quote from one of my roommates would be like this "Lauren was one of the bravest, most self-sacrificing people in the world. She knew going into that evil lab she might not be coming out of it-but she went in anyanyany waay" (quote ends because my roommate is sobbing to hard to go on). When I finally entered the lab, the mildly brave being lurking behind my normal pansy self emerged. As soon as my lab partners asked who was to donate their body to science, it was I who volunteered. It is now two days later and all of the flesh on my finger is intact and at least 5 liters of blood is floating around in my body. Today, the miracles of all miracles occurred. To fully understand this miracle, one needs to know a very simple and true fact about my life. I hate chemistry and it hates me. There have been points in our relationship where we have tolerated one another. In the early parts of our relationship, we even viewed each other with tiny hints of passionate interest. These brief instances of interest, however, quickly dissolved into a solution of pure hatred. My chemistry lab this semester has helped me imagine a bit of what Dante envisioned the 7 circle of hell to be like. Of the 8 labs we have had, I have had to re-do every. single.one. Most Thursdays have involved me calling my parents shortly after the lab, sobbing to them about my failures and the injustice of Chem 107, throwing myself on the floor of our living room until one of my roommates offered to comfort me with food all the while telling me my lab grade didn't define my high intellectual ability, asking if people would still love me even if I failed stupid chem lab, and then going to bed resolved to get an A on the next lab. Today (mark this date on your calendar of historical events) was the first day I EVER got an A on a test in chemistry ( I have taken now three semesters of this blasted subject). I got 100% on my practicum. When the previously demonic TA said the words" Wow, good job. You got 100" I literally started jumping up and down, spinning in circles and telling anyone I had ever said "excuse me" to in the lab "I GOT 100. A.100 percent. AAAAA". (Side note: this overshadowed the moment that occurred two hours previous when demonic TA woman told I had failed number 8 lab because I hadn't put the dumb, stupid, ridiculous, ugly, (insert all other negative terms) sticker on my report and would now have to redo it. I burst into tears whilst wearing my lab goggles while she awkwardly stood there trying to locate where her heart had disappeared to years ago). I think I will just keeping doing laps in this fine little fountain of mine until a drought tries to dry up my happiness (which it won't because I have an eternal fountain of miracles :)