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My senior year of high school remains the worst year of my life. That is a big call, but with the experiences I had, I am hoping nothing ever takes it's place. One 'worst' year is enough in a lifetime. And that year was enough to make me wonder if I was going crazy. The stress was beyond anything I have ever experienced since and it helped confirm my career path in psychology.

At the start of my senior year, I had what appeared to be everything going for me. I had a boyfriend of around six months, who was loving and supportive. I had great friends who I shared constant great times with. I had fairly good grades, considering I was prone to being a bit lazy, but my career prospects were looking quite within my grasp with a little extra effort in my senior year. Overall, it looked to be a bright and fruitful year that I would look back on with fond memories. At least that was until my accident.

One night I was sharing a meal upstairs with my boyfriend and we made our way back down to the kitchen to dispose of our dirty plates and cuttlery. It was a bad habit of watching television in my bedroom during meals that my parents probably should not have allowed, but they seemed 'cooler' for it. Our house had polished wooden floorboards, and being colder weather, I was wearing socks. On my way down the stairs, I slipped and landed hard at the bottom. There were only six steps, but that was enough to do the damage.

The next day I went for x rays, but they showed nothing. The doctor sent me home and said to come back in a month if nothing was better. So for a month I hobbled around on a very sore, but supposidly 'fine' foot. I was always in pain and then the month came and we returned. The doctor sent me for further tests. Initially a cat scan. It showed nothing. Then a bone scan. By this time I was going through the local public hospital system, seing a Podiatrist to try and determine the cause of pain. They thought perhaps ligament damage. So after a few more tests and scans, the bone scan revealed there was indead a broken bone. It was described to me as a stress fracture. It was on the top of my foot and is a typical injury of athletes. Not a typical injury of a clumsy teenager falling down the stairs.

So, with nothing better to do, the doctors plastered my foot for 3 weeks. I spent those 3 weeks hobbling around uncomfortably at school. Crutches were exhausted and my school was full of hills. By this time I had already missed so many school days because of all the tests

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