As I lay here in my hot, uncomfortable hospital bed, all I can think about is how badly I want to leave this place. It has been four days of doctors giving bad news, medicine injections, procedures, MRIs, and restless nights. I have been able to eat one meal a day due to the surgeries I was scheduled for later. I ask my mom to grab me my keys and on my keychain, there is a soft piece of leather made from my first baseball glove. She gives me a weird look as if she thought I was going to drive myself home, but no I just want to hold that one thing that symbolizes my true passion. Intertwined in the fibers of the leather are so many memories that have transformed me as a person.

I grab my keys and touch a smooth piece of leather. It is a nice coffee brown and about 3 inches in length. I feel the Rawlings bull logo that is embossed into the leather. Everytime I touch it I think of one thing...baseball. The keychain is made from my first baseball glove that I cherished so much. It carries great moments like home runs and championships as well as moments where I strike out and lose. Each one that is intertwined in the fibers of the leather has transformed me not only as a baseball player, but as a person. Even though it only weighs a couple of ounces, it carries tons of weight.

Laying in my bed with my eyes closed, I am taken to a field on a hot, clear summer day. The grounds crew is spraying the powdery, soft, dirt with water to make it more playable. The freshly cut outfield grass is a luscious green. The baselines are a gleaming white and perfectly straight. The smell of sunflower seeds and Gatorade float through the air. I hear a mix of  the umpires speaking with the coaches at home plate, but also parents chattering from the bleachers. My teammates cleats are clicking as they walk across the dugout anxiously waiting for the championship game. You can feel the pressure that is pushing down on both teams. The umps yell over to us “PLAYBALL.” I begin a trot out to my home at first base.

All of a sudden, my nurse walks in and I jump when I hear her voice. She didn't mean to interrupt, but I need more medicine. Once she leaves, I focus back in and grasp the cowhide. I rub my fingers up and down just feeling this reminder of the game. It takes me on a wild road trip through my brain and I am stopping at each baseball memory. This time I begin to picture the people that are involved in my baseball life. I imagine my teammates, fans, umpires, opponents, and Coach McClellan. McClellan is a skyscraper of a man standing at six feet six inches. He constantly has a lip filled to the brim with tobacco. His rough face and presence give off a sense of knowledge of the game. He barks orders and remembers every tiny detail of the nine innings. If there’s a game going on, you don't mess with him.

I let go and open my eyes, the road trip that I was on in my brain is now over. I am back to a reality of beeping machines, IVs, and a swollen arm. A continuous flow of people are moving in and out of the floor. My gaze shifts to the clock on the opposite wall. Almost an hour has passed! Even in tough times the things and people you love can help you escape.