1. 2010
ARIANNA ELNES ANDRE SOBEL AWARD
THIRD PLACE WINNER
DETERMINED
EMPOWERED
HUMBLED
RE-INVENTED
GRACIOUS
COURAGEOUS
SCARED
A SURVIVOR
Arianna’s battle with cancer has empowered her and given her the
courage to live the life she’s always imagined. After graduating high
school in 2009, she took a year off to simply gain experiences while
continuing her recovery. With a new outlook on life, she spent the
summer working at a salmon cannery in Alaska before traveling
around Central and South America as well as Iceland, seeing the
world with a new set of deeply appreciative eyes. Arianna is now
attending Knox College in Illinois, and is currently undecided in
terms of a major, but has an interest in Creative Writing, Linguistics,
and Anthropology.
Arianna’s advice to somebody else going through a similar battle is
to acknowledge that this process is life altering; it’s a shock. “You
will hit times when you are emotional, and you won’t understand.
Just know that it’s ok to be sad sometimes. Recognize that feeling,
but don’t feel a need to try to explain it.”

2. ARIANNA ELNES’ ESSAY
Dear Mom and Dad,
When I first heard about this essay, I asked for ideas about what to write. You suggested that I write
about my struggle with paralysis and my eventual success. Or how I reinvented the way I live my life,
and how I have been living an adventure that I never would have thought possible before this experience.
How tough I was. How happy I am. “Write about something uplifting,” you told me. It is true, my story is
uplifting, but that is not what I have needed to tell you. That is what you have seen from the outside, and
it is not what I have felt. It is not what I try to forget but keeps rushing back. The “uplifting story” is not
what has been haunting me. What you don’t know is that when I was diagnosed with brain cancer, I
EMILY
swore to myself that I would get through each day with a smile on my face because I didn’t want to
burden you. Perhaps my story is a success because of this promise, and perhaps it is the only way I
survived. But perhaps it is also why I feel so alone, like I’m fighting a battle by myself, and why too
often I find myself in tears, trying to comprehend all that I’ve gone through, and wishing that someone
else knew as well. So, Mom, Dad, this is what I’ve needed to tell you.
You know: I was diagnosed on August 4, 2008, only four days after we had moved to a new city, in a new
state, and all of my friends were halfway across the country. What you don’t know is that I would spend
my days looking out the window, and as my room faded from orange back to beige while the sun set
across the sky, I would picture my friends, way, way out there, beginning their first day of school, going
to track or swim practice, cheering at football games, doing homework and studying for tests. It killed me
inside to know that they were going about their usual lives while I was paralyzed, in a hospital room,
wishing I was someone else. I felt as though the world kept spinning and I was getting left behind.
You know: I was in the hospital for a long time. What you don’t know is how it feels to be in the hospital
all day, watching the clock tick by, waiting and waiting…Waiting. Minutes waiting…tick, tick, tick…Hours
waiting…..hours…hours…days waiting…days…days…Weeks waiting…months…waiting…and waiting to
get out of that place. I looked forward to getting shots and medicine and IV’s just because it meant a
break in the monotony, a break in the deafening silence.
You know: I have carried on with my life, pushing toward the future without looking back. But what you
don’t know is that I don’t look back because it is too painful. I don’t look at pictures of myself because I
am jealous of the girl with the naїve smile, who had no idea what was coming. I am jealous of the girl who
could run, who could swim, who could ski, who could hike without limping. When I look at pictures from
before I was diagnosed, I want to go back but I can’t, so I choose to move forward.
You know: I am happy that I chose to move from Nebraska back to Arizona to finish my senior year. But
what you don’t know is that when I went back, I was the mysteriously sick girl. I was the girl with
steroided chubby cheeks who walked with a limp and had to take the elevator.
You know: I went through this experience with a smile on my face. What you don’t know is how tiring it
was to force that smile as a means of protection – protecting myself from falling apart, and protecting
you from worrying.
You know: I go to the hospital for an MRI every three months. What you don’t know is that as I’m sitting
in the backseat of the car on the way there, I’m mentally preparing myself for being given an amount of
time. Do you know how scary and exhausting it is to prepare every three months for being told you’re
going to die?

3. ARIANNA ELNES’ ESSAY
You know: I ran half a mile last week on the treadmill. It was huge for me to accomplish something that I
had been working on with steadfast hope and determination for over a year, and I rejoiced; I still rejoice.
But what I didn’t tell you was that in that same week, my sister passed me on the stairs and huffed,
“Arianna, you’re going so slow!” And it felt like all of my accomplishments leaked out of the wound and
disappeared. I had to tighten my jaw and tilt my head up as I finished climbing the stairs, in order to hold
back my tears.
You know: people say I’m “courageous and brave.” What you don’t know is that I cringe at the sound of
those words. If I am courageous, then courage doesn’t exist. If I am courageous, then the word courage
means to live with fear.
EMILY
You know, and what still remains true: if I were to live my life over again, I would keep everything the
same. My time in the hospital gave me time to think about how I live my life. My paralysis gave me
insight to what I consider most important. My time in Arizona helped me learn who my true friends are.
My MRI’s are a reminder that I am alive and living fully – that I should plan for a long future but jump on
every opportunity knowing that all of my time is a gift. My time recovering from paralysis gave me a new
mindset for conquering the impossible. And although I have not come out of this courageously, I have
come out strong. I am happy, and I am thankful.
Love,
Arianna

4. YOU ARE ABOUT
[YOUR STORY]
Andre Sobel was a remarkable young man who had natural dignity, a promising
future and an unconventional sense of humor. Andre’s young life ended just one
year after he was diagnosed with a brain tumor. He was 19. He was the beloved
son of Erwin and Valerie Sobel and brother to Simone.
Andre was well traveled, often seeking destinations that were frequented by his
favorite authors, like Samuel Beckett, St. Augustine and Franz Kafka. The books
Andre treasured were filled with his margin comments, underlinings and
asterisks, the stamp of his rich intellectual curiosity. But the finest of all his gifts
were his qualities of mercy and compassion.
To honor Andre, and out of their deep love and respect for him, his family
established the Andre Sobel River of Life Foundation and shortly thereafter the
Andre Sobel Essay Award. The purpose of the competition is to honor the young
survivors of a catastrophic illness. If a young person considered themselves to be
a “survivor” or were the companion of a survivor, they were invited to enter the
essay competition.
This year, several cash awards were granted. The first place winner received a
$5,000 cash prize Smaller cash prizes were awarded to the runner-ups. The
cash award can be used in any way the recipient chooses.