I didn't want them. No needles for me.
But I quickly came to understand that needles were now a part of my daily life. Every few days I would go and get blood drawn, and for the first few weeks it was an ordeal every time. My dad would come in and sit with me, holding my hand, and the nurse's would hold their breath, hoping they didn't get messed up, as I was a bit of a loose cannon which is a nice way of saying huge bitch asshole. They'd bring in the IV team, and even they had trouble because I couldn't relax, couldn't stay calm, couldn't keep from getting worked up.
Once, when we were on our way in to check counts, my dad suggested I find a song that made me relax, and play it on my iPod while they drew my blood. Well, at this time, all I listened to was the original cast recording of Spring Awakening. It was the perfect blend of anger and hope for a teenager going through hell. And so I took in my iPod and played "The Song of Purple Summer"--the final song in the show.
A summer's day a mother sings a song of purple summer
through the heart of everything. And heaven waits, so close, it seems
to show her child the wonder of a world beyond her dreams.
The earth will wave with corn
The day so wide, so warm
And mares will nay with stallions that they mate,
foals they've born. And all shall know the wonder
Of purple summer.
Listening to the words, I opened my eyes to realize that the tourniquet was off, the band-aid in the nurse's hand, and my blood in tiny vials on the desk. It was over.
I didn't have much trouble with needles from then on. I played "The Song of Purple Summer", and closed my eyes, and it was over before I knew it.
"Those You've Known" became my anthem for my fallen friends, "Bitch of Living" for all those times I wanted to kick people in the face, rip out the tubes, and give up.
The Make-A-Wish Foundation, being that I was 17 at the time of diagnosis, was generous enough to offer me a wish. I had only one. I wanted to just get to audition for the show. I knew they probably weren't looking for replacements, and I knew it was a long shot anyway that I'd actually be cast in the show. But the music of the show was so much a part of my treatment that it was in my blood now--really, though. I just wanted to get to sing it, and live it.
That, or Disneyworld. That's what I told them.
But the Make-A-Wish foundation made it happen, and the entire creative team of Spring Awakening was kind enough to dedicate an afternoon to audition me in New York City, three months after my treatment ended.
Well, I was absolutely terrified, and the day of the audition, I couldn't believe what was happening. It was such a liberating day. I worked with everyone: the casting director, the director, the music director, learned choreography, worked on music, read scenes...
A month later, I received word that they were extremely impressed with my audition and that the tour was coming to Rochester, NY...and would I do the ensemble track for a weekend of shows? You don't say no to that...it was so unreal.
On a Friday morning I drove up to Rochester and spent five hours going over harmonies, learning music, choreography, movement, and staging.
And that evening, I had my opening night with the cast. Everyone on the tour--the cast, the stage management, the crew--everyone involved was so unbelievably welcoming and kind to me, and there were so many experiences from that weekend that I will never be able to forget.
But one of those moments that stuck out the most was during my last performance. During "The Song of Purple Summer" there is a moment when the ensemble stands on the chairs and sings the chorus a capella, before swelling into the final section. And as I stood on my chair singing those words, it was like a slow motion scene in a movie. It became hard for me to sing, and all of a sudden I could feel tears stinging my cheeks. The ensemble members on the other side of the stage must've seen, because they smiled at me as they sang, and I even saw a few of the characters onstage tearing up--that moment was mine.
Because in that moment, I realized how I'd come full circle. I'd been a sickly little girl listening to this song, squeezing her dad's hand through pinpricks and spinal taps, injections and MRI's, chemotherapy and radiation...and here I was, on this big stage with some of the most talented theater performers, singing "The Song of Purple Summer", doing what I've wanted to do since I was young. I kept asking myself, did you ever think in a million years when you were laying in that hospital bed that one year later, you would be here, singing this song onstage with the national tour of Spring Awakening, a cancer survivor?
That moment...marked the real ending of my cancer experience. As cheesy as it sounds, it was my liberation from the dark year of 2009.
This post is my "Song of Purple Summer." It's the end. When I started this blog one year and forty posts ago, it was a healing tool. It allowed me to get all of my frustration, anger, and triumph out of my head, and filed away somewhere.
But I feel it becoming more of an obligation than an outlet. Because now I've outgrown it. This blog has served its purpose in my life. If I continued this blog, I would be dwelling in the past.
So that's all there is, folks. Jesse doesn't want to be disgruntled anymore--and it's a good thing. It's a milestone. I'm graduating from college in December, and I'm really ready to start fresh.
The blog won't be gone. It'll be here. Every once in a while you'll hear from me. But right now, I'm done confessing.
I want to thank you all for supporting this blog. I never imagined it would gain the following that it has, and I'm extremely grateful--and of course, any of my fellow cancer fighters who need somebody to shoot the shit with (and really, anyone in general), can contact me by email (jesspardee@yahoo.com).
Now, my children, go forth, and listen to some Lana Del Rey.
Much Love,
Jesse
And that evening, I had my opening night with the cast. Everyone on the tour--the cast, the stage management, the crew--everyone involved was so unbelievably welcoming and kind to me, and there were so many experiences from that weekend that I will never be able to forget.
But one of those moments that stuck out the most was during my last performance. During "The Song of Purple Summer" there is a moment when the ensemble stands on the chairs and sings the chorus a capella, before swelling into the final section. And as I stood on my chair singing those words, it was like a slow motion scene in a movie. It became hard for me to sing, and all of a sudden I could feel tears stinging my cheeks. The ensemble members on the other side of the stage must've seen, because they smiled at me as they sang, and I even saw a few of the characters onstage tearing up--that moment was mine.
Because in that moment, I realized how I'd come full circle. I'd been a sickly little girl listening to this song, squeezing her dad's hand through pinpricks and spinal taps, injections and MRI's, chemotherapy and radiation...and here I was, on this big stage with some of the most talented theater performers, singing "The Song of Purple Summer", doing what I've wanted to do since I was young. I kept asking myself, did you ever think in a million years when you were laying in that hospital bed that one year later, you would be here, singing this song onstage with the national tour of Spring Awakening, a cancer survivor?
That moment...marked the real ending of my cancer experience. As cheesy as it sounds, it was my liberation from the dark year of 2009.
This post is my "Song of Purple Summer." It's the end. When I started this blog one year and forty posts ago, it was a healing tool. It allowed me to get all of my frustration, anger, and triumph out of my head, and filed away somewhere.
But I feel it becoming more of an obligation than an outlet. Because now I've outgrown it. This blog has served its purpose in my life. If I continued this blog, I would be dwelling in the past.
So that's all there is, folks. Jesse doesn't want to be disgruntled anymore--and it's a good thing. It's a milestone. I'm graduating from college in December, and I'm really ready to start fresh.
The blog won't be gone. It'll be here. Every once in a while you'll hear from me. But right now, I'm done confessing.
I want to thank you all for supporting this blog. I never imagined it would gain the following that it has, and I'm extremely grateful--and of course, any of my fellow cancer fighters who need somebody to shoot the shit with (and really, anyone in general), can contact me by email (jesspardee@yahoo.com).
Now, my children, go forth, and listen to some Lana Del Rey.
Much Love,
Jesse
So very proud of you, Jesse!
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