tornado warning

Nerves always have a tendency to materialize in the pit of my stomach before I hit the stage. 10-year old me was petrified to perform, but my choreographer always knew how to make my butterflies disappear by saying, “Isa are you ready? You’re our main dancer. Make us proud!” Flashes of light engulfed the stage as we twisted and twirled to mimic the tornado that lifted Dorothy away in The Wizard of Oz.

My nerves vanished, and I was having the time of my life. Then, suddenly BAM! Everything went black. I was in a state of shock because it all happened so fast. Everyone around me knew I wouldn’t return to the stage that night. I was rushed to the bathroom with paper towels soaking the bloody gash that was created by a munchkin-land bush falling from the sky.

My choreographer was mortified but stayed calm ensuring me that everything would be all right. I was ushered to the green room where most of the cast was waiting for their cues. They were in disbelief when I entered the room. They saw tears streaming from my face. They rushed over to attempt to ‘heal’ the wound as best they could. Two phone calls, my best friend’s EMT dad checking me out, and a bouquet of roses later, my mom whisked me away to the ER. The flashing lights of ambulances at the entrance, a phone call to my best friend, a stapler gun punching seven mini metal rods in my head, and a super hot doctor sum up my hospital experience.

I awoke the next morning refreshed and ready to perform once again! My ensemble members greeted me as I walked through the doors of the theater that afternoon. Phrases such as, “You’re back!” and “How’re you feeling?” trickled into my ears, but I didn’t focus on them because I was ecstatic to be reunited with my “family” once more. I was proud that I didn’t give in to my injury. The theater leaves a door open to home, a place where I can return despite facing the unimaginable because, after all, like Dorothy says, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home!”

Two years later, I returned to the hospital having yet another hurdle to overcome. The words, “You need surgery,” uttered from the lips of my doctor changed my life. Leaving the appointment, I felt broken, confused, and terrified that the upcoming surgeries could end my lifelong dream of becoming a musical theater performer. My hips needed to be repaired if I ever wanted to dance again. Although I hated the fact that I couldn’t do what I loved for the next year, I knew the operation was essential. I struggled through seventh grade, but with help from my physical therapist, Emily, my family, and my music, I persevered. I was relieved to get back to pursuing my passion a year later. Through the injuries I faced, I learned life is precious. I can’t waste a moment worrying and instead must step into my fear. Theatre has shaped me into a strong independent person who doesn’t fall by the wayside, but soars to the stars, sails through her troubles, and has no problem living with her scars.