Medication for Millie
My heart pounded in my ears. I straightened my hat, picked up my suitcases, and tentatively walked onto the stage. The music rang from the orchestra pit below me as I came to a halt in the spotlight cast on center stage. I opened my mouth to sing the first line of the show, and a sort of warmth spread through my body. As quickly as the nerves entered my body before the curtain went up, they escaped me again, and I found myself left with the joy of performing once more. It was closing night. I had done this twice before, and I knew only too well the chaos of musical theatre. However, this night differed from any previous performance. I had just recovered from the worst panic attack I’d ever had, only to end up belting my face off before hundreds of people as if nothing had happened.
It all started about a half hour before, when the stage manager’s voice rang through the building. “Places!” he bellowed. I marched off to the stage left wing to wait for the curtain to rise. I felt a little shakier than usual, but I didn’t think on it. The show must go on, I told myself. This had to be the best performance yet.
As I stood in the wing, I came to a horrifying realization. I hadn’t taken my medication this morning. A sickly, lurching feeling seized my insides. No wonder I had such a strange morning. No wonder I had felt so nervous whilst dressing and preparing for the show today. I usually felt nothing but a twang of excited tension; I had never known these sorts of nerves. However, I had taken my medication on the days of previous performances. Today differed entirely. A sudden wave of terrifying discovery after discovery swept over my mind. I could never make it through the entire show, let alone the opening number without having a panic attack. I had no time to drive home and retrieve my medication. The show would start in less than 5 minutes. My mind raced, I began pacing, and sweating, and hoping that this was all a dream. Then came the hyperventilating. I had no idea what to do. I found myself at a total loss. I knew that when the curtain went up, I would have to walk onstage, whether I was crying or not. I began to feel light-headed, and knew I needed to get help quickly if I was to start the show in the right state of mind. I stumbled over to a group of ensemble members waiting in the dark for their cue to file onto the stage. Luckily, among them, waited some of my closest comrades. I flopped down in front of their feet and gripped onto Nicole’s knees tightly. She knew what I needed. “Caitlin,” she started “You are going to be okay. You are a beautiful, talented girl, and you DON’T need medication.” There were sparse gasps from other ensemble members. Most of them had no idea that I took medication. She sent Emily to get me a glass of water, stripped me of the top layer of my heavy costume, and continued to encourage me until my hyperventilating died down to steady breathing once more. Cailin had been praying over me with the utmost verve and passion the whole time. When she came over to pray with me, I knew that everything was going to be okay. I straightened myself up, thanked my friends, and slowly walked over to my place again.
As I buttoned up my frock once more, I heard the orchestra below me begin with the sweeping melodies that signified the start of the overture. I stretched out a bit, because I felt tight bodied after the attack. Once the overture died out, I straightened my hat and picked up my suitcases. With my heart pounding in my ears, I slowly walked onto the stage, accompanied by bell tones from the orchestra pit. I stopped dead in my tracks at center stage, basking in the glow of the spotlight. I opened my mouth to begin the show, and all apprehensiveness left my body as joyful warmth filled it up. I didn’t need medication to fulfill my duty. Everything was going to be okay. And it was.
It all started about a half hour before, when the stage manager’s voice rang through the building. “Places!” he bellowed. I marched off to the stage left wing to wait for the curtain to rise. I felt a little shakier than usual, but I didn’t think on it. The show must go on, I told myself. This had to be the best performance yet.
As I stood in the wing, I came to a horrifying realization. I hadn’t taken my medication this morning. A sickly, lurching feeling seized my insides. No wonder I had such a strange morning. No wonder I had felt so nervous whilst dressing and preparing for the show today. I usually felt nothing but a twang of excited tension; I had never known these sorts of nerves. However, I had taken my medication on the days of previous performances. Today differed entirely. A sudden wave of terrifying discovery after discovery swept over my mind. I could never make it through the entire show, let alone the opening number without having a panic attack. I had no time to drive home and retrieve my medication. The show would start in less than 5 minutes. My mind raced, I began pacing, and sweating, and hoping that this was all a dream. Then came the hyperventilating. I had no idea what to do. I found myself at a total loss. I knew that when the curtain went up, I would have to walk onstage, whether I was crying or not. I began to feel light-headed, and knew I needed to get help quickly if I was to start the show in the right state of mind. I stumbled over to a group of ensemble members waiting in the dark for their cue to file onto the stage. Luckily, among them, waited some of my closest comrades. I flopped down in front of their feet and gripped onto Nicole’s knees tightly. She knew what I needed. “Caitlin,” she started “You are going to be okay. You are a beautiful, talented girl, and you DON’T need medication.” There were sparse gasps from other ensemble members. Most of them had no idea that I took medication. She sent Emily to get me a glass of water, stripped me of the top layer of my heavy costume, and continued to encourage me until my hyperventilating died down to steady breathing once more. Cailin had been praying over me with the utmost verve and passion the whole time. When she came over to pray with me, I knew that everything was going to be okay. I straightened myself up, thanked my friends, and slowly walked over to my place again.
As I buttoned up my frock once more, I heard the orchestra below me begin with the sweeping melodies that signified the start of the overture. I stretched out a bit, because I felt tight bodied after the attack. Once the overture died out, I straightened my hat and picked up my suitcases. With my heart pounding in my ears, I slowly walked onto the stage, accompanied by bell tones from the orchestra pit. I stopped dead in my tracks at center stage, basking in the glow of the spotlight. I opened my mouth to begin the show, and all apprehensiveness left my body as joyful warmth filled it up. I didn’t need medication to fulfill my duty. Everything was going to be okay. And it was.