A Rediscovered Passion

            I was in a cheerful mood, as school had gone decently well that day, but more so because it was finally Thursday. On Thursdays, I got an hour to actually do something I was passionate about, and something I had nothing to complain about, dance. Every single week, I would grab my dance bag with my old and worn out jazz shoes, and rush to fill up my water bottle before I ran over to the car. Dance made me feel like I was actually good at something. It lifted my self esteem like a rocket ship that was never coming back down. The dance studio was my happy place. When I got to the dance studio after school, the butterflies in my stomach fluttered with excitement, but also with a little bit of nervousness, as we were getting so close to recital day, and we had to nail this piece.             As I was walking over to sit down and put my jazz shoes on, I noticed something felt a little off in my left knee. It was almost like my kneecap was going to dislocate. “I’ve never injured my leg before, so it can’t be anything serious”, I assured myself.             Class was going smooth as butter, and I had completely forgotten about my knee.             “Let’s take it from the top one more time”, said Ms. Sophia. Beads of sweat were trickling down the sides of my face, and the insides of my legs were burning with agony. I had to push through, though, and give it my all this one last time. As I was finishing my pirouette, something definitely felt wrong with my knee. It didn’t hurt, though, so I continued to finish with my tilt, and swung my right leg high, next to my head. Before I could even set my foot back on the floor, I heard a noise that sounded like a stick snapping. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor. Shock hit me as hard as a bomb dropping. “What in the world just happened? Is this a dream?” I kept wondering. I tried getting back up, but I just couldn’t; it was almost like I was paralyzed. I tried again, except this time my leg actually moved. When it did, excruciating pain traveled through the nerves of my body. “Oh boy, something was definitely messed up, and it wasn’t about to be fixed overnight”, I thought to myself. What was I supposed to do? Cry? Just lay there? People kept asking “Oh my god, Aarya, are you okay?” when they noticed I couldn’t get up. Words wouldn’t come out of my mouth, it was like they were stuck. The pain kept increasing as if a thousand needles were piercing through my knee. Before I could say anything, a flood of tears was pouring down my face.             “I’m going to go call your mom”, said Ms. Sophia in a worried tone. Mama dashed over as quickly as she could, and tried to comfort me. “Everything is going to be okay”, she said with her sweet, familiar voice. We had to figure out how to get me into the car because walking was definitely not an option.             “I have an idea”, said Ms. Sophia. She left the room and came back with four boys from the hip hop class next door, along with a chair. I used every ounce of strength in my right leg to pick my whole body up and hop over to the chair. “How was this going to get me to the car, though?” I thought to myself. The next thing I knew, the four tall, muscular boys were carrying me up through the hallways, out to the parking lot. Out of nowhere, they started chanting “All hail the queen!” The tears from the unbearable pain were still making their way down my face, but so were helpless giggles coming out from my mouth. Additionally, my hair looked like a rat’s nest from being on the floor; frankly, I looked like a disaster. I could feel everyone else’s eyes intensely staring at the whole situation, most likely wondering what in good lord’s name was going on. When I finally got into the car, the pain shot up like a firework soaring into the sky, and then exploding. Moving my left leg was almost impossible without having pain shoot through the roof. Mama quickly drove us home to grab Tylenol before rushing over to the emergency room. When we arrived, Mama got me into a wheelchair, and pushed me through the hospital. The antiseptic smell, with a touch of bitterness and undertones of artificial fragrance from soaps and cleaners was very familiar, and almost instantly made me nauseous. After Mama gave all of my personal information to a nurse, and the nurse was done taking my vitals, we were led to the waiting room. Boy, was this going to take a while. After I got comfortable in the wheelchair, and just sitting in general, the boredom slowly crept on me. I seriously needed something for myself to do. My phone was only at twenty seven percent, so I had to use it in moderation; I couldn’t let it die. I turned my attention to my surroundings. There was constant coughing from the people around me, almost wheezing. It sounded like people’s souls were leaving their bodies. There were constant groans and moans of weariness and hopelessness of ever getting a doctor’s attention. Little children even interrupted once in a while, wailing to their parents in a strident manner. Hours had gone by with absolutely nothing to do. People kept coming and leaving, but the rush of hospital remained the exact same. After what felt like years, a nurse called me in to get x-rayed. It went by quickly, but we had to wait even longer to get a doctor to actually tell us what happened. Around two hours later, but what felt like two months, a doctor made his way over to us.             “Hi I’m Dr. Ding!” He greeted.             “Hi!” Mama and I said at the same time.             “So I took a look at your x-ray”, he said to me. “From what I can see, you          dislocated your kneecap, along with fracturing the patella and a little bit of the femur bone in your knee”.             “What’s going to be the treatment process for this and how long is it              going to take?” Mama asked in a worried tone.             “I haven’t actually seen a fracture like this before”, he said, “But we’re going to refer her to an orthopedic surgeon who will be able to answer all your questions, and let you know more about how the recovery is going to go”.             Now that we knew what was wrong with my knee, we could, at last, go home. A nurse came over with a brace and crutches. Whenever I’d seen other people on crutches, it looked fun to try, and like a great excuse to get out of PE. I had a feeling those positive thoughts and desires about crutches were about to change, though.             “Have you ever used crutches before?” the nurse asked me.             “Nope!” I responded as I wobbled, struggling to find balance with the crutches. Eventually I found my groove with the crutches, and was able to smoothly bounce around with them. I trotted my way over to our car in the hospital parking lot all by myself. When the car came to a halt at our driveway it was a little past midnight. When I carefully hopped out of the car, I could feel the crisp, fresh midnight air blow at my face, making me shiver. Crickets were chirping, and the jet black sky was speckled with tiny, shiny stars. When I finally entered the house, the cozy, warm air enveloped me in a hug, making the shivering immediately stop.             The next morning, I still had no idea whether I was going to school or not.             “How are you feeling?” asked Mama.              “Not that great”, I replied. I pulled up my sweatpants to reveal that my knee was even more swollen than before, as if it were Violet Beauregard.              “Oh my god, that does not look good at all”, Mama said in a concerned tone. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Rest today, and don’t go to school. Tomorrow, only go to the classes you have a test in, or really need to attend.” That sounded like a reasonable plan, so that’s what I did. This is when my excitement for crutches started to turn on me, and become absolute hatred. The top of the crutches would dig themselves in my armpits, firing every single muscle in there. It was like getting flu shots every single day; not a fun sensation, if I do say so myself.             A few days later, it was the day of my appointment with the orthopedic surgeon. I had so many questions. Was I still going to be able to be in the dance recital? Would I be able to walk again ever, let alone dance? Mama grabbed a wheelchair for me, so I could take a break from the tedious crutches. She pushed me into the waiting room, where we waited for around ten minutes, before the nurse called “Aarya?” Mama pushed me through the clear, glass doors, into our room. We waited around five minutes, and then heard a knock.             “Can I come in?”             “Yup!” Mama and I yelled in sync. The door creaked open.             “Hi, I’m Dr. Sheldon! It’s so nice to meet the two of you!”             “It’s so nice to meet you too”, said Mama. Dr. Sheldon took a seat and logged into the monitor in front of him.             “I took a look at Aarya’s x-rays”, stated Dr. Sheldon. “We’ve gotten a lot more details regarding her injury. She’s going to need surgery as soon as possible.”             “Wait what!?” I blurted out.             “We might need to do multiple, but I’m going to try my best to limit it to two”, he added. Surgery was one of very few things I thought I’d ever have to go through. I looked at Mama for comfort, only to see looks of worry, concern, and horror in her eyes. Not only was I going to need surgery, but also two of them.             “Does this Friday at 12:30pm work for you?”             “Yes, we’d like the earliest date”, said Mama.             “How long will it take for me to recover from the surgery, though?” I interrupted.             “A little more than a month”, Dr. Sheldon responded. “But I don’t want you dancing again until the other surgery is done, and that one will take a little bit longer to recover from.” My heart shattered. I wouldn’t be able to even be in the recital I spent the last six months practicing and preparing for. Every single dance class for the past six months had gone wasted. Every stretch, fall, bead of sweat, tolerated blister, failed pirouette, successful pirouette, and second of practice had gone straight down into the gutter. It was all for nothing. It was so unfair that everyone else was still going to be able to perform and show off everything they’ve learned on stage, while the only thing I could do was sit in the corner and watch. I didn’t want to cry in front of my doctor, but my eyes slowly started watering. My eyes burned with anger and disappointment, so close to almost unleashing the flood they were holding back. Why couldn’t the one thing I actually enjoy doing go smoothly. When we got to the car, I couldn’t hold the flood back any longer. The waterworks began.             “It’s not fair that I can’t even be in the recital anymore! Why did this have to happen to me out of all people! I hate my life!” I complained to Mama.             “I know it’s not fair, Beta, but health comes first, so whether you’re in the recital or not, the surgery’s happening, and we’re getting your leg fixed”, she responded.             “Ugh!”             The next few days were spent preparing for the surgery as much as we could, but the sorrow from not being able to be in the dance recital remained the same.             It was finally the day of surgery, and I had no idea what to expect, or what to mentally prepare for. We went to the hospital at around 10:30am, as we were told to be there two hours in advance to take all my vitals before going into surgery. After we were done with those, there was a knock on the door to the room I was staying in before I got moved to the surgery room. Adrenaline rushed through me, head to toe. “Oh boy, this was it”, I thought to myself. I tried to mentally prepare myself as quickly as I could before I got moved to the surgery room. “It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay”, I repeated to myself.             “Hi! I’m Dr. Herald!” he exclaimed. A dog came running towards me, with his friendly tongue panting, immediately licking my hand.             “This is Bentley, our therapy dog”, he continued. “Dr. Ajay Singh let me know that you were going to be here, and wanted me to check in on you guys before surgery”, he said. “You’re in great hands, sweety, so you have nothing to be worried about”, he assured me.             “Oh my god, Dr. Ajay!” my mom exclaimed. “He’s one of my husband’s best friends! It’s so nice to meet you!” A memory of Ajay Uncle and our family going out to dinner appeared in my head. We laughed, stuffed our stomachs with food, and had a great time together. Knowing that someone was looking out for me at the hospital made me feel so much better about going into surgery. It was almost a weight off of my shoulders, knowing not every single person here was a stranger.             “It’s so nice to meet you guys, too! I better get going and let you guys finish, but I wish you the best of luck, Aarya, and you are going to be completely fine”, he said before he left.             “Bye!” Mama and I both waved.             The nurse came back in the room to connect my arm to an IV, so they could give me medicine that would keep me asleep during the surgery. As the medicine slowly started entering my body, everything in front of me slowly started to blur. Everything started looking smudged and merged, eventually shutting down my system, and putting me to sleep. After around three hours, everything was blurry again. My eyes slowly blinked open, but nothing was distinguishable. Everything was spinning, and I had a headache, like I’d been staring at my phone for too long.             “She’s going to be a bit drowsy for the rest of the day because of the anesthesia and sleeping medication she’s on”, the nurse informed Mama. I slept the rest of the day, as my poor eyes couldn’t handle the headache the light was causing. It was spring break, so I had the rest of the week to rest before going to school. Everything was slowly getting more manageable. Then came physical therapy. Physical therapy was basically an antonym for the dance. Dance is something I looked forward to doing, and something that gave me joy thinking about. Physical therapy, on the other hand, was something I absolutely dreaded, an inevitable pain that could give me nightmares if I thought about it long enough. Every time I entered the glass doors, into the physical therapy room, I’d hop onto the cushioned table with my right leg straight out, and my left leg, the hurt one, bent. My physical therapist, Tom, would then come over with the cursed protractor-looking device, and then push. He’d push my left leg as hard as he could, and then once in a while measure how many degrees bent it was. Every single time he put pressure on my leg, it felt like the bone inside my knee was on the verge of snapping. Who knew it was going to take even more pain to get rid of an already painful injury.             Months went by, and the school year was finally over. Freshman year of high school was complete, even with a major setback at the end. Only a few days later, though, was my next surgery scheduled. In between, though, we were able to squeeze in going to a quick wedding. We drove to Los Angeles and stayed there for three nights, celebrating the wedding of my second cousin, who to be honest, I had never met before. It was a pleasant start to summer break before my surgery, in addition to a quick celebration for finishing finals and freshman year of high school. When we got back, I had my second surgery, and the process was really similar to the first one. The recovery was just longer and much more tedious. It was longer because the surgery was a little bit more complex, but tedious because it was during summer break. It was convenient because summer break meant that I had more time to recover before starting school again. However, it was also frustrating, as everyone around me was traveling to fun and exotic places, while I was stuck at home.             The thing I missed the most out of everything, though, again, was dance. I still went to class once in a while to watch my friends prepare for the recital and cheer them on, but also because deep down, I still had a tiny spark of hope that I’d be able to recover in time for the show.             “Papa, when am I going to be able to go back to dance?” I asked, with the slightest hope of getting a different answer.             “We’ve already gone over this, Aarya. Continuing to dance increases the risk of you injuring your leg again. That’s my input, but do what you want, Beta.” It was bad enough that I had to miss the recital I put so much effort and time into. Now, though, I couldn’t even go back to dance at all. My eyes almost started to burn with tears, but I knew that I couldn’t cry anymore. Nothing I did would ever change my knee back to how it was before, including crying. I had to find a solution.             One random evening, I was pondering about what I could do instead of dance, as that obviously wasn’t an option anymore. Memories of sitting down with my friends and performing Indian classical bhajans we had spent months learning and practicing appeared in mind, and brought a smile to my face. I remembered the joy singing my heart out would give me, especially when it was in key. From when I was around the age of six to the age of ten, I used to learn Hindustani Classical Singing, which was so much fun. The only reason I can think of why I stopped is because my ten-year-old self supposedly didn’t have enough time. Singing was always something I wanted to be good at, but never actually tried to be. I wanted to give it another shot.             “Hey Papa!” I exclaimed. “Remember when I used to sing?”             “Yeah, why?”             “Can I start taking lessons again?”             “Of course! Go find a course online, and I’ll give you my card when you find one.” Every Monday I have singing lessons at 5:30pm, and I love it. It doesn’t make me as happy as dancing, but I’m not horrible at it, to the point where it’s discouraging, and I get to learn so much from every single class.             Even though not being able to go back to dance and participate in the recital was really hard, in fact, devastating, I learned and grew so much from the experience. Now I know not to do anything dumb with my knee. In all seriousness, though, it’s taught me that even though something can look and seem really terrible on the surface, it might just be a disguised opportunity to try something new, and let something go. Now, the singing room is another one of my happy places; not the new one, just another one.