“There’s a million things I haven’t done. But just you wait,” Most people don't sing their way into surgery. However, I am not most people. As I was wheeled into the operating room for my bowel resection, I was singing the Hamilton soundtrack. Although I had IVs in my arms and there were tears in my parents’ eyes, I wasn’t scared. Rather, I was singing. Music allowed me to face pain and confront whatever life threw at me.
I was twelve years old when I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease. I had tried different diets and medications, but nothing worked. I was bombarded with doctor visits and countless school absences. I couldn’t see my friends, and I missed everything. But in the middle of that chaos, there was one constant- my connection to music. Whether I was lying in a hospital bed or at home, music gave me a way to escape, express what I couldn’t say out loud, and feel connected to something bigger than my illness. In the hospital, I discovered music therapy to help with the anxiety I experienced from the needles. Music therapy made me calmer, braver, and ready for surgery. It was more than a distraction, it was something I could hold on to no matter how unpredictable my health was.
Music’s power was vividly seen on the day of my surgery. As I sat in the hospital bed, I wasn’t nervous. I knew this surgery would stop the pain and let me get back to doing the things I loved. When the nurses rolled me into the operating room, they requested my music selection for the surgery. Without hesitation, I told them to play the Hamilton soundtrack. As “Satisfied” filled the room, I lay on the operating table singing with everything I had, practically giving a full performance. By the time the next song began, everything went black. When I awoke, the nurses and doctors were laughing because I had been singing right until the moment I went under. That’s when I realized that music wasn’t just something I loved, but a big part of who I was.
That experience in the hospital sparked something in me. In 2021, I was given the chance to sing with the Garden of Dreams Foundation and perform at Radio City. Standing on that stage, in front of thousands of people, I realized that making music and performing were what I loved. Music could be more than a coping mechanism. It could be a purpose. Since then, music has been part of my high school life. I joined The Ram Jams, our a cappella group, and together the group has become three-time National finalists. I’ve performed in every school musical, making memories with my closest friends doing what I love most. Outside of school, I sing Greek music with my dad, which allows me to connect to my culture. It doesn’t matter if I’m harmonizing with my friends or just singing a Greek song with my dad. The same uplifting feeling overtakes me each time, and I know that this is what I need to do for the rest of my life.
For me, music has always been more than performance. It’s helped me through my pain, it’s connected me to so many different people, and it’s how I express myself. It’s carried me from a hospital hallway to Radio City’s stage, and now, I want it to carry me into my future. Music is how I have survived, how I have thrived, and how I hope to make my mark on the world. Just you wait.