If You Can’t Be Famous, Be Infamous. (Chicago)

I wish upon a star that I was a Triple Threat. 

One problem–I have zero musical talent. 

During music class in 3rd grade, I continually pretended to forget my recorder at home because I knew I possessed no natural talent for the instrument. Hot cross buns was my peak symphonic achievement, and I am not ashamed to admit I still stunk.

That’s probably why whenever my sister and I attend a musical theater performance, as we do so often on our sister-bonding dates at Cleveland’s Playhouse Square, we sit in the red velvet upholstered seats with green envy in our hearts. Sighing begrudgingly, we agree, we wish we were talented enough to be a Triple Threat on the very stage in front of us. 

Do You Hear the People Sing? (Les Miserables)

Truth be told, neither of us can hold a tune. I’m a classically trained ballerina whose career was cut short, and my sister is a clarinetist suited for the high school marching band. Acting abilities?  I am going to take a lap and say no. (Unless, you count my 3rd grade Oscar worthy plotline.)

Alas, the dream of musical stardom and performance envy lives on forever in our hearts. It’s part of the tradition, anyway. 

Yesterday was plain awful, but that's not now, that's then. (Annie)

Attending Broadway shows like Hamilton, Jersey Boys, Mamma Mia, SIX, and many more have for so long been something I enjoy outside CF. Luckily, I live in a location with an incredible CF hospital and an active Broadway scene within a few miles of each other. (Fun fact: Cleveland’s Playhouse is the second largest theater district in the US after NYC’S Broadway, of course)

However when CF began to beg for more and more attention, Broadway was progressively jaded by my constant urge to cough. Sitting in such close proximity to others exacerbated both my cough reflex and the ensuing anxiety I felt as I was disrupting the audience. In an attempt to quiet the need, I tried sipping water for the entirety of the show, cough suppressant syrups, extra treatments, and sitting on the end of the aisle where I felt the most oxygen available. 

But in the end, my anxiety grew, and I was so hyper-focused on not coughing that all the love of our tradition and musical entertainment was drained away. Suppressing my cough until a boisterous audience applause erupted was how I survived a show–forget enjoying it. 

Like it has so many times before, CF threatened to take away a small joy near to my heart it had no claim over. 

I’m laughin’ in the face of casualties and sorrow. For the first time, I’m thinkin’ past tomorrow. (Hamilton)

Like many people in the CF community, I celebrated the significant physiological wins of Trikafta that I witnessed. However for me, it was the small changes that moved me inside, like the forgotten ease of riding a bike, going camping with my family, and delightedly, becoming the quietest audience member there could ever be. 

Trikafta didn’t grant me musical talent like I have wished for so long. I’m not a Triple Threat even though I have the “triple combo” pulsing through my body. Instead, Trikafta helped me stand resolute in the joys and simple pleasures that make up my life. It gave me breath to witness Stars, unlike myself, dazzle the stage. And quite possibly, the breath to pick up my forgotten recorder once again.