No Matter What (A Nash Grier Story)

Fighting

Well everyone knew. Nothing left to hide, nothing left to fear, other than the rest of my career. My director would have to find out at some point, and who knows how he might take it. He might not even care, he might treat me like I'm glass, or he might "ask me to leave" the production or in harsh words: kick me off. All I know is, that would ruin me. My whole life has been on that stage, and I would feel like something in my life would be missing without it.

A few days after I was released from the hospital, I went to my directors and told them everything. They didn't mind, as long as my treatments and the entire disease itself didn't effect my rehearsals or performance in any way. I was to rehearse like everyone, as expected as much from as everyone else, which was all a relief. That's exactly how I wanted it to be. Things would definitely be hard, and definitely require a fight.

As soon as my doctor cleared that I was able to return to physical activity, I started rehearsing. Things went well for a couple of weeks. I was doing fine in rehearsals, I was keeping my grades up, I sent as much time with Nash as possible (which wasn't all that much. I had all that stuff going on, and he had his own stuff going on, along with a celebrity status to hold on to).

The first time I went to the doctors for my "cancer-curing session" was living hell. The doctor told me what to expect, but I still was not prepared for what actually happened. I sat in a chair as they stuck me with some needle, and let poison drip through a tube, going into my blood stream and supposedly helping to cure my cancer.

It felt weird. I had blood drawn, and a few shots growing up, but I had never had "medication" dripping into my veins, and frankly, I didn't like it. And of course neither did my body. About 20 minutes later, I was uncontrollably vomiting over and over again. It's like my stomach was actually in my mouth. And unfortunately Nash had come with me. He was the only person I was truly close to down here, and he wanted to support me. He acted like nothing ever happened and tried to make me laugh.

While I was bent over a little tray they supplied letting everything go, Nash sat behind me holding me and acting like nothing was even happening.

But after another session of "cancer-curing" my hair started to come out. First in stands, then clumps, and then my hair got to the point of needing to shave it off after a few more sessions. And that was really hard on me. No one really understands the love for your hair. I may sound stupid, but going completely bald is scary, and honestly... life changing. I went from having a full head of hair, wavy, brown, silky, and shiny, to holding a razor in my hand, running it over my scalp, and watching the clumps fall to the floor, along with my tears.

I didn't want Nash to see me. I didn't want anyone to see me. I had started to grow dark bags under my eyes. I looked hollow. I looked like I was fragile, like a piece of glass, ready to break if I ever fell. And that was exactly what I was trying to avoid. I wanted to stay strong. So many things were going right in my life before my blood cells, and brain got out of whack. I had my whole life sitting in the palm of my hand. Planned out, mapped out, and ready to explore. I was going to be on Broadway. Now some little cell in my body, that's multiplied, and multiplied again, has taken my dream, and crushed it with its nonexistent hands. In the blink of an eye. Literally in the blink of an eye.