I needed some time away from everything so I spent a week with my parents at the Lawrence Welk Resort in Escondido. We were the youngest people there by at least thirty years.
And it was exactly what I needed.
Lately I’ve been forgetting how lucky I really am to be in Los Angeles.
And how hard I worked to be here.
But one night at the resort, somewhere between my dad’s third beer and my seventeenth glass of wine, my father did what he’s so good at.
Reminded me of how I got here.
He didn’t mean how I graduated from college. And he wasn’t talking about surviving the cheap yet terrifying apartment I lived in in Omaha to save money.
No. He was talking about the time I lent my body to science.
The time I participated in a fourteen-day medical study to earn fast money so I could follow my dreams and move to Los Angeles.
A medical study in which I was given non-FDA approved drugs, and had my blood drawn sixty-four times.
It was three years ago…
I had just finished a national tour and had my sites set on Hollywood. But I was poor. Really poor. And had only one month to earn enough money to move. So when my mom told me about a medical study that paid $3,500 I leapt at the chance to participate.
I should probably mention here that I have an unreasonable fear of having my blood drawn. Like – restraints and alcohol need to be involved.
But I was determined I could do it. After all, it was only sixty-four times…
HOW BAD COULD IT BE?
I showed up the first day of the study and learned they were testing Xanax, in patch form.
In order to participate I had to be anxiety free (God knows how I made it past that test.) But somehow I qualified and found myself in a large room with fourteen other beds. I was given a number and called that number (Five) throughout the entire experience.
Some rules of the study included:
- I was not allowed to see or be in the sunlight
- I was not allowed to leave my bed for more than one hour at a time.
- I was not allowed to eat/drink anything other than the food they provided.
And the most important rule:
- I was not allowed to miss a blood draw.
So, I reminded myself why I was there and held out my arm every time with out a fight.
The first few draws weren’t too bad. I just closed my eyes and imagined what a big star I was going to become. The large dose of Xanax coursing through my veins probably helped too.
But as they started the “drawing blood every two hours for twenty-six hours” portion of the study, things really started to go downhill.
Not only did the phlebotomists seem to be getting younger and more inexperienced but the bruising on my arms was starting to make every blood draw more painful than the one before.
I tried to fall asleep that night beside fourteen strangers, knowing that I was going to be awoken two hours later to give away two more vials of my blood.
2am came around quickly and I stumbled out of bed bracing myself for another painful draw.
But something was different.
I was hungry.
Desperately hungry. More hungry than I’ve ever been in my life.
I mentioned it to Number Four and she told me I looked pale.
Suddenly my name was called.
Number Five!
I stood up and started to walk to the phlebotomist’s table. I was dizzy. All I could think about was eating a sandwich. Or ribs. Or an entire chicken.
I sat down and looked at the phlebotomist. My heart sank. It was the guy who chewed gum and listened to his iPod as he drew blood.
The guy who looked like he rolled up on his skateboard after Chem Lab to draw blood for extra credit.
He was the one who, earlier that day, spent five minutes painfully digging in my veins until he had thrown his hands up in the air and told me I had ‘like, impossible veins, dude.’
I got even more dizzy.
He tied the cord around my arm and jammed out to his iPod. He rubbed the alcohol on my arm and blew a bubble.
The smell of the rubbing alcohol, his gum, and the memory of the last time he’d tried to take my blood were just too much.
Suddenly there were two gum-chewing phlebotomists. Then there was two of everything.
And right before I passed out, as my eyes rolled back into my head and I started to fall off my stool, I had two thoughts.
I hope they don’t kick me out so I can still move to Los Angeles.
And.
I could eat a horse.
A few minutes later I woke up to find myself on the floor surrounded by people.
And a nurse was taking my blood.
I peeled my eyes open, looked up, and whispered to her groggily.
Please don’t make me leave. I have to get to Hollywood.
The nurse smiled at me and patted my head.
We won’t make you leave. As long as you can keep giving blood.
And I did.
During the next draw (two hours later) I was so weak I couldn’t even get out of bed. And the next one I hardly made it to a sitting position.
But I didn’t give up.
I wanted it too badly.
Eventually I became stronger. And when I left the study I was four pounds lighter, had arms that looked like I’d done a copious amount of drugs, and skin that was starving for sunlight.
But I was $3,500 richer.
I was one step closer to my dream of moving to LA.
And a month later I was driving past the Hollywood sign, the sixty-four blood draws a distant memory.
My dad’s right. I am lucky to be here. I worked so hard to get where I am.
I literally bled for Los Angeles.
I need to remind myself of that sometimes. I sacrificed a lot to move out here.
And I better appreciate every damn second of it.
It’s what Number Five would have wanted.
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