I had been taking classical violin lessons when I was six and although I had once had a dream of being a musician, I gave it up to have a more stable job. But I had continued taking violin lessons with a woman named Janice who was teaching me improvisation and other non-classical styles. In addition to being a violin teacher, she also acted as a life coach to me.

I had a lesson scheduled for the day after my first chemo treatment because I had no idea how horrible I would be feeling. I called Janice to cancel. “Asha, I’ve told you already, I’m expecting you to be here at 6 p.m. If you get sick while you’re here, then you get sick, but you need to come.” She never let me get away with anything. I hated her for this but also appreciated because I knew she was pushing me to be a better person and player.

I was vomiting all day and sleeping for the rest of it. I couldn’t imagine getting across town just for an hour lesson. The idea of it made me miserable. There was no getting out of it. At 5:30 p.m. I dragged myself out of bed and brought a plastic bag with me in case I got sick in the cab ride over.

Slowly, I unpacked my instrument in her studio, angry with her for making me come. I wasn’t even sure I would be able to hold it correctly because I was still in pain from surgery. “Asha, I’m glad you came. We’re going to change our path a little in your lesson while you are undergoing treatments.” I was silent, still irritated with her. “First, we’re going to drone. Droning is a sort of meditation. I want you to close your eyes and find one note that resonates within your body.”

I lifted up my instrument and surprisingly I was able to hold it with little pain. I closed my eyes and started wandering around the fingerboard trying to find a note that I liked. Finally I found it. It was a low G. I played long bows on the G a couple times and then opened my eyes. “Is this what you want me to do?” I asked, looking for validation. “Yes. But keep your eyes closed and continue to play.” I began droning on my G string.

“Let yourself really feel the note through your whole body,” she continued. Within three minutes or so, I had completely lost myself in this single note. My body felt more relaxed and I noticed my queasiness lessening. “Good,” she said softly after ten minutes of droning. “Now you’re going to play a sound story. I want you to close your eyes and take a deep breath. Explain to me how you felt about going into the hospital yesterday from the moment you woke up until after your hair-cutting party.”

“Well, it was sort of…” I began. “I don’t want you to tell me in words. I want you to tell me through your music and your instrument.” Keeping my eyes closed, I began my sound story, softly and hesitant at first. After all, this is how I felt when I entered the hospital doors. I guided her through my day through notes, dynamics and different tempo. There were soft sections where I was scared, fast and loud sections where my heart raced as the nurse approached me with the needle, lighthearted sections where my friends and I attempted to joke and more calm parts as the drugs entered my system. My story incorporated every kind of emotion possible that I had been through that day.

I opened my eyes when I finished, keeping my eyes towards the ground. I felt a huge sense of relief to express myself in a way that I hadn’t been able to in words. When I finally looked at her, she had a smile on her face that I had never seen. “Asha, that was the best improvisation you have ever done. It was incredibly moving and I understood everything you were saying. You get a sticker today.” I had never received a sticker in the entire year I had worked with her. She rarely gave them out, but I had finally deserved one.