I haven’t written in a long time, I am not sure I know how any more. I barely knew how before! And yet right now I feel compelled to say some things.
I quit writing because I was very conflicted with all that I saw and heard in politics, my life and the pandemic. I knew from things I saw on the news that most of my views didn’t line up with what the majority in this state were saying. I had my strong opinions and views but saw so much division and anger that I didn’t want to throw any more gasoline on the fire.
Then things began to open back up and I thought life would return to normal. I began the process of doing a large renovation at my house- something to throw my creativity into while the theatre world basically shut down. (Although I did manage to get in a few shows during that time!) I consulted with our contractor, we worked out the design, he got us an estimate and told us he could start in 5 or 6 weeks.
I slowly began to get the rooms involved in the remodel emptied out, slowly going through memories and junk that I either had to preserve or toss out.
Then I was told my dad had been taken to the hospital and within a week, he was gone. Life is so fragile and fleeting, something that we learned during the pandemic in a big way, something it seems I keep being reminded of in smaller ways almost weekly.
The day my dad died, a day that I was woken early by that phone call you know before you answer will be bad news, is a blur. Handling arrangements, making a million decisions you are never prepared for, makes for a day you just get through, but rather not remember.
The next day, on Friday, the contractor came by for what turned into a 2 hour decision making meeting and I was about out of the ability to make any more decisions! I told him when he walked in exactly what I wanted, but somehow we still had to look at every option. After two hours, Tim and I had to go get our first vaccinations so we had to make a choice. Interestingly enough we picked the doors I had told the contractor I wanted when he first walked in!
The real shock of the meeting was that as we walked out of the house, our contractor told us he could begin the next week. I was not really ready, it was much sooner than I had been led to believe, but I didn’t want him to start a different job so I assured him I would be ready!
And I was!
In the process of getting all of the books, and pictures, knick-knacks and furniture out of the den and off of the back porch, I tweaked my back. It was sore, but as much as I move sound equipment, furniture, and set pieces, a sore back is not a new phenomenon!
I have to digress here to tell you that I was brought up to never complain, to never stay home sick, to never be weak. My father, a zoologist and theatre buff, based his parenting on animal behavior, theatre superstitions, and the law of the jungle. He told me that if you act weak or sick, the herd will shun you and the nearest lion will eat you. So I grew up never complaining, never giving up and knowing that no matter what, the show must go on!
So with a sore back, I moved sofas, bins full of books, and prepared to direct a show. And believe me, I got it all done- a totally empty room was ready on Tuesday for demo to begin and a few weeks later, rehearsals began.
Somewhere in the midst of that, my back got worse and I had an unsuccessful pain block.
Having gone through a back issue before, I knew two or three blocks would probably be needed, so I didn’t panic. And I did not give in. I didn’t write about it because then I was admitting to the pain and a lion might eat me, so I stayed silent and focused.
For the next six weeks I worked hard, smiled through the pain and I think put on a damn good show. Of everything I have ever done, I am probably most proud of PROOF- partly because it had real meaning, partly because it was a bucket list show for me and some of the cast but mostly because I knew I had worked through pain that grew each and every day.
After the show, the pain doctor told me to begin some physical therapy and chiropractic work that made me worse. The poor chiropractor, whose bucket list includes being on stage someday even if only as a tree, finally realized I was beyond what he could help and he sent me back for another block. It had been six weeks since the first.
The chiropractor was the only one to actually show me my x-rays. I have arthritis in my spine and hips and my back bone was crumbling. Although I am the most UN-medical person you will ever meet, even I could see the good vertebrae from the ones that were just a mush of fragments. And those fragments were crushing nerves. And it won’t get better, it will just deteriorate.
The second block made no difference and right afterwards I had one of the saddest birthdays I think I have ever had! And that is from someone who never had a birthday party until she was 50 and had her mother seriously ill (she died a few days later) in the hospital on one birthday. It was no one’s fault- I just hurt so bad!!
I then stage managed a show for a weekend. It was an easy one- a musical review of sorts where all I had to do was get the singers on stage on time and then I could go home- no intermission, no extra props or cues I had to deal with.
By the last show I was hobbling around with a fake smile, telling everyone I was fine as I reset the stage and shouted out how long until the house opened, how long until show time. They could have done it without me for sure. Everyone involved was a pro and they can watch the clock and get on stage without help, but I somehow knew that I needed to do this.
And I did.
Two weeks after the second block I had a third which I felt sure would cure me. After all, seven years ago the third one made me feel well enough to get back to yoga which made me slowly better and better. I was ready for the same thing to happen.
After the third block, I was unable to get out of bed. For three days, I just laid there in pain. I knew to give a pain block 10-14 days to work, but I was so upset and in such agony that I contacted my friend who is a rheumatologist (the real hero of the story- I’ll tell you about her and the nurses another time!) and she said to go see the surgeon.
This was something I had been putting off. Seven years ago, after the second block, I was sent to this surgeon. Unlike most surgeons, he was not knife happy! He talked me out of surgery in a big way! He sent me back for the third block that bought me 7 more years of little to no pain!
This time he was not able to do that. This time he had a better option than the metal plates and screws he had shown me 7 years prior, but surgery was inevitable. The good news was that this time I could try an option that would have me in what seemed to me a long recovery, but would not prevent me from hopefully someday being able to run, dance, do yoga and go back to life as I knew it.
He had a cancellation and could do the surgery the next week. I told him I had to think about it and would call him in a couple of days. On the way home, Tim and I had an intense heart to heart and by the time I got home, I called the surgeon and took the available time slot.
There are more parts to this story- I have more to say. I am going to say more later. I am really telling all of this for people who might have similar issues or have been wondering why I quit writing. Maybe no one needs to hear this- I never know!
The insights I have gotten during this process- the perspective of some of the nurses I have talked to, the care I was given in one hospital, not just this time but before, the recovery and the empathy I have grown, are all things that have overridden the fear I have of sharing my weakness and struggle.
I was raised to think that the pain I had, the depression I have felt, the things I’ve given up are signs of weakness and that if I tell you about them, I will be eaten by a lion. But I have to be stronger than all of that as I write all of this.
