The Crash.

Suddenly it's Wednesday. 

I got my wish. 

3 days last week I felt pretty okay, meaning I could do some things, like go out to the balcony, and open the door myself. It was glorious. I wrote that I looked alive.

This week is the crash. 

Saturday I reluctantly tried for sleep at 5 am.  By Monday, I had about 4-5 hours of sleep in the past 48. The crash is not unexpected but the intensity is.

Let me explain. On 'good' days, I can do a little bit more and I celebrate each like a victory. I still can't do much, pain is high, and I might be happy but that in no way does mean I feel normal. Not that I recall what that is like. My good days still mean I am bedridden. I spent Saturday and Sunday nights doing something I love, which is the podcasts - one I cohost and one I am an invited guest.

Monday, I fell. Not to the ground this time, but I was too ambitious, first time since I've been back I tried to use the toaster. I fell, into the counter and bounced back into the stove. I didn't cry right away, but it was a shock. Pain shot through me, ribs shifted, and my legs just gave out. I feel like a failure again.

The blackness takes over with no warning, and pushes me around. I can almost hear it taunting me, laughing.


The 'twitchies' are fairly new, and they are rather disgusting. I have no control, and it hurts. I'm just a glass little thing, and it keeps shattering me. I can't sleep. I lie awake, helpless. I've been in tears for days. Each twitch takes my breath away, and I cry a little bit harder. 


How in the hell do I of all people have no control of my body, it's what I am supposed to do. I twitch, I shatter, I cry.

Nothing but a silhouette of a dancer. 


I willed it to be Wednesday - I willed myself to sleep the days away, which I didn't do completely. 


Why Wednesday? I wanted two days of it to attack without my feeling it. I felt it all. But I did it. I made it. Somehow, I keep making it. Despite this hell, something keeps me holding on. The love and support far outweighs,  and it is that that I cannot thank you enough for. I am holding on.


I will watch my dance show tonight, and for a little while I will feel like that ballerina, even though a frozen in time one. 


I don't like to live in the past, but live in the now, and the near future. 

I'll just be one step behind you.







                                                      








 

The dancer, the social butterfly and the tv production star.

Time means nothing now. Sometimes, it's really damn nice too. 

It's rather freeing in a sense to not be a slave to the clock. It's a very strange and different feeling, as I have always had my own special relationship with time.

My mom taught me the lesson of punctuality, and to this day, it is important to me, however, I dread making plans of any sort because I have no idea if I can fulfill an obligation, as much as I want to.

Time is a dancer's best friend - from music, to the 8 counts repeatedly, to something I instilled in my dancers too, to respect the time and how to let it work and help them in training and as performers. 

The famous '5,6, 7, 8' is magical - and what some people don't realize is that it is not just catching the beat, it is much more than that. It is to centre, to prep, to BREATHE. There is no random time for the 8 counts, it's there for a reason. On stage, it is also a thing of beauty. Lights, curtain, 5678 and GO! 

The other relationship I had with time was working in television. I had a few Production Assistant positions from ENG (electronic news gathering) for the field to the live control room.  The control room is also it's bit of magic. That is another gift I am so happy to have experienced, it was exhilarating.

 I was in the control room for midnight news broadcast.  I learned in preshow that the sports director needed to pad 2 extra minutes from his runthrough, I learned what was good material to cut if we were going over. It's not a job for the shy, while the director runs the cameras, the PA's run everything - everyone depends on the many time counts.  I had a stopwatch, a digital clock, an analog clock and yes, sometimes yet another stopwatch, each tracking time for many concurrent items. 4 clocks, constant countdowns, constant restarting. It was alot of stress, and I loved it. Half the time I never knew what stories were on the show because each item was a time code. 

I had such a relationship with time, I had a hard time not counting in 8's and 60's. I still do. When I was driving, and even just before blackouts started I would get gas and often stop it at $__.59 and then have to think about it to get to a round number. It was a pain in the ass in winter.

Time means nothing to me now, I sleep whenever I can, I eat whenever I feel up to it. I love the overnights too. Somehow it's so peaceful, finally making it through yet another tough shit hole of a day - just is a celebration. The peace is so welcoming, I WANT to stay awake and sleep all day. The days hurt much more. I understand that people don't understand my time now. It is still shocking that some think I should have a 9-5 schedule. I'm a slave to my body, I crave the night. I crave it hard. 

I ask you, would you not want to do the same? It's a long day in the day, can't do much of anything for myself so why push myself when I really can't? 

I am not lazy, I swear it. I still have a high work ethic, but I am being attacked hard. Life is not easy and the little things are now giant things to deal with.

I have always had a love affair with the nighttime, it is magical. 

I was a social butterfly. I'm just a wounded butterfly now.

Time means nothing. It just is now.

Dance like EVERYONE is watching!

My mother always says I was dancing before I was walking. Hell, she says I was dancing in womb. All I wanted to do was dance, music was all over the house, it was such a gift to appreciate all kinds of music, very young.


I started my first dance classes, tap, jazz, and baton. The tap recital piece was to 'Short People', our costumes were little white pants, suit jacket and top hat. One of the girls never closed her top buttons. I thought she was a slut. I was 5. My mom asked me if I wanted to take other things for a session as she was a dancer too and not wanting to push me into her direction. I was horrible at skating and my father fashioned a crash pad for my wee butt. I took gymnastics, which I liked, but still I just wanted to dance.


I was invited to a pre-professional program at 12, Jazz, Tap, Ballet, Lyrical, Modern. We were also competitive which I thrived on, and the technical exams
were hard, but I consistently ranked at the top of each style in Highly Commended. Feeling your body work, move, be alive - so freeing. To do the pre pointe and pointe, I was in heaven. Luckily I was a rock and roll ballerina and never had to wear the pancake tutus. I leave that for the gents of the Ballet Trocodero.

We performed for the Governor General - Canada's Head of State representing the Queen. Every stage was mine, indoors or out. I danced with my heart, my eyes, my soul. Tyra didn't invent smizing. I embraced every role to the nines. At one competition we were doing a hip-hopish tap number which was groundbreaking at the time. Getting up from a floor series my left foot popped. I suddenly thought that I lost it for the team but got up, kept smiling, and finished the dance. Come awards time, I was in teary apologies to the team. We won first place. I was called out by the judges even with compliments. Noone knew I had a hairline fracture in my left ankle until after.

Bring on the triple threats, I was 15 in my first professional musical theatre company. School, dance, rehearsals, I was in it to win it. I loved it so much.
I started teaching at 17. My mom retired her pro career at 17.

That next summer was the sign of something bad. I was ill with Hepatitis A and Mono. My doctor wanted me to be off for at least 6 months, but I only took off two as I wanted to do college, TV Broadcasting. I was finally strong enough to teach again, it was wonderful. This group of little girls I had were very special to me. They started when they were mostly 5, and with me until graduation. They came with me when I opened my studio, funny seeing my kids drive themselves to classes.

I took them to competitions and wanted them to have the experiences I did.
They came to dance at my wedding even. It's beautiful to see them as successful young women today and we are often in touch. To see them embrace the power, the beauty, winning accolades - every time I was so proud.

Something went wrong. I was having migraines for months, I had a hard time understanding why I was on the floor crying because the studio was on a second floor, and often I had to slide down the stairs. I was 30. I was supposed to be happy, not anxious. I moved the studio to the community centre I also taught at the next year. Teaching a ballet class a changement - I landed wrong.
My feet were swelling, and it hurt so much. I had to stop teaching right then.

My doctor took 3 months to do blood work. These tests changed my life. He diagnosed me with lupus. He was a sweet grandfather type and cried with me because he knew what losing my dance career on a dime was going to do.

I was 33. It's not very nice to take the feet away from a rock and roll ballerina.