Back in Montreal I had started having back pain. Oddly enough, it wasn’t because of anything. As far as I could tell, it was from not doing anything. As soon as I stopped training and really took the whole ‘vacation’ thing to heart, my back started to deteriorate. It began in the car. It would hurt to sit for too long, then when I got out of the car, I couldn’t stand up straight right away.
I saw my osteo a couple of times, and while normally he works miracles, I couldn’t help but think his treatments were making things worse. Fast forward to France and I can’t even stand without being in pain.
Already, I was dreading returning to France. My ego had taken quite a bruising when my wheel died and I came back to Montreal empty handed. Here I was ill prepared to return to work with shows to do in, oh, two days time with a busted up back. Moreover, I couldn’t even get through my number. I never realized just how hard I had made my number, but it’s really hard. My cardio was crap, my legs would give out by the end, and my back was throwing up all over the place.
During my panic filled days and shame filled nights, I had the pleasure of seeing an osteo here in France. According to this guy, I had, among other things, a twisted uterus, turned pelvis, and most likely a damaged disk.
I’m sorry, what was that last one?
This is when the circus goes into panic mode. After petitioning the mayor and throwing around a bit of their weight, the circus managed to get me an appointment for an MRI in the course of a morning’s worth of phone calls.
Fun facts about MRIs in France:
They are extremely inexpensive.
They give you a CD with all the images on it.
As you can imagine, I was somewhat terrified. I went to the hospital with the technical director, whom I love, and I must admit, I cried. What if my disk was damaged in some way? I’m only just starting my career. I know there’s no such thing as a good time to get injured, but now was definitely not a good time.
And of course the director was on my case. Why didn’t I get this checked at home? I mean, other than that it all happened kind of suddenly, it takes six months to get an appointment for an MRI and I wasn’t exactly home for all that long? Its not like I wanted my back to declare war.
At this point I should mention that I not only had an osteo tell me I likely had disk damage, but the doctor as well. Of course the doctor also hypothesised that I may have micro fractures in my vertebra. Needless to say, I expected the worse.
What I got, was this:
I know, eh?
Clean as a whistle, sharp as a thistle, the best in all Westminster!
Except, mostly just the ‘clean as a whistle part’.
No tears, no fractures, no damage. Which is fantastic! Except for the part where my back still really hurt and I had no idea why. I know, I know, I should have been really happy that there was no disk damage (and I was, and I am) but I had what felt like electrical currents shooting down my sacrum. I kind of wanted some answers.
And of course, the MRI being clean, the general prognosis among the troupe is that it’s all in my head.
Great.
Did I mention the director was on my case? In an effort to heal, I didn’t do one of the first run-throughs. After that and a poor showing of my number in general, I also cut my number in half. I’m told that normally, the circus is pretty cool with adapting numbers (or cutting them out completely) when an artist to too sick or injured to perform. However, the timing being what it was, I wasn’t really given that luxury with a blessing.
It would appear that over the summer, the show got less than an outstanding review by Telerama. Telerama, I am told, is the French equivalent to TV Guide and their reviews generally mean something. Mind you, I’m also told that the general public typically agrees that whatever Telerama says, its best to think the opposite.
Anyway, all that to say that there were some serious insecurities floating around. Suddenly, the director is changing scenes, cutting scenes, rearranging scenes and screwing around with the music. By the end of the week in Dole, he had managed to alienate the entire cast. After a two month break and two or three days of rehearsal, we were basically told that what were doing wasn’t good enough. Not enough feeling, not enough life, poor rhythm, the works.
And of course, I got a special place in the “not good enough” category. It would seem that the wheel number is an important moment in the show. It’s the moment where the rhythm really takes off, the space opens, and the show really starts! So I’m told. All that to say that my half-number wasn’t good enough.
I was in pain. I probably shouldn’t even have been doing my number at all, but out of guilt and a “take one for the team” mentality, I did it any way. I worked with the musicians to shorten the music (they did brilliantly by the way). And while the first night was shaky, I feel like we pulled it off in the end.
But the director just kept on me. The first show where I actually felt good before the performance, the show where things were really starting to work in my mini act, he came up to me afterwards and essentially said that it wasn’t enough. They way he said it, it was as though the reason the show wasn’t working was because my act wasn’t working.
Awesome.
Did I mention the director alienated the entire troupe in a matter of days?
Dole sucked. Not the city or the shows, but the atmosphere. They never should have cut the rehearsal days before Dole (and Paris) after a two month break. The director should have some faith in the message he’s trying to share and not tear his artists to pieces. Also, my back should stop hurting.
Dole came and went with a fizzle and some hurt feelings. Hopefully, Paris will be different. But with big changes looming (didn’t mention that did I?) and the eyes of the capital upon us, the fun is undoubtedly just beginning.
