Getting my ticket punched

Every actor - community or professional - eventually has to perform while sick. And I don't mean sore throat or sniffles because those rip through casts like tornadoes through trailer parks. Everyone's done that. If you're a lead you sing as usual, don't talk off-stage, and drink whatever concoction (tea with honey, tea with whiskey, hot lemonade, water) you believe in. If you're in the chorus you mark (sing at less than full voice), remind people off stage that you are sick and they shouldn't get too close, and drink lots of water.

No, I'm talking about the kind of sick where there are buckets near all the exits. One of our cast members for Independence is pregnant and was having a rough time keeping food down one weekend. Deploy the buckets. (Which, thank you, Theater Gods, were not required.)

A friend was in a show a few years ago and had a bad case of the flu. He threw up every time he left the stage, which - from what I've heard - wasn't often enough for his peace of mind.

Last night was my turn. I woke up yesterday with a simple plan: clean house until I go to meet Eric and Charles for lunch, have lunch and catch up with them, come home and clean house a bit more, go to the theater, perform with several good friends in the audience (Brett, Stacey, Carol, Alice, and Chris), some of whom had never seen me on stage before. A simple plan.

So it's a pity that I woke up feeling like crap. I wasn't sure what was wrong at first, I just knew that cleaning - let alone breakfast - were no longer part of my plan. I did meet Eric and Charles for lunch (and had a lovely time), came home, and took a nap with Pekoe acting like an orange heating pad. Warm was good, cold was bad. Cold would give me chills and shakes. I got up at 6:00 for my 7:00 call at the theater, hit the bathroom a few times, and left the house. The bathroom was my clue as to what was wrong, so I took a Pepto before I left.

One of the good things about a cast of four women is that we can be pretty frank with each other, so the cast and Stage Manager (David) got a heads up about how I felt and I accepted their condolences and Sharon's oyster crackers (bland is good).

There are two reasons that actors can go out there and perform and not have the audience know how they feel: our sense of responsbility to the people who had to go to work to earn the money to buy the tickets and the amazing healing power of stage lights and focus. You hit the stage and you focus and you hope for the best.

And it's good that stage lights and focus are so helpful because I have no bathroom break in this show. I'm off stage for scene 3, but I have to spend it sorting clothes or I'm screwed later on. I change my clothes everytime I come off stage and several pieces get re-used, so I spend scene 3 making sure that I can come off stage after scenes 4 - 8, grab what I need, change very fast, and go.

In fact, I get no bathroom break pretty much from 7:30 when the house is opened to 10:15 when we've curtained down and I change back into street clothes. There's no bathroom backstage and I can't use the one the public uses during intermission because we're not allowed to.

During Act II I was concerned that I wasn't going to get to retain possession of water, tea, and oyster crackers - nausea had kicked in, too - but it was okay.

I made it all the way through the show, begged off of the cast party, and headed home. Can't say it was the best night I've ever spent, but I got through it. Thank you, Pharmacy Industry for Pepto and Immodium. This morning I felt a bit better and by the time I reached the theater, I was at about 50%. Today I was performing for Mom, Bill, Jeff, Laura, Casey, at least one WATCH judge, and people who had to go to work to earn the money for the tickets. Oh yeah, and Nick was taping today. I wanted not to be subpar. The stage lights did their job and I felt better by the end of Act I. I even ate dinner tonight. (Soup and bread and some wine.) It's the most food I've had since yesterday morning.

So now I can say "been there, done that" to the whole acting-while-miserable thing. Thank goodness that's done.