Recovering from this whole fainting spell ordeal has resulted in a nasty case of cabin fever, one which I hope to remedy later today. I have not left my apartment except to return to the hospital since monday. With the exception of the boy's 16 hour visit, perhaps the most wonderful 16 hours that I've ever spent with anyone, the rest of the week has been wholly un-stimulating.
I'll hit the high points.
I still can't fully believe that he flew up here to see me. As soon as I opened my door I could see why he had. The look of distress and concern on his face was instantly apparent, and as he scooped me up into his arms, kissing the top of my head with tears in his eyes, I understood why he felt he had to be here. He was scared. A smile spread across my face as I started to cry. All I could say was "Thank You." He pushed my hair back to reveal the bruises and cut on my forehead, and tilted my chin upward to investigate the five stitches holding it together. His eyes welled and he pulled me towards him, delicately kissing the bruises and holding me close to him.
"I guess I look like hell, huh?"
"No. You're beautiful."
My god, I love this man. I do. What he has become is a complete amazement to me. Our history has been difficult and frustrating, but if that is what we had to go through to get here, then I wouldn't change a single thing about it. I have never felt so very happy, so at ease, in my entire life. I can't wait for the day when we are finally both back in the same city. I know that the time and distance between us has been exceptionally important, but I also ache to be near him. I feel like I carry him with me all day. He is the smile that I can't suppress. Even more exciting is that I know that he feels the same way. I don't wonder if he loves me anymore, because he tells me he loves me, and he shows me that he loves me, and he looks at me as though he loves me, and he holds me like he loves me. It's incredible. That look of guilt that used to overtake him in quiet moments, and that detached silence that he would adopt on the bus in the morning, have been replaced with a genuine smile, with gazing at me in wonder. He tells me "I think I'm learning how to be happy." I think he is.
The duration of his visit was wonderful and relaxing, and even though I woke up fifteen minutes before his 6:00 am alarm and woke him up whimpering "you're leaving. I don't want you to go," he always handled me with utmost love and care. He soothed me back to calm, "it's ok. We'll see eachother again soon."
I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
And, as I said, I did spend the rest of the week taking it easy, catching up on tv and movies, reading a few books, and just letting the whole ordeal work it's way out of my system.
Yesterday I returned to the hospital, followed up in the outpatient clinic and headed back to the ER, this time the express care unit, to have the stitches removed. I am left with a diagnosis of Vasovagal Syncope, which is nothing too terribly serious. At least I'll know what's going on if it happens again. I won't go into the details. Google it if you're that interested. I am also left with what is certainly going to be a scar on my chin. I hope the swelling that still remains subsides in a few days. The other injuries are minor. The bruises on my forhead and slight black eyes are pretty much gone. The heroin-addict track marks left by the two IV's are beginning to fade, and the soreness in my left tricep from the tetanus shot is mostly gone. I'm on the mend, and ready to rejoin the human race, perhaps even contribute to society.
Last night around 2 am I recieved a call from an unknown number. It turned out to be him, covertly calling me from the film's "in case of emergencies" cell phone which is left at "The Compound" - a very large and secluded piece of plantation property where his film is shooting. I don't know how, but he somehow managed to convince them that he needed to be ALONE on the compound for a couple of days as he prepares for this role. So there he is, in the middle of nowhere, Louisiana, with free run of an entire plantation, and a moderately functional cell phone. The thing kept cutting us off, but I know how it is to be in a part of the south where reception is spotty at best. You just have to fit everything into as little time as possible. I have such admiration for the way that he works and prepares for a role, and I can't wait to have the oppurtunity to work with him as an artist. When I told him this last night he said "oh, we will. There's no question. We have to." And we do. He tells me that the big empty place is creepy at night, but that he's enjoying it. He tells me that he misses me and loves me, as I do him, and we agree to talk more when he returns to civilization and reliable reception.
And I go to sleep feeling very, very happy.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Emergency Rooming
A couple of hours ago I finally emerged from Hospital Hell.
Let me back up.
Some of you may know that I was enlisted to teach ballet to inner-city kids for this week. It was a daunting challenge, but I was up to it and I needed the money. I arrived ath the Uptown Dance Academy on 122nd street bright and early yesterday morning. I had already eaten a nice breakfast and decked myself out in my professional best. The small slightly shabby studio was hot and stuffy, but the kids were excited to be there, which made me excited about my undertaking. However, once the preliminary business had been taken care of and the introductions had been made, I was informed that I would be teaching BOTH the beginner (which I was scheduled to do) AND the advanced class, COMBINED in this tiny room. Oh well, I'd just make the best of it and try to shoot for a class that fell somewhere in the mid range of difficulty. While it was a challenge to keep them quiet and paying attention, for the most part, things were going well. The advanced kids were probably a little bored, but they didn't complain. I'm sure they understood the challenge I was facing. Things were going pretty well, but I must report that my teaching career has just been cut short by an unknown culprit.
Toward the end of the class, as I was teaching the entire class an across the floor combination, I started to feel a little woozy. My head began to pound and my stomach lurched. I remember thinking "whoa, that's wierd." I thought I had regained my composure, and continued to dance, but in a matter of seconds, everything started to close in on me. My vision became blurred and doubled, everything sounded like I was under water, and balance became impossible. I staggered toward Rufus, the sweet little boy who had been helping with the music, and stammered something like "get someone now, gonna pass out..."
That's the last thing I remember. Everything went black and eventually I heard and felt the sickening thud of my own skull on the floor. I don't know how long I was out. Light began to seep back into the corners of my vision and I felt little hands tugging at my ankles, "Miss Laura, Miss Laura, are you ok." I dropped back into blackness, and after an undiscernable amount of time opened my eyes to find Willie, who has become my New York Mama, kneeling beside me and softly stroking my back. I could see her, but I couldn't move or speak. After a couple of minutes I managed to force out "What just happened?" She continued to stroke my back and told me, "You passed out, sweetie." I lay there a bit longer before I said, "There's blood, isn't there." There was. My fall must have been straight over from a standing position. I felt glued to the floor, arms and legs splayed straight back. I clearly wasn't conscious enough to attempt to catch myself. My chin and forehead broke my fall. I split my chin open and was in fact lying in an expanding pool of my own hot blood. I suppose I'm very lucky that my nose and teeth remained intact. I have an irrational (well, I guess not THAT irrational now) fear of falling on my face and breaking my teeth. I can't describe how relieved I am that it didn't happen.
I sat up to see a room full of stunned and frightened children staring back at me. Some of the little ones were crying, and they all started to ask if I was ok. Willie calmed them down while she sent one of the older ones to get something to put pressure on my bleeding chin. "You're gonna need a stitch." Oh no. Oh shit. That's when the panic really hit me. I started to tear up as my still fuzzy brain attempted to explain "I don't have health insurance, I can't!" But this wasn't really up for arguement. As soon as I was able to move, Willie and the lovely young woman who is the administrative assistant, got me up, got my stuff, and we headed for 119th and 1st, to a walk in clinic. I felt like hammered shit, but once we were outside, the slight breeze was a a relief.
Within two minutes, the entire staff of the Clinic had taken one look at me an insisted I be taken to the ER. Metropolitan hospital was suggested. 96th and 2nd, just one block from my apartment. We got in a cab and headed down, and I finally got the chance to call my parents and tell them what had happened. My mother suggested that I insist on a plastics consult for what would certainly be stitches on my face. I'm an actress, facial scarring is important. I never would have thought of that on my own. I checked into the ER, and they actually got to me in a pretty timely fashion. I waited about 45 minutes. In my one other NYC ER experience, I waited over 5 hours before I was even checked in. I was expecting something similar, but the staff of Metropolitan Hospital was extremely helpful and attentive. The nurses in particular were fantastic. The ER was busy, but I never felt like I had been forgotten or left unattended.
Apparently this fainting spell was cause for much more concern than I had previously suspected. When I described my accident to each nurse or doctor treating me I caught a slight bugging of the eyes and the feeling that this was really not good news. I began to be poked and prodded for all sorts of blood work and tests. Questions upon questions began to roll in. In addition to the FIVE stitches my chin recieved (by the way, that shit hurts like a bastard), I was hooked up to EKG machines, shot with a tetanus vaccine, stuck with not one, but TWO I.V's and the recipeient of two CT scans. They thought I had a blood clot. It was some scary shit. Blood clot? That'll kill you. I know what that is. That's bad.
I had been keeping in phone contact with my mom, my scene partners, Maggie, Max and Helen, but it was at this point that I decided maybe I should tell the boy what was going on. I sent a text to Kim, a fellow playhouse student and the girl who has generously been letting him use her phone to call me while he is in Louisiana. About an hour later, she called me back. I filled her in on what happened, and she promised to get the news to him as soon as she saw him next. He called sometime after the CT scans, around 9pm. He was scared. I was scared. I cried as I explained what had happened and what I was waiting to find out. He told me he loved me and called several more times to check in. Around midnight I recieved another call from him. "I'm going to fly up in the morning." What? He can't be serious. He can't seriously even be considering this, right? I mean, he's busy shooting this big movie. That's a huge undertaking. They're probably going to let me out of here sometime soon. Don't bother. I'm not worth it.
But apparently I am worth it. I could tell that his feeling of disconnection and powerlessness in the situation was genuine. So when the phone rang again, and he said "I'll be at Laguardia at 1:30, where should I go then," all I could do was cry and say "thank you, thank you, I love you." And I do. I am overwhelmed by the fact that he really will be here in a few hours, and he really is doing all of this just for me. My god. Who is this boy and what has he done with the wishy-washy, non-commital, guilt-ridden tool that I spent most of my year wrapped up with? His change in the last few weeks has been astounding, but I didn't fully grasp how complete it was until now. Despite the fact that I'm lying here, still feeling pretty awful and in desperate need of a shower and some pain-killers, I think I am perhaps one of the most loved people on the planet. I would be grinning from ear to ear if it didn't hurt so much to do so. Oh, God. I can't believe this.
I was finally discharged from the ER early this morning, having spent somewhere around 16 hours there. The CT results were negative for a clot. They don't know what caused the "spell" (as we call it in the south), but they insisted that I return in a couple of days for follow up. I am still amazed by the love and support I felt from everyone around me. My roomie showed up to sit with me for awhile, and was clearly disturbed by my sorry state. Friends kept calling throughout the day and night just to check in with me. I even made an ER buddy. My neighbor in the holding area of the ER was a man named Micah, and we hit it off with some nice conversation. He was really sweet, and we exchanged numbers for the purpose of continuing to discuss screenwriting and other artistic ideas. He made it his personal mission for the time that I was there to keep my spirits up and make sure that the doctors and nurses were paying me plenty of attention. I'm grateful for his company, and I hope he's doing well now. He was just being admitted as I was leaving the ER.
I staggered the block back home and fell into bed, checking in once with boy, who was off for the airport in a mere three hours from then. He told me to get some sleep and that he'd see me very soon. He called back again, still in a panic, certain that they shouldn't have released me yet. I must say, if anything like this ever happens and he is in the city, I'm pretty sure I'd get the best possible care ever. I'm sure of this, because it seems like he'd be all over every doctor and nurse in a three block radius to make sure that his girl is taken care of. It feels really good to have someone like that in my corner.
So, how about that shower. Life is good. Oh, and check out my bruised, swollen, sewn-up chin...
Let me back up.
Some of you may know that I was enlisted to teach ballet to inner-city kids for this week. It was a daunting challenge, but I was up to it and I needed the money. I arrived ath the Uptown Dance Academy on 122nd street bright and early yesterday morning. I had already eaten a nice breakfast and decked myself out in my professional best. The small slightly shabby studio was hot and stuffy, but the kids were excited to be there, which made me excited about my undertaking. However, once the preliminary business had been taken care of and the introductions had been made, I was informed that I would be teaching BOTH the beginner (which I was scheduled to do) AND the advanced class, COMBINED in this tiny room. Oh well, I'd just make the best of it and try to shoot for a class that fell somewhere in the mid range of difficulty. While it was a challenge to keep them quiet and paying attention, for the most part, things were going well. The advanced kids were probably a little bored, but they didn't complain. I'm sure they understood the challenge I was facing. Things were going pretty well, but I must report that my teaching career has just been cut short by an unknown culprit.
Toward the end of the class, as I was teaching the entire class an across the floor combination, I started to feel a little woozy. My head began to pound and my stomach lurched. I remember thinking "whoa, that's wierd." I thought I had regained my composure, and continued to dance, but in a matter of seconds, everything started to close in on me. My vision became blurred and doubled, everything sounded like I was under water, and balance became impossible. I staggered toward Rufus, the sweet little boy who had been helping with the music, and stammered something like "get someone now, gonna pass out..."
That's the last thing I remember. Everything went black and eventually I heard and felt the sickening thud of my own skull on the floor. I don't know how long I was out. Light began to seep back into the corners of my vision and I felt little hands tugging at my ankles, "Miss Laura, Miss Laura, are you ok." I dropped back into blackness, and after an undiscernable amount of time opened my eyes to find Willie, who has become my New York Mama, kneeling beside me and softly stroking my back. I could see her, but I couldn't move or speak. After a couple of minutes I managed to force out "What just happened?" She continued to stroke my back and told me, "You passed out, sweetie." I lay there a bit longer before I said, "There's blood, isn't there." There was. My fall must have been straight over from a standing position. I felt glued to the floor, arms and legs splayed straight back. I clearly wasn't conscious enough to attempt to catch myself. My chin and forehead broke my fall. I split my chin open and was in fact lying in an expanding pool of my own hot blood. I suppose I'm very lucky that my nose and teeth remained intact. I have an irrational (well, I guess not THAT irrational now) fear of falling on my face and breaking my teeth. I can't describe how relieved I am that it didn't happen.
I sat up to see a room full of stunned and frightened children staring back at me. Some of the little ones were crying, and they all started to ask if I was ok. Willie calmed them down while she sent one of the older ones to get something to put pressure on my bleeding chin. "You're gonna need a stitch." Oh no. Oh shit. That's when the panic really hit me. I started to tear up as my still fuzzy brain attempted to explain "I don't have health insurance, I can't!" But this wasn't really up for arguement. As soon as I was able to move, Willie and the lovely young woman who is the administrative assistant, got me up, got my stuff, and we headed for 119th and 1st, to a walk in clinic. I felt like hammered shit, but once we were outside, the slight breeze was a a relief.
Within two minutes, the entire staff of the Clinic had taken one look at me an insisted I be taken to the ER. Metropolitan hospital was suggested. 96th and 2nd, just one block from my apartment. We got in a cab and headed down, and I finally got the chance to call my parents and tell them what had happened. My mother suggested that I insist on a plastics consult for what would certainly be stitches on my face. I'm an actress, facial scarring is important. I never would have thought of that on my own. I checked into the ER, and they actually got to me in a pretty timely fashion. I waited about 45 minutes. In my one other NYC ER experience, I waited over 5 hours before I was even checked in. I was expecting something similar, but the staff of Metropolitan Hospital was extremely helpful and attentive. The nurses in particular were fantastic. The ER was busy, but I never felt like I had been forgotten or left unattended.
Apparently this fainting spell was cause for much more concern than I had previously suspected. When I described my accident to each nurse or doctor treating me I caught a slight bugging of the eyes and the feeling that this was really not good news. I began to be poked and prodded for all sorts of blood work and tests. Questions upon questions began to roll in. In addition to the FIVE stitches my chin recieved (by the way, that shit hurts like a bastard), I was hooked up to EKG machines, shot with a tetanus vaccine, stuck with not one, but TWO I.V's and the recipeient of two CT scans. They thought I had a blood clot. It was some scary shit. Blood clot? That'll kill you. I know what that is. That's bad.
I had been keeping in phone contact with my mom, my scene partners, Maggie, Max and Helen, but it was at this point that I decided maybe I should tell the boy what was going on. I sent a text to Kim, a fellow playhouse student and the girl who has generously been letting him use her phone to call me while he is in Louisiana. About an hour later, she called me back. I filled her in on what happened, and she promised to get the news to him as soon as she saw him next. He called sometime after the CT scans, around 9pm. He was scared. I was scared. I cried as I explained what had happened and what I was waiting to find out. He told me he loved me and called several more times to check in. Around midnight I recieved another call from him. "I'm going to fly up in the morning." What? He can't be serious. He can't seriously even be considering this, right? I mean, he's busy shooting this big movie. That's a huge undertaking. They're probably going to let me out of here sometime soon. Don't bother. I'm not worth it.
But apparently I am worth it. I could tell that his feeling of disconnection and powerlessness in the situation was genuine. So when the phone rang again, and he said "I'll be at Laguardia at 1:30, where should I go then," all I could do was cry and say "thank you, thank you, I love you." And I do. I am overwhelmed by the fact that he really will be here in a few hours, and he really is doing all of this just for me. My god. Who is this boy and what has he done with the wishy-washy, non-commital, guilt-ridden tool that I spent most of my year wrapped up with? His change in the last few weeks has been astounding, but I didn't fully grasp how complete it was until now. Despite the fact that I'm lying here, still feeling pretty awful and in desperate need of a shower and some pain-killers, I think I am perhaps one of the most loved people on the planet. I would be grinning from ear to ear if it didn't hurt so much to do so. Oh, God. I can't believe this.
I was finally discharged from the ER early this morning, having spent somewhere around 16 hours there. The CT results were negative for a clot. They don't know what caused the "spell" (as we call it in the south), but they insisted that I return in a couple of days for follow up. I am still amazed by the love and support I felt from everyone around me. My roomie showed up to sit with me for awhile, and was clearly disturbed by my sorry state. Friends kept calling throughout the day and night just to check in with me. I even made an ER buddy. My neighbor in the holding area of the ER was a man named Micah, and we hit it off with some nice conversation. He was really sweet, and we exchanged numbers for the purpose of continuing to discuss screenwriting and other artistic ideas. He made it his personal mission for the time that I was there to keep my spirits up and make sure that the doctors and nurses were paying me plenty of attention. I'm grateful for his company, and I hope he's doing well now. He was just being admitted as I was leaving the ER.
I staggered the block back home and fell into bed, checking in once with boy, who was off for the airport in a mere three hours from then. He told me to get some sleep and that he'd see me very soon. He called back again, still in a panic, certain that they shouldn't have released me yet. I must say, if anything like this ever happens and he is in the city, I'm pretty sure I'd get the best possible care ever. I'm sure of this, because it seems like he'd be all over every doctor and nurse in a three block radius to make sure that his girl is taken care of. It feels really good to have someone like that in my corner.
So, how about that shower. Life is good. Oh, and check out my bruised, swollen, sewn-up chin...
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Standing By...
I have just discovered yet another reason that I'm in love with my quaint little city of Little Rock. I am sitting in the airport, where I will most likely be for the next several hours, because I missed my 5:45am flight. I find this a bit irksome, but the tinges of annoyance are soothed by yet another feature of southern hospitality - FREE WIFI CONNECTION. I've been in and out of a lot of airports since wireless internet really hit the big time, but not until now have I encountered this freebie situation. Thanks, Little Rock National. I love you. American Airlines, on the other hand, is on my shit list. Screw you guys.
All in all, this minor setback is not nearly enough to derail my current good mood. And hey, at least from my vantage point at Gate 1, I am able to watch the sun rising over the Arkansas river on my last morning home in the dear old south. Beautiful.
So, about that good mood...
Wow.
Life is amazing. Life is wonderful. Life is beautiful. Life is love, love, love.
The past couple of weeks have been like a really, really, good dream. Or a feel-good inspiring chick-flicky movie. Ahhhhhh.
I am so proud of all that we were able to accomplish with Hair. I am amazed by each and every member of my dear Blackfoot Tunkashila. And, as I sort of always felt that it would, it has paid off in a very promising way. It looks like we're on for another round of rehearsals, and a two week run in late August/early September. After that, the future of the RTC and this production looks very very special indeed. No solid news to report yet, but stay tuned for bigger announcements. WOO! And hey, if you missed us the first time around, you'll get to see the new and improved version of the American Tribal Love Rock Musical at summer's end. Lord knows, I'm looking forward to it.
As I said, the run ended on a wonderful high note, and was made even sweeter for me with the arrival of The Boy. His attempt to make it into town for the actual performace was foiled by border-crossing complications and a myriad of traffic issues on his way into the city. No matter. He'll see it next time around. For me, for both of us, our brief reunion was enough to cement, clarify and fire up exactly what it is we're feeling about eachother. The time that he's been away has been difficult, but I made the decision to soldier on and go about my life without him in a positive fashion. And I did. I created art that I'm proud of. I met new people. I had good times. I began casually dating, which I felt strange about, but I think it was a worthwhile experience. Of course, I missed him. I missed him immensely. But I tried to stick to the agreement and stay out of contact. It wasn't easy for either of us. And when the oppurtunity to spend a couple of days together presented itself, we both jumped at the chance.
And thank our lucky stars we did. Things have reached an entirely new level of wonderful for us. It seems like everything is falling right into place now. I am walking around with the biggest smile on my face. We've had our most open and honest conversations in the last week. And now that he has taken off for a month in the Big Easy to be a big actor, I can't be anything but happy for him, and proud of him, and generally filled with love for him. Holy crap, I think this thing is ACTUALLY going to work. Who knew? Of course, it is going to be quite a while before we see eachother again, but I think we're both holding out for that day. We've said our "I love you's" and our "I miss you's". We've done our sugar's and sweetpea's and bella's and piccoli mani's. And I'm happy. Very happy.
Of course, this complicates the situation with CNBfQ, and how to actually proceed there. Crap. I like the guy. I do. And I'm going to feel like the world's biggest biatch when I have to deal with him. Can't think about it. Just can't.
The visit home was gloriously glorious. I got to spend a load of time with my parents, my friends, and just generally soaking in the feeling of home (which feels a whole lot like lake water, which I also soaked in). This visit home has such a different feeling than it did a year ago. With good reason, of course. I am a different person. I am a happy person. I am home for no reason but to enjoy the company of my friends and famiy. I am not here to grieve. I am not here because of duty or obligation. I am here because I love it. It is the best feeling in the world. I only wish I could have stayed longer. Much longer. Long enough to road-trip it down to New Orleans for a little getaway with the boy, but that's a bit more than I could have asked for.
All in all, drinking champagne and skinny dipping with my girlfriends, lighting sparklers and playing with puppies on the 4th, sailing with my daddy, driving through the ozarks, getting gin-drunk on lake norfork, drinking busch light in the most ghetto limo ever, singing kareoke with a guy with one tooth, getting a nasty tube-burn on my hand, playing scene-it in the middle of the night, catching up on the conchords, eating hushpuppies, shopping and seeing an adorable movie with mom, and generally being surrounded by an overwhelming feeling of love were well worth the wait for a standby flight that I am now experiencing.
Life is good. Please let me get onto this flight...
Monday, July 2, 2007
Butterflies
Things are so so so good.
HAIR was unbelievably phenomenal, and it ain't over yet. The Real Theatre Company is going places. Mags and I had a couple of moments of "I just have to scream and hug you" last night. More to come on that. No Post Production Slump this time, kiddies. I'm secreting.
The boy is here for what feels like a split second, but it is a very very good split second. A beautiful split second. A much-needed split second.
I'm going home tomorrow. Hell yeah. Arkansie, here I come!
I'm feeling the love on all sorts of levels.
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