The show must go on.

I did it.

Made through 3 shows in one week.

Only problem is, it landed me in the hospital.

I'm trying so hard to get back to my life as I knew it before the motorcycle accident, but honestly, I really think it's time to take a hard look at all this.

I used to work, perform, exercise and still have strength and energy to hang out with friends dancing or whatever would have been on the agenda.

Now?

Well, here's how my week went in the new healing journey of Andréa:

Tuesday:

no pain meds = open eyes

Our show went great.  I was thrilled to be performing again, and was so happy to see people in the audience dancing!

Wednesday:

When I went to work, I was asked to go to the office to talk about how many days I've taken off in my short 3 months of returning to work.

My boss made it clear, "I'm really just checking in to see how you're doing.  We've noticed you've taken 11 of your 12 sick days in a matter of 3 months of returning.  Do you think you're ready to do this job?"

I was so humiliated.  Not because of his words, but because of my injuries not healing to where I'd like them to be.  I told him, "I'm really trying my hardest to do this."

We left it at the company wanting me to ask my lawyer to get the days off from my back flare ups recouped from ICBC, and given back to the company.

Sounds fair to me.  It's neither my company's fault, nor my fault that the motorcycle accident left me taking so many days off due to a bitchy back.

Thursday:

I went into my G.P. to talk about the conversation with my boss.  My doc looked at me sideways, peering over the rim of her glasses with a question that really sounded rhetorical, "Do you think you're ready to do this job?"

Again, I replied, "I'm really trying my best to do this."

After my appointment, I went shopping.  I grabbed my usual beautifully organic, lusciously bright veggies, along with the necessities I need for the week.

As I carried the bag of groceries down the 'my didn't they do a good job on the carpet' stairs, I felt my back go into spasm.

No problem!

I'll do what I'm supposed to do and be back on track for my performance tomorrow!

Well, it was a little difficult to get this bitch of a back to calm down, and I noticed I couldn't even bend over to pick up my purse.

i can do this! don't fuck with me now mother fucker!!

Friday:

g'ma thinks i look 'nice'

I really took it easy and got on stage, entertaining the sparkly fags in their gold lamé shorts.

Only problem, was when I was finished, the adrenaline wore off and I couldn't walk back to the car.

There I stood, looking like a hooker on a corner waiting for my 'john' to arrive.

No problem!

I'll do what I'm supposed to do and be back on track for my next performance tomorrow!

Saturday:

note: only arms are moving

I realized I'm not doing so well.  As a matter of fact, I was worse than the day before.  I took the down time during our set up, rehearsal etc, to stretch my back.

You know?

Do the right thing.

Just as I was doing a spinal twist, I felt it.

Something gave.

That was it.

I couldn't get up off the floor and I had a performance in 2 hours.

I rolled myself over, found a chair to hoist myself up with and cringed with every shooting pain that seared my back and my legs.

But I got up.

I informed my two performing mates that if I happen to fall to the ground during the performance, that it will be played out as part of the show.  "Don't come running.  I'll just pretend I'm meant to be there."

I collapsed from pain repeatedly trying to get to the stage.  The jolts of pain were like lightning striking my back and throwing me to the floor.

Yet some magical thing would happen while I was on the stage; adrenaline would kick in and the pain would disappear.

Oh, I finished the show alright.

Then, after all the 'congratulations' and 'oh my god that was so greats', the adrenaline wore off and I went down for the very last time.

I couldn't move my legs.  I couldn't sit.  I couldn't even lift my arms or my head.

Knowing that it was pretty extreme, everyone decided to call an ambulance.  My exit from the theatre was by way of a stretcher, and off I went to the hospital, where they pumped me full of some magical poison that took the pain away for 10 minutes.

Those 10 minutes were wonderful, but then I was back to crying from searing pain.

My stage make-up ran down the sides of my face and into my ears.  Not only was I in pain, but I was in competition with Lady Gaga to see who could have the worst make-up job.

Today:

wanna get high?

Here I am, still flat out two days later.

I've missed the entire Pride weekend, but hey!  The shows went on.

It may be time to revisit the question that my boss and my doc asked me.

I have to ask myself, "Are you sure it's time to have your 'normal' life back again my dear?"

Or was that your last hurrah?

is this acceptance?

Guess I better call in sick to work now and use that last day up.

Pass me the pain meds.

**sigh**