I Never Thought That Was Possible

Early in the pandemic a dear friend invited me to join a writing workshop on Zoom. I’d done some writing, mostly autobiographical stuff, and was currently working on a memoir about my experience living in Turkey, where I fell foolishly in love with a rogue, opportunistic rug dealer. But I’d always written alone so the thought of reading my work out loud to other writers terrified me. But we were in lockdown, and I desperately needed something to do.

When I tried to read my first chapter to the group, I was so anxious I could barely breathe, so the teacher encouraged me to take a moment and start again. This time I got through it, and as I listened to the feedback, I realized I was in the company of some very talented writers, and I was going to like this.

A few months later, my friend invited me to join another writing group, a course on how to write a “Solo Show,” which didn’t interest me at all because the goal was to write a script that could be performed on stage.

I hadn’t been on stage in 24 years and had no plans to return.

I’d fallen in love w/acting when I was 15, studied it in college, trained at Juilliard, then worked until my late 30’s when I got sick with a disease that destroyed my left lung, gave me chronic colitis and left me dependent on a feeding tube. Near the end of a long hospital stay, my doctor asked what my plans were after discharge. When I told him I hoped to go back to acting, he shook his head and said, “That’s not gonna happen.”  At first, I was relieved because I no longer had the stamina to perform, but soon found that without acting, I didn’t know who I was, and it took a long time to figure that out.

So, I told my friend I didn’t want to take the solo show class, and she said, “But you have such a great story to tell.”

“Thanks, but I’d never be able to perform it on stage.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, “just take the class for fun.”

So, I did, and over the next ten months, I adapted my memoir into a script, and had a blast reading my scenes every Saturday on Zoom, but knew I’d never perform it.  

When the class was over, I was invited to tell one of the stories from my script at a storytelling show, which was being produced by 2 lovely ladies from the class. I was very flattered, and wanted to tell the story of how I nearly ended up in prison when my Turkish boyfriend tricked me into smuggling an antique rug out of Turkey. So, I said “Yes,” thinking the show would be on Zoom, but soon learned it was going to be live, on stage in a theatre.

No way, I thought I can’t do that. I’m not strong enough, I might catch Covid, and it will probably be in a theatre on the other side of town, and I can’t drive at night. But then they announced that it was going to be in a theatre less than 2 miles from our home, and my dear husband offered to drive. OK, I thought, maybe I can do this. I mean, I’ll only be on stage for 10 minutes and it might be kind of fun, right?

            A few days after saying I’d do the show, I woke up with an excruciating pain that ran from my lower back, through my right hip and down my leg. It was so bad I couldn’t be on my feet for 5 minutes without having to sit down. Why was I in so much pain? I hadn’t fallen or anything. Was my body telling me I shouldn’t do the show?

            I decided to see a hip specialist. After looking at an x-ray of my hip, he suspected a fracture but needed an MRI to properly diagnose me. “I can’t do an MRI” I said, “I’m claustrophobic!” He said I could try an Open MRI.  An Open MRI? I’ll try that.

When I got to the Open MRI place, they had me lie down on this big, hard, plastic bed, and placed a large heavy shield over my abdomen. OK so far, but then the technician started taping my feet down. “Why are you doing that?” I asked, as my claustrophobia kicked in.

“To keep your hip in the right position,” she said. My heart started racing. Then she pushed a button, and this huge, spaceship-like thing was suddenly hovering over my entire body. It didn’t feel very “Open” to me.

“I can’t do this,” I said trying to slide out, but I couldn’t move my feet. The technician put her hand on my shoulder and suggested that I close my eyes and think about something that made me happy. So, I closed my eyes and the first thing that popped into my head was the story I’d be telling for the show. As I started running my lines, I was transported back to when I was 19, living in Turkey and hopelessly in love…

Before I knew it, the technician was waking me up, saying the MRI was done. I couldn’t believe it. I’d survived an MRI!! I never thought that was possible.

It showed I had a tear in the cartilage around the joint, but I wouldn’t need surgery. “OK, but, what about the pain?” I asked the dr.

He referred me to a pain specialist, but getting an appt would take forever and the show was opening in a week.

On the Sunday before opening, we had a tech rehearsal and I was kind of excited to see the theatre for the first time, but when I walked in, I couldn’t believe how small and dark it was.

I went backstage and found that it was even smaller. I started to freak out. I can’t sit in here for 90 minutes! I’ll suffocate and catch Covid! This is too hard. Count me out!

As this was running through my mind, one of the producers showed us there was a door backstage that could be opened if I needed air, then assured us that everyone would be required to take a Covid test before each show. Oh, okay. Count me back in. As we did the tech rehearsal the space didn’t seem so small, and I was fine.

So, on opening night, my husband drove me to the theatre. I went backstage and tried to get comfortable. My hip ached, and my heart was pounding out of my chest, but these people had been so good to me; I didn’t want to let them down.

The first storyteller went on and when she finished, there was wild applause. Then some Turkish music started playing, that was my cue. I took off my Covid mask and walked on stage. The bright lights kept me from seeing the faces of the audience, but I could feel their energy.

As I told my story I knew they were with me because they laughed and gasped in all the right places, and when I finished, they applauded!

I did it! I got through my story and had fun, but the best part was that for those 10 minutes I felt no pain. 

As I sat backstage listening to the rest of the stories, I felt so lucky to be working with such kind, talented people. When the last storyteller finished, we gathered onstage for the curtain call. The audience clapped and hooted as the song “Unstoppable,” by Sia filled the theatre.

Thanks to my writing friends and the two amazing ladies who produced the show, I’d gotten back on stage and felt “unstoppable” for the first time in decades. I never thought that was possible.