Friday, January 01, 2010

A big bust /

No, no, not like that.  I didn't have breast augmentation surgery, or buy a new push-up bra, or meet Pamela Anderson at a Science Fiction convention.

Hey...wait...I got your attention though, didn't I?  If my male readership increases by 76% this week (as I suspect it might), I'm going to start every post from hereon in with a completely inappropriate, breast-related title:  "Twin Peaks" (about a ski trip I've taken), "The Bluetit" (which would obviously be an exploration in British ornithology), "Staying Abreast" (of all kinds of issues -- it's important).  The possibilities are endless.

Sorry.  I'm on a cornucopia of prescription medication.  I'm finding things funny that really aren't.  Eg.  The green tea I just ordered is in fact red.  Ha ha ha ha HA HA HAAAAAA.  Yep.  Wow.

I'm going to try and write this post without sounding full of self-pity, but I am currently sitting in Heathrow Airport after the worst vacation I've ever had (well, it's tied for first with the family vacation we took to Jamaica when I was nine.  I burnt my face off and my parents weren't speaking.  That one was pretty bad.)

I arrived in Italy late last Thursday night with the following goals:  visiting my mother (which I accomplished), relaxing (nope), shopping (nope) and seeing the Italian countryside (noooope).  Instead, I had two days of vacation, then started having sharp chest pains which radiated down my left arm.  I didn't want to go into hospital (always a wise choice when you think you're having a heart attack) so I waited it out.  In the middle of the night, I woke up in crazy amounts of pain and had to take an ambulance to the hospital just outside of Lucca.  It was a bumpy ride and I kept getting the giggles (well, the crying giggles...criggles?) because it sort of felt like a Leslie Neilsen movie.  Also, the last time I was in Italy, my mother had to take an ambulance and I rode with her.  So ridiculous.

[Okay...just to explain...I wrote that part of the post over a month ago and then got on a plane and forgot all about it.  I'll finish it off now!]

When we arrived at the hospital, I was seen right away (one of the benefits to having a mother who lives in the middle of nowhere) and the grumpy doctor did an ECG, took my blood pressure, and told me that it wasn't my heart.  Good news... but that's all he said!  I went in on a stretcher, and left on foot.  In a LOT of pain.  He gave me codeine -- which I later discovered I was allergic to -- and made fun of me in Italian, not knowing that I could understand him.  (I took a language class in preparation for my "vacation".)  My mother and I were then told, at 4 o'clock in the morning, that we couldn't stay at the hospital, we couldn't take a taxi because there wasn't one, and there was no other way of getting home.  So we walked.  For forty minutes.  In the dark. I suppose I came across as a "difficult American tourist" or some stereotype like that (I'm Canadian, of course, but I'm guessing Dr. Awesomepants didn't care) and the doctors thought I was overreacting.  I WASN'T!
Anyway...the vacation was a bit of a bust.   Just a bummer, I realize.  Not a tragedy.
I flew to England after a week in Italy and saw five more doctors there, trying to get a diagnosis and stop the pain.  Did I mention that I never get travel insurance because there's no need for it?  Oooooops.  Now I know.  Won't make that mistake again.  Ever.  Ever ever.
At this point, a few weeks after the fact, I'm still pretty frustrated because I'm not exactly sure what the injury is.  I know that it's something to do with my ribs; I think it's muscular; that's pretty much it.  I've been seeing a chiropractor -- who, thankfully, has introduced me to a machine known as The Thumper (my favorite invention since The Sandwich Maker) and that seems to be helping a bit.
All this to say:  I mentioned a few weeks back that I couldn't post for a while due to a top secret mission.  The mission was that I was going to surprise my friend Jessica who is attending theatre school in London.  I was going to show up at her door and freak her out. ( "YOU THOUGHT I WAS IN TORONTO!  I'M IN ENGLAND!!!  BLAAAAAHHHHHHAAAAAA!")  I knew that she would read my blog if I posted about my trip, and I knew that if I blogged, I wouldn't be able to resist talking about my trip.
So that was the big mystery.
Needless to say, the surprise didn't happen because I couldn't get out of bed!  I got to see her, though.  And she carried my bags at Heathrow!  All day!  And she is a dear, dear friend who I would trust with my life.  (Thanks, Jessica, if you're reading this instead of doing a term paper.  I love you.)
Onward and upward:
I started rehearsals for Sondheim's Assassins on Monday morning, directed by the incomparable Adam Brazier.  It's terrifying and exciting and wonderful.  The team is AMAZING.  Totally humbling.  And no egos!
And I have to play the trumpet.
Ohhhhh dear.
All the best to all of you in 2010!
Now to make some New Year's Resolutions:
1) Sleep more.
Uh...that's all I've got so far...