My Achilles Ankle

We came to Elyria, OH after the busiest week of our tour. We had been in Pittsburgh, PA for five days at five different venues and had performed seven shows. All that stood between us and our comparatively vacation-like drive across the country were two tiny shows in Elyria. We loaded in Sunday night and came to the theatre Monday morning ready to kick the shows out of the water. The space was perfect, the crew was sassy and wonderful, and the kids were excited. The shows were probably two of our best. I was really proud that all of us in the cast could rise above our exhaustion and still perform a great story. That pride was filling me as I turned to exit the stage for the last time. I executed my tombe, pas de bourre, glissade and grand jete into the wings. As I flew through the air I thought, “this is it! A great performance and now five whole days of rest for my poor body.” Then, I landed.

My final exit has always made me uncomfortable. I have to leap into the black wings basically blind because my eyes are adjusted to the very bright light of the stage. Several times I have nearly hurt myself. On Monday, November 24, 2008, I did hurt myself. Because I couldn’t see where I was going, I landed on the bottom of the “leg” curtain. Theatre curtains are weighted with chains so that they don’t blow around during performances. My right foot came down on the chain with all the force of my leap, buckled, and twisted under me. The next few moments were complete confusion. Pain shot up to my ears. The cast had all seen what happened and whispered questions about my well-being. I can’t remember how I responded, but it was enough that they knew I wasn’t ok. Dave grabbed me a chair before he got on-stage for his bow, and I sat and tried not to think about the worst-case scenario.

It wasn’t the worst-case scenario. The clinic doctor described my condition as a high-grade sprain. Nothing was broken or torn, just badly twisted and over stretched. I know it may sound strange, but some of my favorite memories of my fellow company members are from the hours immediately following my injury. Emergencies tend to bring out either the worst or best in a person and every single member of the company shone as they helped me. They did, apparently, forget how to do our curtain call without me leading them, and awkwardly looked at each other before taking hands (something we have never done) and slowly bowing. Aside from that, they were exactly the people I needed to have surrounding me. Dave was at his best as two parts of his personality appeared. His gruff stunt man came out when, immediately after I knew I was badly hurt, he bluntly told me to sit down and that I was OK. His tone of voice and command were exactly what I needed because I had frozen in place and was truly panicking. Later, the warm company manager Dave came out as we drove to the ER and he told me funny stories to cheer me up. He then carried me into the emergency room. A very old main in the waiting room yelled to me, “It’s lucky you’ve got a muscle man!” Dany proved his superior survival skills in the minutes after the show had ended. While the others on stage waffled about how to best move me into the dressing room to change, Dany scooped me up into his arms as though I weighed no more than a teddy bear. He brought me to the dressing room, set me on a chair, and exclaimed, “Could everyone please leave?! I’m going to undress her now.” And, he did. In my regular clothes, I was still very panicky and asked Dany to bring me some water. Instead he brought me a juice box because he knew that the sugar would calm me down. I couldn’t believe it, but in minutes I was breathing normally. It was the straightest hour of Dany Guy’s life. Dany left to change out of his own costume, and I looked up at the girls of our tour. Colleen came over to put her arms around me, and I completely broke down. As I was starting to cry Colleen said, “Yes, Miranda. Cry. You just cry as hard as you can. Don’t you stop until you get it all out.”

Before we left for the hospital Dave and Terry arrived from the drug store bearing gifts of ibuprofen, ice packs, and ace bandages. These two men, who spend a lot of time talking about martial arts and punching each other, also brought me a big red balloon and a box of candy canes. They then told me that if I ever did the jump off-stage at the end of the show again, they would punch me in the ankle. Tia, my wife, was the member of the company who stayed with me at the hospital. We waited and waited and then waited some more. As we were sitting there, I tried very hard not to consider the possibility that my ankle was broken. I tried so hard not to think about it that it was the only thing on my mind. In an effort to distract me, Tia picked up a coloring book meant for a kid who was going to the emergency room for the first time. She began to read it aloud to me, even showing me the pictures as though it was first grade story time. We got to the page about the reasons a person may go to the emergency room. Tia read, “You may have to visit the E.R. if you fall down, or if you bump your head, or even if you may have…,” here Tia paused before finishing, “twisted a bone.” She then finished the story substituting different phrases any time the possibility of breaking a bone was mentioned. She actually skipped an entire page. What a wife. After I was finally looked at and ex-rayed, (nothing broken, a high grade sprain, crutches and an air cast), I crutched out to the waiting room to find my entire company smiling at me. As we left, Matt turned and said, “don’t worry, Miranda, you’re replacement is already on her way in.” It wasn’t true, of course, but it kept me chuckling as we walked to the van.

…. One week later the ankle is healing well. I’m off crutches and did two shows yesterday. Around the ankle bone is still pretty swollen, but the rest of my foot is normally sized, and some very pretty greens and blues are starting to appear. I’ll be sure to up-date the blog with any changes in its condition.

~ Miranda