This was a weekend of firsts.
First time my dad's been to visit me in Austin.
First time Potter had an accident (number 2) on the floor of my room.
First time I got an I.V. from a fellow cast member onstage one hour before the show opened.
Yep, that's right. An I.V. and I have a needle phobia (Lance, back me up on this). But first let me back up.
I woke up at 4am Saturday morning, opening night, with the stomach flu. That's right. I fled my bed for the toilet and wondered what was powerful enough to disturb my Ambien and me.
Of course, this was disturbing because it was, as I mentioned earlier, OPENING NIGHT. And we only showed two nights. I've never been that sick for a performance. So I slept on the couch near the bathroom until 2pm, drank some pepto bismal and crawled out of bed. I washed my sheets for my parents who were to arrive at 6 and drove to the church. Once there, I sheepishly shared with the director and her husband (the "psychologist comforter") that I had the stomach flu but that the show must go on and I would be fine.
As Job and I ran over a few scenes before we got in costume, it became clear to me that I would not be fine. Whenever I moved my diaphragm to project, it bumped my stomach and my stomach went up in my throat and . . . well, I brainstormed what to do if I actually yacked onstage.
But the director's husband is a doctor. Not a psychologist, but a something. So he ran to the hospital and returned with a fistfull of pills and an I.V.
"But I have a needle phobia."
"But I need you to remember all your lines tonight, sweetheart."
It didn't hurt. But the tears fell anyway. I guess that's the nature of a phobia. But whatever he gave me did the trick. Apparently the director told her husband to give me the good stuff. Good stuff being the anti-nausea pills they give people in chemo-therapy. Probably the only time I'll ever say chemo-therapy with a smile. My nausea was gone for two days.
Until I ate dinner last night and woke up this morning with another tummy ache.
And spent my day off on the toilet and in bed.
Great. Unfortunately not another first. That happened a few months ago too. But it's all good. At least now I won't have to go to the real psychologist to get help with misguided guilt for missing work because of illness I couldn't control.
I'll go see her for other things.