History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter XVI

The run of The Broken Jump was going to be an unusual one. A total of twelve performances were in the works. The first six of which would take place as part of the Midtown International Theatre Festival at Where Eagles Dare Theatre on 36th Street. These performances would take place on a variety of days at a variety of times between July 21st and August 5th. Then we would have another six performances at The Looking Glass Theatre on 57th Street on Fri-Sun between August 17th and 26th. The show was kept simple as to keep it mobile and because, frankly, I was about out of money.

Opening the show was quite exciting. I was nervous about loading in. I was nervous about running long (if the performance ran over our allotted time we would be fined). I was nervous about loading out. I was nervous about whether or not anybody would bother to come see the show. And finally, I was nervous about my own performance. For our first performance, I needn't have worried about anything ... well, except my performance, which left a bit to be desired.

Breaking Down During The Broken Jump

Our third festival performance was on a Sunday at 11am. Why anybody would bother to schedule a show at this time was beyond me. I felt a sense of dread in the days before that particular show that nobody would come and we would just wind up hauling everything right back to my office on 42nd Street. Little did I realize how much of an ordeal that particular performance would actually be.

The night before I stayed at home, watched a ballgame, ordered a pizza and generally had a relaxing (albeit somewhat lonely) evening. A little after 11pm I got ready to go to bed. I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, turned off the TV and headed into the bedroom. I felt a little lightheaded, but thought nothing of it. I had eaten too much earlier and felt like a tinge of heartburn was about to kick in. Then I went into the bedroom, started to set the alarm clock ... and all hell broke loose ... internally.

Quite suddenly I was overwhelmed with pain. The only way I can accurately describe it is like this: imagine a Charlie Horse (surely you've had one of those) as severe as possible. Now imagine that taking place all over your entire body from your armpits to your knees. I collapsed onto my cold, hard tile floor. Wearing nothing but a pair of unzipped jeans, I writhed around on the floor, banging my head against the chest-of-drawers. I rolled back and forth trying to relieve the pain. In a matter of seconds I realized that this was something more severe than I had ever encountered.

I tried getting up, but couldn't. The pain of having damn near every muscle in my body contract was searing. I quite literally crawled back into the living room, desperately racing for my cell phone. The process of pulling my body across the floor had pulled my pants down around my ankles. Searching for my phone I thought, "This is it. I'm gonna die. In Union City, New Jersey in my underwear. Alone." My recollection of the next several moments is hazy. I don't actually recall speaking to the 911 operator, but know that I made the call. I don't recall getting to my door, but somehow I did. I do remember thinking as the paramedics came up the stairs that they sure had responded fast. And I do recall crying through all of this, thinking that I did not want to die this way.

By the time they loaded me in the ambulance, the pain had mostly subsided. I was sore. I ached. I was nauseous. I wanted to throw up. My head was pounding. I was exhausted. But I felt alright. They took me to Christ Hospital on Palisade where they stuck an IV into my arm and kept me under observation. Actually, I don't know that they observed anything. I fell asleep trying to figure out how I had a t-shirt on, because I hadn't had one on when the paramedics arrived. I guess that one of the paramedics grabbed some clothes from my house. They would come in handy in the morning.

I awoke a little before 8am in a quiet and empty hospital room. Suddenly I panicked. I had a performance in three hours. I saw a pair of socks and my sneakers over in a corner. I knew I didn't have time to mess around. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm, put my socks and shoes on (I had a t-shirt and my jeans on), walked briskly past an empty nurses' station and right out of the hospital. I didn't have my cell phone on me, but my wallet was in my back pocket. Unfortunately, I didn't have any cash and my debit card was at home next to my computer. I didn't have time to waste. I would have to walk.

I walked as quickly as I could all the way home. I felt a strong chill all over my body, yet I was pouring sweat. After about 10 minutes of walking my head hurt so bad that my vision would occasionally blur. The weather was cool, but not cold. I wanted a cigarette. I just kept hustling ... a cup of coffee, a smoke, a splash of water on the face ... they were all waiting for me at my apartment. So was my costume and props for the show ... sitting in my gym bag next to my bed. By the time I made it home my shirt was drenched in sweat and my body ached. I felt as weak as a newborn and struggled to get up the three flights of stairs.

It was 9:15am when I got home. I guzzled an entire bottle of water, changed shirts, put some deodorant on, grabbed my debit card, gym bag, a ball cap and some change and went right back out the door. Going down the stairs was just as difficult as coming up. I walked (much more slowly now) to the bus stop and was glad I didn't have to wait at all to catch one. I fell asleep on the short drive to the city. Once there, I made it to the office at 9:45 ... I had made good time. I crawled on the couch and tried to get comfortable. People would be arriving soon to load stuff up. Maybe if I rested for a few minutes I would feel better, right?

Not so. By the time JB and Grace arrived I was so stiff and in so much aching pain that I couldn't even help them load stuff onto the hand trucks for our "performance day caravan." I was starting to wonder if I would even have the strength to make it through the show.

During this whole ordeal -- the 2.1 mile walk from the hospital (I looked it up on Mapquest before I wrote this), the physical trauma of this unusual seizure I suffered and the aches and pains associated with it, the checking myself out of the hospital and the exhausted collapse on the sofa at work -- I kept asking myself, "Why am I doing this? Why am I risking my health, my life? Why am I spending thousands of dollars I don't have? What am I getting out of this?"

I didn't like the answers I came up with ...