SENT HOME FROM SCHOOL

Well, it was bound to happen, I suppose. There is a reason that Lion King has a bit of a reputation for damaging it's performers. (Hence the fact that every production has an on-staff physiotherapist). The awkward costumes, the raked stage, the repetitive, unusual movements, it all takes it's toll when multiplied times eight, week, after week, after week.


In my case, it all started with, what seemed at the time, a rather benign stumble. During last Sunday's matinee performance, I tripped over an ill-placed hyena (something you'll never hear said outside of the theatre or a game preserve) and went down, hard, on my knees. It hurt, but I knew nothing was broken, and since it was the final scene of the show, I made the fall part of the moment and kept going. After the show, Emma (our Physio-Goddess) examined me and said that basically, I'd just given my knee (left one in particular) a good bash, and with some ice and a few days, it should be fine.


That may be the case in normal life, but not in The Lion King. Through the rest of the weekend, and the shows the following week, my knee was aching by the end of every show, and was particularly painful when going up and down stairs, which I do constantly in the show. Emma's daily treatments helped, but didn't cure the problem. By Friday, we were both growing concerned. Emma diagnosed that, given my physical activity in the show, the knee simply wasn't getting it's chance to heal. And so she began negotiations to take me out of the show.


I tried to convince her not to for a variety of reasons,(bear in mind that I did tech-week of "The Drowsy Chaperone" with Swine Flu !!!) but Emma's logic was sound. She believed that to do two, two-show days in a row would only damage me further and increase the possibility of taking me out for a full week. The decision was made to take me out of the weekend, double-show days, giving said knee a full three days of recovery/rest. (And making Emma oh-so-popular with management) So, here I sit, with an ice pack on my knee, missing my pride and wondering what moment of the show is happening without me.

My life for the next few days
reduced from this...
...to this...

On the up-side, Emma did prescribe, as part of my therapy, that tomorrow, I should head up to the swimming pool, prop myself in a corner and pretend I'm riding an underwater bicycle. Who am I to disobey a direct order like this?


And just for additional levity, we discovered the other night, by accident, that when my wig is on backwards, I look just like Professor Snape.