(warning: long!!)
Chances are, if you’re reading this, you know that I recently finished up my stint as a “supernumerary” (aka background extra) in Boston Ballet’s 2022 production of Swan Lake. The application was sent in on a whim – all I knew was I’d always wanted to just vibe on-stage, and here was my chance. I didn’t know what to expect out of the application and audition process, but when all was said and done, I’d been accepted. Hooray…right?
Unfortunately, I have to be honest and say that due to the physical effects of my chronic illness (mast cell activation syndrome, diagnosed last July), it wasn’t the positive experience I’d hoped for. Let me explain.
Try looking for information on mast cell activation syndrome (MCAS), and you’ll quickly discover that there aren’t a lot of definitive answers about any aspect of it. No one knows what causes it, and no one knows the full range of symptoms it can cause. Some people experience anaphylaxis, other people experience skin irritation and hives. Many people experience digestive issues. And there are a slew of other potential issues involving just about every system in the body that may (or may not) be caused by MCAS. At this point in time, we just don’t know.
My symptoms usually affect my digestive system. I have a confirmed fructan intolerance, along with an annoying assortment of non-fructan food intolerances, such as eggs. And if I do “get poisoned” accidentally, I might feel awful and/or be completely incapacitated for days afterward. I also have weird skin sensitivities. Cardio makes my skin itchy, especially my legs. Certain skin products and makeup cause my eyes to tear up or my skin to burn. These can be products that have caused no issue in the past, because the fun thing with MCAS is that new intolerances can develop seemingly overnight.
I also have particular issues with balance while in motion. Highway driving went from a little uncomfortable at night to something I no longer do over the course of several years. Since I was never a nervous driver, it didn’t make sense. I attended several months of driving-specific phobia therapy through Boston University, but the positive changes did not last – probably because they are not technically caused by anxiety. Now, even driving on quiet back roads is occasionally a struggle. I partially stopped horseback riding lessons (another activity I’ve done since a very young age) because walking, even on a horse I trusted in a safe arena, could make me dizzy. Hell, even walking on my own two feet has caused issues in the past, leading to full blown panic attacks and needing to lay down on the city sidewalk while just trying to walk from my job to the train station.
For some reason, I wasn’t thinking of any of those things when I sent in my supernumerary application. I did not stop to consider that my body is way more sensitive to way more things than it ever was as a teen. Back then, I had zero issues. It’s possible I did have MCAS, always prone to weird rashes and ears that would randomly get red and hot for no particular reason (yes, that’s a MCAS thing) but the symptoms didn’t become problematic until my late 20s.
So, as mentioned, I applied, I auditioned, I was accepted. We had a couple of in-studio rehearsals over the course of a week that went totally fine. I had no reason to think that my time at the theatre would be any different.
It’s only in hindsight that I realized how much faith I was placing in my body to cooperate. What if the fabric of the costume bothered my skin? What if the make-up I had to cake on – much of it newly purchased and untested – caused itching or burning and I couldn’t wear it? Hell, the very atmosphere of being backstage in a theatre, charming as it is, could contain innumerable possible irritants, from mold to hairspray to who knows what else. I hadn’t considered any of this.
I knew I was in for it the first time the stage lights came up on me during our dress/tech rehearsal. The supers open Act III; we’re center stage when the curtains go up. I was already warm from waiting around in the costume, which was heavy, with long sleeves and a long, draping train. Did I forget to mention another one of my annoying MCAS symptoms – the occasional inability for my body to regulate itself, especially after exercise or after getting hot? Yeah, and when that happens, as with driving, even if I mentally do not feel anxious, my body has the same physical symptoms as if I was. It’s as awful as it sounds, and it’s exactly what happened to me from minute one of that first dress rehearsal.
Thankfully, the bulk of what we were asked to do took place within the first minute of the act – but what a terribly long minute it seemed. I created a pattern for myself. On one and two I lifted my right arm and acknowledged my partner. On three and four I dropped my arm and head as a bow. On five and six and turned to my left, to acknowledge the couple over there. On seven and eight, I turned my attention back towards the center, to the master of ceremonies.
Just the turning of my head to the left and then to the right unbalanced me. That, with the stage lights and the heavy costume, were already too much. On our next counts, I was to bow (curtsy, really) to the master of ceremonies, but I already felt unsteady enough that I ungracefully reached out for my partner’s sleeve to keep my balance. After that, I took my partner’s hand and we walked across the stage to our spot upstage right, where we would remain in shadow for basically the rest of the act. Physically, it felt better to be moving, but there was little we could do without being “too much.” Even once we were settled in our upstage spot, I occasionally clutched the back of my partner’s sleeve with one hand. If you’re familiar with Act III of Swan Lake, it didn’t really improve until the pas de deux – in other words, it took most of the act to feel closer to normal.
Needless to say, it was not a good start. Embarrassed, I blamed it on feeling dehydrated (which was probably a small part of it), and then got bubble tea to feel better after leaving the theatre. All I knew was, the next time I was on-stage would be during a performance. There were no second chances, no possibility of another shot just to know things would be better next time.
The only slight positive was I had four chances to get things right, as opposed to most of the other people in my cast, who had three (I was filling in for a person in my spot in a different cast during one of the evening shows). My first two shows went okay. Nothing terrible happened, but it just never felt great. I never felt completely at ease, like I know I would have years ago. I didn’t feel the lights and the weight of the costume as keenly as I had that first time, but something in the atmosphere still made me a little off-balance, a little “just not right.” I did everything I could to be at the top of my game – on performance days I largely stayed off my feet, I read, I did restorative yoga, I practiced meditation and breathing exercises. I added a little extra anti-anxiety medication onto my usual dose in case that would help (it didn’t seem to). Unfortunately, no matter how chill my day was when I walked into the theatre, no matter how chill I felt up to the moment places was called, it all went just a little downhill from there and I never left the stage door feeling good about the time I’d had.
The day of my third performance, when I’d have my husband and in-laws in the audience that evening. Unfortunately, I woke up that morning with major stomach problems. Major. I had been very careful with my diet, sticking to the same old meals and snacks, but it didn’t matter. I was so ill I couldn’t even leave the apartment for a five minute walk to Walgreens to get water and Gatorade. I thought there was a very real possibility that I would have to call out.
Miraculously, things got better. With lots of Pepto, a bunch of Gatorade, and small amounts of food, things improved as the hours passed. I had eaten something that may have been cross-contaminated with egg days before. Could it have been a delayed reaction? It’s possible. In any case, that was probably my best evening, though still not perfect. Yes, you could see I was holding onto my partner’s sleeve, but only if you looked through the opera glasses, my husband confirmed.
The last show should have been even better. I felt physically good all day, I was used to the backstage routine, with the specific times one needed to get the headpiece on and go upstairs for our costumes. But, this one I legitimately goofed. A couple of minutes before the act started, one of the rehearsal directors asked me to keep my port de bras lower during my walk across the stage. No problem, said I. When the song started, I started with my usual routine: On one and two I lifted my right arm and acknowledged my partner. On three and four I dropped my arm and head as a bow. On five and six and turned to my left, to acknowledge the couple over there. On seven and eight, I turned my attention back towards the center, to the master of ceremonies.
And then I forgot to bow. I don’t know what I did in those next two counts, but I was concentrating so much on making sure my arm was correct during our walk-across that by the time I realized what I was supposed to be doing, it was over. Even though I made it through that performance largely without holding on and largely feeling okay, that one mistake – how could it have even happened when I’d practiced so many times during our rehearsals and at home?? – ruined everything in my mind.
I don’t know if I will put myself through this again. Unless a miraculous cure is discovered for MCAS and its patchwork of symptoms in the next year (beyond unlikely), I’m not sure it will be worth it. I’m glad I tried, I’m glad I did, technically, do it. I met a lot of nice people and hey, if I ever go back to working on my novels, now I know what the Boston Opera House is like backstage. But, I don’t think it’s fair to myself or the other cast members, not knowing if my body will cooperate from one performance to the next.
Thanks for reading, and we’ll hopefully be back with podcast content soon!
T&E Theatre Factory Podcast 