Don’t F*%& With the Pancreas-The Maine Edition (Blogisode Nine)

This blogisode is brought to you by a “put in” rehearsal, here at the Weston Playhouse.  A “put in” rehearsal happens when there is a new cast member, or an understudy is being

My view right now

prepped to go on for the first time.  How put in’s are run vary from theater to theater, but they usually involve the entire cast running the show with various technical elements–usually whatever will impact the person being “put in.”

In today’s put in, a few people are in costume and microphones, and the rest of us are in our street clothes.  We have lights, but no orchestra (piano only).  We are skipping certain portions of the show that she is not in.  Usually people “mark” these rehearsals–“mark” means they don’t sing as loud as they usually would, and the idea behind that is to save your voice for the paying audience that is coming later tonight.  The person who is being “put in” can not mark, though, because they need to hear them sing full out to know how to mix them through the sound console.  I am sitting in the empty theater watching the rehearsal (she’s doing very well!) thinking about how stressful these rehearsals are if you’re the one being put in–because the rest of the cast already

Me in the show, taken by Jacob Brent

knows the show and they are probably goofing around while YOU are a nervous wreck.  Listen–it’s hard to go in front of an audience for the first time–but it is MUCH harder to do a rehearsal in front of a bunch of judge-y actors who’d rather be taking a nap.  Good for her! And hey-it gives me a chance to blog in the theater rather than in the green room.

So, where did we leave off?  We had me on a stealth mission to retrieve a computer bag at Quisisana, we had Charlotte and Beatrix having so much fun they barely noticed we were

Mom and Dad who?

gone, we had Sister Wife Amy Rogers and Babysitter Holly covering our butts, and (my favorite) Rob appalled at the thought of an ambulance drive in the country.

By the way, I talked to him this morning after he read yesterday’s blog and I said, “Hey, sorry if I made you sound too combative about that ambulance ride.”

And he said, “No, you got it right, I was totally over it.” He was.  And we haven’t even gotten to my favorite part–just wait.

It ALSO turns out that somewhere in that ER time span he spoke to his mother on the phone who informed him in no uncertain terms that if the hospital wanted to take him in the ambulance he was to stop being a pain in the arse and go, no questions asked.  Thank you (again) to my mother-in-law for keeping her son in tow while at his most belligerent.

So, as you recall, I was out of cell service with Rob for the roughly 90 minutes it took me to drive to Quisisana-sneak around-and return to the hospital.  When I arrived at the hospital, I was followed by none other than an ambulance.  Nah.  There are lots of ambulances that go to hospitals, right?  This couldn’t be Rob’s taxi.

I walked into Rob’s ER room and sure enough, they were getting him ready for transport.  The nurse came up to me, all smiles, and gave me a post it note with his room number in Lewiston on it “They found a bed!”

Rob was sitting on the gurney holding his chart.  He was not smiling.  “My ambulance is

Not happy.

here.  This is stupid.”  I started to pack up his stuff-and told him I’d go grab the computer so we could take it in the ambulance with us.  Rob looked at me like I was crazy.  “I don’t think you’re going to be allowed in the ambulance, honey.”

Oh. Right.

Uh oh.  In my haste to get to and fro Quisisana, I’d neglected to put gas in the car–and I was almost on empty.  For a 60 mile drive.  Behind an ambulance who wasn’t going to stop for my gas needs.

“Um, honey-hey-I’m goning to have to dash out for a minute and run a quick errand, okay?  I’ll be right back.”

With that, the ambulance guys came in.  Wait–they have an official name–medics?  EMT’s?  I googled it.  EMT’s.  So the EMT’s came in and overheard part of the conversation and confirmed that

1)  I could not go in the ambulance (which wouldn’t make sense anyway-how would I get back to Quisisana?)

2)  They were leaving that very moment.

Got it.  I did not inform anyone of my NO GAS situation, because really, the moment they are loading your husband into an ambulance doesn’t seem like the right moment to make it about you.

The two burly EMT’s rolled Rob into some kind of gauze (like a mummy) and buckled him onto a gurney.  This is what it looked like:

Being wrapped like a Mummy and buckled in.

This was the conversation:

EMT #1: Sir, you’ll need to keep your hands in so we can buckle you up.

Rob:  You know this is total overkill, right?  I am fine.

EMT#2: Just following procedure, sir.

Rob:  If some kid falls off a roof, breaks his neck and needs this ambulance, it’s on your head.

EMT#2:  There are plenty of ambulances to cover us, Mr. Meffe.

Rob: For a guy who doesn’t like a lot of attention, this is ridiculous..

EMT#1:  This is our job, sir.  Just relax.

Me: (Thinking about the little gas situation I was dealing with, said casually) Hey Rob, do you have your cell phone?  Can you make sure you turn the ringer on in case I need to reach you?

Rob: (under wraps) Yeah, it’s on, but if it rings (he tried to move his arms and glared at the EMT)…I can’t get my arms free to get it.

EMT#2:  Ma’am, you are welcome to follow behind us, but I have to ask that if you see the lights and sirens go on and we take off, you can’t try to follow us.  You have to obey the traffic laws.

Me:  Why would you turn on the lights and sirens and take off?

EMT#2:  If there is a development with your husband and we need to get him there quickly.  He seems fine now, but we have to take any precaution.

Rob:  Nothing’s going to happen.  I could walk there.

Me: I promise won’t follow.  (If we’re being technical, I might not make it at all).

They rolled him out and loaded him into the ambulance.  I asked if it was okay to take a picture and the friendly EMT’s agreed to it.  I’m sure they thought I was crazy.  I know it’s wrong to laugh as a person is loaded into an ambulance, it’s wrong.  But really, Rob was so over it that there was little left to do.  We were all laughing at this point.  Here’s the scene (sorry it’s dark, but I couldn’t really ask to re-shoot because of bad lighting, although I thought about it.)

Only a horrible wife with a blog following would take this picture. Guilty as charged.

The EMT’s hopped into the ambulance, I ran to my car, and off we went.  This was my view as we started the hour and 15 minute drive to Lewiston.

This was my other view.

Uh-oh.

To read the next blogisode, go here: https://sharonwheatley.wordpress.com/2011/08/15/dont-f-with-the-pancreas-the-maine-edition-blogisode-ten/

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About Sharon Wheatley

I'm a mother, an actress and a writer. I'm glad you're here.
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One Response to Don’t F*%& With the Pancreas-The Maine Edition (Blogisode Nine)

  1. Your blog is such a bright spot in my day! I use it as a reward for getting my morning chores done (make lunches, drive kids to school, unload dishwasher, throw a load of wash in…. and then, I deserve a nice cup of tea and a bit of Sharon Wheatly.) Keep ’em coming!

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