MTC Tour Day 14: The Rest of the Story

We’re home from tour (actually on I-15, driving home).  And I am VERY happy to be back.

In my daily vignettes about tour on this blog, I have focused on the wonderful, the miraculous, and the many, many positive aspects of tour.  I have been very, very blessed to be a part of this tour.  And I am very, very grateful.

Did I mention I was very grateful?  Well, it’s true.

However, there is more to the story.  And now that tour is over, I would like to share it with you.  Please stick around and read the whole post.  Well, here goes…

I injured my left knee back in November, right in the middle of rehearsals for the Choir Christmas concerts.  The roundtrip walk from the Church Office Building parking lot to the Tabernacle to pick up our music (and possibly dress in wardrobe) and to the Choir loft in the Conference Center is about 1.25 miles.  That’s a tough walk when your knee is screaming at you with every step.  But there simply was no time to slow down.  So I just kept going.

While favoring my left knee, I injured my right ankle.  Then I developed a plantar fasciitis in my right foot.  Walking was painful and standing (such as during a broadcast or concert) was agony.  I finally went to a podiatrist, got a cortisone shot in my foot, and orthopedic inserts for my shoes.  I got another cortisone shot in my knee and had some fluid drained from it.  While all this helped… somewhat, the healing has been—shall we say—slow.

Before leaving on tour, my doctor gave me medications to manage the pain while I heal.  I have four different pills that I take.  I’m following my doctor’s advice and don’t exceed the prescribed dosage.  However, standing during a concert is really… difficult.  Add to that a mile-long hike to and from a venue (such as we did at Carnegie Hall), and the difficulty multiplies.

When we sang at Yankee Stadium, we had to stand for nearly three hours straight in order to sing for five minutes.  Let’s just say that by the time I got to my seat (at the end of the fourth inning, no less), I was in a LOT of pain.  In addition, we have had some LONG bus rides.  Most of the time, my knees are crammed up against the seat in front of me.  This has been difficult as well.

If I take enough medication to keep the pain in-check (notice that I said, “in-check,” and not “eliminated”), I get nauseated—not a good thing to happen during a concert.  So, I try to time the medication so I don’t get sick until AFTER I get back to the hotel or at least when I’m on the bus-ride back to the hotel.  (Standing—because there isn’t enough room to kneel—in a tiny bus “bathroom” while puking and trying to make sure all of the vomit goes into the tiny toilet is just loads of fun.)

When we got to the hotel in Boston Sunday night, we realized we had left my CPAP machine in the hotel in New York City.  The NYC hotel is very graciously shipping it back to Utah for me—free of charge—but in the meantime, I am unable to sleep for more than a minute at a time without the machine.  Needless to say, I’m exhausted.  It’s been two sleepless nights so far, and it will probably be about a week before the machine arrives.

Then to top it all off, yesterday, as I was walking into the venue in Boston, I tripped on a brick in the pavement and fell, landing head-first on the sidewalk.  That was bad enough, but I managed to do my face-plant right in front of President Jarrett (President of the Choir) and Dr. Price (the Choir’s physician).  As I struggled to my feet, rubbing my head and wiping away the blood on my hand (I don’t even remember striking my hand on the pavement), saying, “I’m OK,” my only thought (other than “Ouch!”) was, “Please don’t tell me I can’t sing in the concert tonight!”  I didn’t voice that thought, but it was foremost in my mind.

Seriously—I was more worried that I might not be allowed to sing than I was about a possible concussion.

As it turns out, the result of the impact to my thick skull seems to be limited to a lump on my eye-socket.  So, it’s not a concussion—it’s not serious.  I’m more in danger of getting a black eye than any lasting cranial damage.  The bleeding on my hand was just a minor scrape.  I’m going to be all right.  My dignity—or what remained of it after 55 years of—well, being me—is dead.

And while I was out on tour, my doctor’s office called and confirmed that the little mole on my back is cancerous.  I get it removed tomorrow.  Yay!  And hopefully, that’ll be the end of that, although we’ll keep a watch on it.

But, I’m not alone in dealing with problems during tour.  Many of us have problems with our feet and legs.  We’re not all young whipper-snappers, after all.  I know of one woman whose feet swell so badly that she hasn’t done any sightseeing at all, because she’s saving her strength for the concerts.  Another woman was shoved off a curb (most likely on accident) and badly sprained her ankle.  Another woman in the Choir came up to me last night after our final concert and gave me a hug.  She said, “I heard about your fall.”  (Apparently, EVERYBODY has heard about my Three Stooges impression.)  “I have troubles with that too,” she said.  “I fall a lot.”  Other people are dealing with problems at home.  One woman in the Choir had to fly out late to join us in New York City, because her husband just had major surgery.  Others are agonizing over wayward children.  (I can sympathize with that.)  Others are self-employed and are giving up two weeks of income.  Others must continue to work at their jobs remotely, using virtually every spare minute.  (I can sympathize with that one too.)  Others are sacrificing family vacations to be on tour.  Others are quietly dealing with heartaches which they choose not to share.  The simple truth is that all of us are dealing with something.

So, why am I telling you this?

Because it’s all been worth it.

I have had so many wonderful, miraculous experiences on this tour.  I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.  I haven’t asked for Heavenly Father to remove the pain.  All I have asked for is the strength to endure, because the blessings I have received are beyond priceless.  They are worth every fleeting moment of exhaustion and pain.  Because the pain is fleeting.  The exhaustion is temporary.  But the blessings are glorious and eternal.

And that which is eternal is worth any temporary sacrifice.  Raising children will bring you more joy and more sadness than anything else you could possibly do in this life.  But it’s worth it.  Being a member of this Church will bring upon you persecution from others, but the eternal blessings are worth it.  We just have to endure to the end.  That means enduring the temporary to be granted the eternal through the amazing grace of Jesus Christ.

Now as I come to the end of this glorious adventure that has been the 2015 tour of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Orchestra at Temple Square, I’m not going to dwell on the pain that I’ve had to endure.  No, I will remember the joy of seeing audiences leap to their feet with tears in their eyes, of feeling the Spirit poured out upon us like a musical Pentecost, of having complete strangers come up to me and thank me with tears in their eyes, of spending two wonderful weeks with my lovely, sweet, supportive, eternal companion.

And I have only one regret at the end of this tour: I only get to go on two more!