The Sugarless Plum: A Memoir (15 page)

I remembered that Kay Mazzo had given me the phone number of her daughter's doctor, Fredda Ginsberg. I'd never called, but, thankfully, I'd held on to it. Terrified, I called Dr. Ginsberg's office and was told to come in immediately. I was back on insulin that same day.

I felt as if I'd been living in the spin cycle of a washing machine for more than two years. By that time I was exhausted.

I trusted Dr. Ginsberg immediately and was ready to accept that I needed the insulin. It wasn't going to be easy, but I'd finally learned my lesson. At this point my fear of dying from not taking it far outweighed my reluctance to admit that I was, and always would be, a person with type 1 insulin-dependent diabetes.

I'd already stopped being so strict with my macrobiotic diet while I was in Saratoga, and it was harder to stick to my routine. I knew that not all macrobiotic diets were as strict as mine in any case, so I gave myself permission to start eating more fat and protein and fewer carbohydrates.

With the insulin, my sugars came down immediately, and within a month or two, my blood sugars normalized and so did my weight. The good news was that I was getting healthier and no longer ignoring what my body was telling me. The hard part was that, once again, I had to learn to juggle shots of insulin with my schedule, and that wasn't any easier now than it had been the first time I did it. The difference was that this time I was going to be smarter about it and learn how to do it properly.

 

Certainly I looked better and was dancing better than when I wasn't taking insulin, but I couldn't help asking myself if I was crazy to try to dance all day and perform every night while trying to walk the tightrope of balancing my blood sugars with insulin injections. Was it really worth it? I had to ask myself if I was being realistic. Maybe I needed to admit that I'd had a good run in the world of George Balanchine and Jerome Robbins and the time had come to graciously bow out.

 

Although Peter Martins had been pleased with my performance in
Four Gnossiennesand
cast me in the role a number of times the following season, he was clearly hesitant to consistently cast me in leads the way he would someone whom he was grooming for promotion. Once again I was tired from dancing so much, and I was emotionally exhausted from trying so hard to prove that I was the same dancer I had been before I was diagnosed.

With brief exceptions, like the nights I danced
Four Gnossiennes,
I was not the same. Performing in the corps de ballet
night after night, I felt that I had drifted further and further from the pure, expressive dancer I once was and longed to be.

Once again I thought about scheduling an appointment with Peter Martins and announcing my decision to leave. And, at the same time, I tried to analyze my true motivation. Had I finally come to terms with the reality of my situation or was it a copout? I'd get to the theater each morning wondering which path I was going to take—down the hallway to Peter's office or the one to the main rehearsal hall. Every day I'd be in the rehearsal hall and every night on the stage, wanting just one more ballet, one more chance to experience the greatness of the world I was in. For months I struggled, and all the while I tried to figure out why I couldn't just make the decision.

Finally, I arrived at a moment of clarity. I'd been telling myself that I was tired of the struggling with insulin doses and blood sugar ups and downs, but in truth I wasn't just tired of struggling with diabetes. I was more tired of constantly struggling to become the dancer I might have been. I was tired of feeling that I wasn't living up to my potential.

While dancing was better than not dancing, I wasn't experiencing the innocence, elation and purity of heart I once had. Although those moments onstage were still the times when I felt most alive, they were also the moments that reflected to me the dancer I had been and wasn't any longer.

I told myself that I hadn't been on the right diet and insulin regime for very long. I had to give my new routine a chance to work. If I left before I did that, I would never know how much I
could really achieve. I had to give myself that opportunity. I made a commitment to myself to give it more time to find out what was possible. If I tried everything I could, if I gave it enough time, and if it still was too much for me, that would be the time to quit. But first I needed to confront my fears and frustrations and see what I could do.

As it turned out, I was right not to quit. Almost as soon as I made my decision, things began to improve in large ways and small. Finally I had found a doctor with whom I felt comfortable and whose balanced approach to diabetes was one I could live with. I was in the embryonic stage of learning how to dance with diabetes, but already I looked better, moved better, felt better, and my weight had returned to thin but healthy.

I was taking two kinds of insulin. My short-acting insulin, which worked within two to six hours, was to be used before meals and whenever my sugars were too high. Today, short-acting insulin works in just fifteen minutes.

In the evening, I also took long-acting insulin, which remained in my body for up to twenty-four hours but which wasn't as consistent as the long-acting insulin we have today. Rather than providing a continuous, even output, it often kicked in with a surge, lowering my sugars at various hours of the day and night. Since I couldn't really predict how the lingering effects of all the
exercise I'd been doing would affect my system, it was difficult to know how much I should be taking. I'm a light sleeper, and night after night when I awakened in the small hours, I'd check my blood sugar and, if it was low, drink some juice and wait for my levels to return to normal.

Low blood sugars were still a constant concern because they were so dangerous. High blood sugars, on the other hand, affected my ability to dance well. Both affected my ability to enjoy what I was dancing.

Sometimes, before a performance, I'd mistake the shakiness of anxiety for the shakiness of low blood sugar. Sometimes the adrenaline rush caused by pre-performance nerves caused my sugars to rise. When that happened, I would have to make a judgment call as to whether or not I should take a shot. Many factors went into making that decision: How high were my sugars? Were they dangerously high, or just high enough to make me feel spacey and out of touch with my body? How aerobic was the ballet I'd be performing? How large was the role I was about to dance?

Some roles required much less stamina and output of energy than others. How many times would I be exiting the stage? If I had a lot of breaks I could check my sugars and make sure I was okay, or eat something sweet if I wasn't. Some roles, however, kept me onstage throughout the entire piece, which meant that I didn't have an opportunity to do that.

Most of the time, I resigned myself to having a higher blood sugar than I would have liked. In consequence, my blood circu
lation was sometimes impaired, my body wouldn't be as warm as it could or should be, and I would lose that exquisite connection I needed to have with every part of my body in order to perform at my highest level. But I was no longer trying to be perfect. The best I could do would have to be good enough.

 

Even though it wasn't easy, it was worth it. I was beginning to feel like a semblance of my old self onstage again. My insulin regime seemed to be working, but because of my ever-holistic approach to health, I believed I could do more to help my progress with a good diet and proper supplementation. I was still having sleep problems, and my muscles still hurt more than I thought they should. As usual, I was reading everything I could find on the subjects of diabetes, insomnia and athletes. I also read about vitamins and herbs that help conditions like sleeplessness and muscle pain. I finally found out that people with diabetes are more prone to higher levels of lactic acid, which causes the burning you feel during and after a workout. Fluctuating blood sugar levels can also make it more difficult for oxygen to get to the active muscle. Now I understood why I was in such pain. The question was: what could I do about it?

 

There were so many vitamins and herbs to choose from. How could I be sure that I was taking the right one or the right combination? I knew I shouldn't try it all on my own.

 

At about the same time, a friend told me about a doctor who practiced a form of holistic medicine that I had heard very good
things about. Dr. G practiced out of the apartment he shared with a woman who was both his life partner and his assistant. On my first visit, I filled out a long form on which I listed all of my ailments. Dr. G explained his treatment program, which involved baths and massages with various oils, specific drinks and herbs, as well as a specific diet designed especially for me, which would first detoxify and then rebuild my body. He said he could help with all my problems. It sounded great, and I agreed to give it a try.

In the past, except for Grandma, I'd never felt that anyone had given me the support I needed to figure out how to implement whatever protocol they'd prescribed. As a result, left to my own devices, I'd continually wound up going overboard in the wrong direction.

Dr. G appeared to be interested in every aspect of my well-being and was totally available to help me. No more trying to figure out which vitamin was good for my diabetes, which herb might help me sleep. He gave me supplements and worked by my side, following my progress on a daily basis, teaching me how to cook the dishes that were best for my body. He took me to the market and introduced me to many new foods. Previously, when I'd tried to cook the foods on my macrobiotic diet, I could never be sure I was doing it correctly. Now, the doctor invited me to come for dinner, and he prepared the meals while I took notes. I loved the food he cooked and loved learning such exotic recipes. I started to relax and didn't feel so alone. The doctor and his girlfriend and I became good friends. But our relationship wasn't always completely comfortable.

I sometimes felt that Dr. G was a little
too
available. I couldn't exactly put my finger on what was bothering me, but something just didn't feel right. Still, for the first time I was feeling like myself again, and I wasn't about to allow what could have been nothing more than my own imagination to keep me from working with someone who was there for me and really helpful. So I just tried to put it out of my head.

That turned out to be a big mistake.

 

By now my mother, Romy and I were all living separately, and even though I was sleeping better on Dr. G's regimen, I was still afraid to be alone at night. I couldn't help worrying about what might happen if my blood sugar went too low and my body didn't wake me up. What if I took an herb to go to sleep and relaxed myself so much that I didn't wake up when I was low?

This was a real concern, since over time people with diabetes sometimes develop what is called hypoglycemia unawareness. Their body becomes so used to lows that when one occurs the body doesn't signal that something is wrong.

Since I lived alone and didn't want a roommate, Romy thought that, at the very least, I should adopt a cat. On our day off, she took me to the ASPCA. It seemed that the cages held either litters of newborn kittens that I couldn't imagine separating from one another or cats that were fully grown. But finally Romy saw a four-month-old black cat alone in a cage and looking scared. She took her out and held her. Then she put her in my arms.

We took her home and I named her Kayla. I hadn't bonded with
an animal since Gent, so it took Kayla and me a while to get used to each other. But once we did bond, I never wanted to be without her. Anyone who has ever bonded deeply with an animal knows how important it can be in your life.

Like many animals, Kayla truly had a sixth sense and often seemed to know when my sugars went too low. Today, dogs are trained, using their sense of smell, to sense changes in blood sugar levels and alert their owner. There are also new devices that alert you whenever your blood sugar is too low or too high. But those devices didn't exist at the time, so Kayla became my sensor. There were many nights when Kayla nudged me awake with her paw, and I'd force myself to get up and check my sugars. Invariably when she did that, I'd see that I was low and I'd go to the kitchen and eat or drink something sweet.

Not only was Kayla a great companion; she was a potential life-saver.

With my new doctor and insulin regime, Dr. G's diet and supplements, and Kayla's potentially life-saving company, I seemed to be back on track and I was enjoying dancing more and more.

While Peter Martins had been casting me as Sugar Plum every winter and giving me a few other leads, they'd been few and far between. Then, in the spring of 1992, when I'd been seeing Dr. G for only a few months, he cast me for the first time in Balanchine's
Apollo.

Mr. B had created many masterpieces, but none that I loved more than
Apollo. Set to the music of Igor Stravinsky, Balanchine
had created it 1928, when he was just twenty-four years old, and would later say that it was the turning point of his life. The ballet tells the story of the young god Apollo and the three Muses— Terpsichore, the Muse of dance, Polyhymnia, the muse of mime, and Calliope, the Muse of poetry—who vie for his attention.

The first
Apollo
I saw was danced by the legendary Edward Villella, who, along with Jacques D'Amboise, had made it cool
for men to be ballet dancers. An Al Pacino look-alike, Eddie came from Brooklyn and had actually been a boxer for a while. He was tough and athletic and executed leaps and turns that made audiences gasp. But he was also an artist, who could bring everyone in the theater to tears. Although he'd already retired from City Ballet when I arrived at SAB, I did get to see him dance a solo from
Apollo
once when I was a student, and he invited me to go with him on a lecture tour he'd organized. Young as I was then, I recognized that his performance was spectacular.

Nordic blond Peter Martins was physically Eddie's opposite, but when I saw him dance the same role opposite Suzanne Farrell's Terpsichore, he, too, was everything I'd ever imagined a god to be.

My Apollo would be Peter Boal. Margaret Tracy would dance Terpsichore, her sister Kathleen would dance Polyhymnia, and I would dance Calliope.

It was an honor for Peter to have included me in this new young cast, and, as it had been for Balanchine,
Apollo was also
a turning point for me.

From then on, I performed the role many times that season and in the years to come. Whenever my mother was in the audience, she beamed as she always did when she saw me or Romy perform. On one occasion, I also invited Dr. G, who had seen me dance before but never in such an important role. I was happy to have him in the audience because I truly believed that he—along with the insulin—was the reason I was feeling so much better.

 

I continued my treatments with Dr. G twice a week. I was happy with my progress, but there were times when his behavior really bothered me. Once, after I'd had dinner with him and his girlfriend, I told him I'd been having a hard time sleeping and needed to get home. He asked if he could help me relax for a bit before I left. Why didn't I say no?

While his girlfriend cleaned up the dishes, he took me into the extra bedroom and tried to hold me and rub my back while we lay together. I felt repulsed and angry that his supposed attempt to nurture me was so totally manipulative.

Still, I didn't tell him what I was feeling. Instead, I thanked him politely and went home, wondering how many women in my situation had fallen for his come-on. What did his girlfriend think we were doing? He must have had some sort of understanding with her.

 

After a while my muscles were less sore and I was sleeping better, but there was still one problem that was bothering me. Like many dancers and athletes, I wasn't getting my period regularly. I had discussed this with my medical doctor and even tried several rounds of hormone therapy, but the hormones had made it more difficult to control my blood sugars, and I hadn't been willing to take on that added burden. I'd mentioned the problem when I started seeing Dr. G, and now I asked if he could focus on it.

He told me then that he'd been including possible remedies
in the treatments and supplements he'd given me throughout the year I'd been seeing him. These treatments and supplements were all he had to offer, and since they weren't working, he had something else to recommend.

“What's that?” I asked.

If I wanted to get my period, he said, I have to start having sex.

“I don't have a boyfriend,” I replied, slightly annoyed. “And I'm not going to have sex as a prescription for getting better.” Dr. G then suggested that if there was no one else available, I should have sex with a friend.

“Like who?” I said, suspecting what his answer would be.

“Like me,” he replied.

Because I'd spent so much time with Dr. G, he and I had become friends, and I knew enough about him that I also knew he'd had relationships with women he was treating as patients, so I wasn't completely stunned. Until that moment, however, despite the uncomfortable evening when he'd rubbed my back, I still hadn't realized that I was to be his next conquest.

Still, the idea that he was using my not having a period as an excuse for getting me to sleep with him was totally disgusting and offensive. I flat out told him that I wasn't attracted to him. If that hurt him, I didn't care. He was out of line and I was trying to make light of it.

“Oh, c'mon,” I said. “Give me a break.”

We dropped it for that session.

I should have walked out of his apartment right then and never come back, but I didn't.

 

The advances continued for many months, and each time I tried to make a joke of it. I wished he'd stop, but having to push him away seemed a small, if annoying, price to pay given the benefits I was getting from his treatments. He was the first person to have taken such an interest in me, and for that I was grateful. So I kept finding ways to rationalize what he was doing. What was so wrong with his being attracted to me? Given what I'd felt about my body, shouldn't I be glad that somebody was?

I was convinced the reason I didn't have a boyfriend was that, since I'd been diagnosed at the age of twenty-one and my body fell apart, I'd been too ashamed and disgusted with myself to attract anyone special. But having a boyfriend, someone to connect deeply with in an emotional as well as sexual way, was really important to me.

I'd had many blind dates and introductions from friends, but I'd always felt more alone afterward than I did before the date. I was looking for someone who wanted to be with
me, the young
woman struggling with a disease, not the glamorous ballerina everyone seemed to expect me to be.

One guy that I met for lunch had spent the whole time asking what great parties had I been to, and whether Jerry Robbins had been at any of them.

At least Dr. G knew about my diabetes and my sleep problems and still really liked me. I was so desperate to be healed that I forced myself to stop being repulsed by him. I couldn't help it. I deeply believed that his treatments were the reason I was doing
so much better, and I was afraid to let go of him—and them. Yes, I had just begun a regular insulin regimen, as well. But, as I saw it, without Dr. G, I wouldn't have been doing as well as I was. The need I felt for him was so great that, in the end, I was willing to put up with whatever he did.

 

I'd probably been slightly depressed at times in the past but I hadn't felt serious depression until the week before my twenty-seventh birthday.

Something about turning twenty-seven and still being alone triggered a well of hopelessness in me. I was convinced that I would never find anyone to love who could love me in return. While I had always wanted to have a boyfriend, I had never before felt such an intense longing. I couldn't pull myself out of it as I went through my days in a fog.

I didn't want to see Dr. G, but I had promised him I'd come over for dinner that week. One evening when I was only dancing in the first ballet and would, therefore, be finished by nine o'clock, I was feeling so down and so tired that I just couldn't muster up the energy to cook for myself, so I decided to have a good meal with him.

I didn't say anything about what was bothering me, but he must have picked up on my state of mind and realized that my guard was down.

I honestly don't remember how it started. After we ate, we were sitting on his sofa. I remember him being next to me and then somehow behind me. He started to rub my neck. Then his hands
were on my breasts. Passively, I let him keep doing it, and that was his green light. Before I realized what was happening, he was kissing me and then he was taking my clothes off. I wasn't enjoying it, but I told myself he might be right. Maybe this would help me. I was sick of myself and my problems. Maybe having sex with him would change my energy; maybe I'd be more attractive once I'd had sex. At least I knew him and we were friends.

He started to enter me. He'd been after me for such a long time, and finally he was getting me. I hated every minute of what was happening, but still, I was allowing it—until, all of a sudden, something snapped me out of my stupor. No matter how much this person was helping me, this was horribly wrong. I had to get out of there. I pushed him away and told him I had to go home.

He tried to convince me to stay. But I was out the door.

When I got back to my apartment, he'd already left a phone message. I didn't call him back. I was as disgusted with myself as I was with him.

A few days later, I had enough distance from the immediate event to confront him and communicate my feelings instead of running away. I went back to his apartment and told him that his behavior was inappropriate and I couldn't see him anymore. He tried to tell me I was wrong to leave, that what had happened wasn't such a big deal. He went on about “Americans” and our “sexual hang-ups.”

Afterward, he continued to call me off and on for the next few months, but I never saw him again.

The hardest thing for me to accept was knowing that I was as
responsible as he was for what happened between us. Having known that he'd had sex with other women he'd treated and that he was trying to get me into bed, I had been sure that I could handle it. So how did I end up so down and depressed that I could no longer resist his advances? I had read that blood sugar fluctuations can affect your emotions and thought processes. Is that what had happened to me? If not, how could I possibly explain to myself why I'd lost all perspective? How could I have thought that I could improve my life by having sex with someone I didn't want to have sex with?

Yes, it was true that because of him (or so I thought), I was dancing better than I'd danced in years and I was afraid to lose his support, but that was no excuse for losing myself.