Emily Speed on Recovering During the Pandemic
Photo Credit: Bryan Rasmussen
Chiseled Light Photography
Friday, March 13, 2020, my husband and I were driving to Vail from our apartment in Denver, CO. It was snowing and cold, and I was nervous but excited. I was 12 weeks post-op, just barely off crutches, but I was determined to get approval from my surgeon to start barre. Growing up, my ballet teacher was a bit superstitious, and I hesitated when making a follow-up appointment for Friday the 13th, but in the end, decided that I couldn’t wait through the weekend to start barre. Barre meant the beginning of my journey back to dance and I couldn’t wait one more day. Halfway through our drive, the mountain views were interrupted by an email from our company manager. During my recovery, I grew accustomed to ignoring emails filled with rehearsals I couldn’t be a part of and casting updates announcing my replacements. The subject line “Emergency Meeting” jumped out at me, so I opened it to read further. Emergency Meeting during lunch today mandatory for all dancers. I immediately sent a response explaining I was already on my way to Vail and I couldn’t make it back in time. Besides being a bit curious about what it could possibly be about, I didn’t put too much more thought into it.
The next thing I knew we were pulling up to Vail Health, and blocking the entrance to the hospital were two fully clad medical professionals in hazmat suits. After answering a list of questions and having our temperatures taken, we were allowed inside. As soon as the risk of not making it to my appointment subsided, my focus realigned to my goal. After checking in at the front desk, I headed to my usual spot in the waiting room. Sitting down next to the shadow box of Wendy Whelan’s signed pointe shoes always gave me hope.
Once I had my routine round of X-Rays, I was taken back to see Dr. Clanton. He is the most caring, thorough, and passionate doctor I have ever met, so it took me a bit off guard when he said we were doing elbow bumps instead of hugs or handshakes today. It was a fleeting thought because we needed to get down to business. After chatting about how I was feeling, he decided I was ready for another CT scan to see how my bone graft was adhering. I was sent down to the ER (the same ER where some of the first cases of Covid were exploding in) to get my scan. The radiologist came out afterward and wanted to ask me a few questions. Have you already had surgery? was the question that stood out. Why was he asking me if I already had surgery? Please don’t let this be more bad news! “Okay, and it was your left foot? Hmmm okay. Can you show me exactly where?” he asked as I obliged. All I could think was NO NO NO! What is he suggesting? Finally, he said, “Wow, I just wanted to make sure I had done the scan on the correct side and area because I can’t see anything.” Whew… okay now back to the fourth floor…
Dr. Clanton agreed that the scan showed my healing was coming along nicely. This surgery had been done less than a handful of times, so there wasn’t quite as much research, but he seemed pleasantly surprised with my progress. I finally couldn’t take it any longer and burst out, “So does this mean I can start barre? Am I allowed to do relevé on two legs, and when can I start doing single leg relevé? What about fondu? Or should I just go to rond de jambe for now?” Dr. Clanton responded in his calm, fatherly way, “I believe you can start doing some of your training exercises holding onto the barre, but you’re going to have to help me with some of this terminology.”
Getting back onto the highway, any memory of emergency meetings and hazmat suits faded away as I wrapped my mind around the fact that I had made it through the worst part. I called a friend to share my excitement. I was coming back! I’d be able to start my mornings at the barre again. I’d be able to have dressing room chats and hang out in the PT room with everyone again, waiting for Pilates while they waited for rehearsal. It wasn’t everything, but it was something. There was a slight pause and then, “They just sent us home.” I didn’t comprehend anything else she was saying. Something about the emergency meeting and everyone had to go home immediately and indefinitely. I finished the conversation in somewhat of a daze. I had to start barre; I had to get back to doing what I love; how could I even begin without a studio?
The next morning, I was at the gym. Back in the beginning of my recovery, almost as soon as the stitches came out, I started treading water, swimming, doing any exercises I was allowed to do in the pool. I started a little differently this time though and went to the dressing room to put on a leotard instead of a bathing suit. Pulling on a leg warmer over my atrophied left leg, I was determined studio or no studio, I was not getting off track. I walked into the Pilates studio and set my bag down at the barre. Mirror, barre, no Marley but this will work, I’ll make it work. That first time dancing again was music to my soul. I had never loved doing pliés so much. Careful not to overdo it, I finished at rond de jambe and headed to the pool for the rest of my workout. It was completely empty but something about that solitude solidified how much I cherished what just happened. Finished with a sense of accomplishment and changing back into my street clothes, a member of the gym staff walked in to tell me the gym was closed until further notice. “You have to go home.”
This couldn’t be happening. The world was literally coming to a halt just as I finally began to re-emerge. I spent the last three months essentially trapped at home because snow doesn’t mix with crutches and I couldn’t risk a fall setting back my recovery. How am I going to stay on track at home for two weeks? Little did I know, this was only the beginning.
Despite all the uncertainty, despite my despair, I did my best to keep going. I did barre holding onto a wobbly chair, standing on a shaky leg emphasized by the uneven tile. One thing I knew from past experience was grit, tenacity, and that never-give-up factor. Those were the qualities that made a good dancer. So, I took it on the chin, wiped off my tears, and set out on a journey of recovery alone at home. Right when physical therapy could have become more hands on to speed along my range of motion, right when I should have been ramping up my exercises, just as I got the green light to start pushing, the Stay-at-Home order was announced. Eventually, it became clear that this wasn’t going to be short-lived. Zoom sessions were helpful, but not the same by any means. I tried to stay optimistic despite feeling it might affect my range long term.
By July, I felt I was finally making steady progress again and working to get “caught up” to where I should have been. I had resumed in-person therapy with Donna Osbaugh in Denver and was able to get back into a studio routinely to progress my jumps and pointe work. It was slow and steady, but I was so grateful to be moving forward again. I continued on this track through August, and in September my husband and I decided we’d delayed our move to New York long enough. I contacted Andrea at West Side Dance, and she was willing to start seeing me.
Once we finally got started on our Physical Therapy sessions in October, I had a sense I would make it back to dancing professionally. But in the back of my mind, there was a thought of returning to a new normal. Everyone was talking about a new normal as we adjusted to life during the pandemic, and I was also struggling with what my new normal as a dancer would be. The way my foot moved was so different now, and while I regained enough range to go on pointe and the line wasn’t terrible, it wasn’t what I had before. Would I ever get my foot back? Or was it time to start adapting? Dr. Clanton and I discussed the feel of the graft and how it didn’t “sink” like the other side when I went on pointe. He did multiple X-rays of me in my pointe shoes trying to see if there was any area of the graft that looked abnormal. It still gave me pain every time I did a relevé en pointe. It was much more bearable than before surgery, but it was there. Andrea and I discussed all of this and at the end of our first session, I couldn’t read her at all. From behind the KN95 mask, she took a pause and then said, “Well, let’s see what we can do.” So, we got to work.
I had fractured my Lisfranc joint and while somehow, I was lucky enough to have maintained a healthy ligament, the Lisfranc joint is vital in the stability of the foot. Besides the issue of the Lisfranc joint fracture, I had unknowingly continued dancing on the injury for four months. This was not your typical bam I’m injured, now let’s fix it. It was like a mystery ailment no one could fully figure out and at times I wondered if it was all in my head. I was in excruciating pain, but no one could find anything definitively wrong. So, without a diagnosis, something concrete to treat, or an injury I could explain to the artistic staff, I pressed on. Eventually, this caused a stress fracture in the lateral side of my foot, and by the time I found Dr. Clanton, the stress fracture had developed a cyst. The only option was to remove the cyst so the bone could heal, and fill the hole with good bone from my hip.
Between the rarity of the injury, the surgery itself, the lapses of inconsistent physical therapy and rehabilitation, due to the pandemic, Andrea had her work cut out for her. She never once faltered, but slowly started addressing the disfunction. She worked in small increments and explained why this joint wasn’t gliding or why a certain lack of stability could limit my range of motion. Slowly, I started gaining range and strength. We worked on muscles that needed help learning how to fire again and movement patterns that needed to be relearned. Even the way I was walking was contributing to the imbalance. Andrea took the lead in the manual side and I continued working on my strength with my other therapist, Marissa. I started making faster progress than at any point during my recovery. I began rehearsing for a virtual project and also for a Nutcracker guesting in Texas.
After seven weeks of physical therapy with Andrea twice a week, I left to perform for the first time in over a year. The fact that the performance was still happening despite Covid-19 was a miracle itself, but more importantly than that, I felt ready. I wasn’t quite strong enough to do my typical series of fouettés on stage, and my range was not yet at its absolute maximum, but I felt confident that I would be able to portray the Sugar Plum Fairy and display a classical elegance and strength.
During our last appointment before my performance, Andrea told me that I should feel really proud about where I was at in my recovery. She said, “You know, not everyone makes it back from this kind of injury, but I’m confident you’re going to.” I didn’t say much because I was holding back tears, but what I didn’t say aloud was that she should be proud that she is the type of therapist who wouldn’t take good enough for an answer.
After the holidays, I came back to New York, finished my quarantine and Andrea and I got back to work. I’m still working on my full range of motion in my plié as well as pointing, but we are still making progress. My strength is getting there as well. The last 5-10% is always the slowest, and some days I still get frustrated that Covid not only severely delayed my recovery but also brought our art form to a screeching halt. I know that I’m in the final stretch, and I also know that Andrea is not going to give up on me until we cross the finish line.
***I have been extremely lucky to have an entire village of people in my life who have helped me in my recovery process, and I am thankful for each and every one of them.
A huge Thank You to the entire team of Doctors, PT’s and retraining experts who have gotten me back: Dr. Thomas Clanton, Donna Osbaugh, Dr. Lynne Yancey, Victoria Bartel, Jennifer Ratner, Jennifer Milner, Marissa Schaeffer, and of course Andrea Zujko.