The Final Update on my Non-Colon

So. Hi Everyone.

Al here—providing [what I hope is] the last blow-by-blow health update in the latest chapter of ‘Adventures of Al’s Not-Colon.’

As previously mentioned, in May I had an experience onstage during a performance of The Music Man where I experienced blinding, lightning-fast 10/10 pain in my viscera, and was carted off-stage mid-show and hospitalized. 

 

A few weeks of tests in the Chicago area commenced, liquid diet, pain management, and I was delighted once again as I navigated the labyrinthine rigamarole of the American-healthcare system, as I was required to re-integrate myself back in to the Mount Sinai hospital system after 3 years of stability. 

 

What was wrong? I had 2 complex twists in my small intestine that leads in to the J-pouch, creating an obstruction and preventing me from being able to properly digest and pass food. The plan was to untwist me, and "tack me down" to prevent further twisting. And and and also? SURPRIIISE: once they got inside they discovered I also had a hernia! What can I say? I was always an over-achiever.

Last week—three months later—I was finally able to get the corrective "tune up" surgery I'd been waiting for since May, and wahoo: angels sang. If you have been through the joy that is the American healthcare obstacle course, you know how sweet the moment is when you finally get the treatment you need! I was home the same day and healing began. Slowly.

How it went/how it's going: Physically: 

 

The gist: healing at home was slow and FAR more painful than I anticipated. 

 

- Digestive: Amazing. I feel REBORN. It feels incredible to have the digestive system working again, drama-free. And I have returned to solid foods— which was incredible having been predominantly eating liquids since May. 

- Pain (internal): Going great. It started to ebb at day 3. 

- Pain (incisions): The major pain was the incisions themselves which were *eye-watering* in their pain level. The meds did not even make a dent in to the chandelier-ing I experienced whenever I vaguely moved, coughed, sneezed or made direct eye contact with any living creature. No exaggeration: these first 8 days post-op were beyond anything I had experienced in the first three surgeries (and, as a ridiculous statistic a proctocolectomy [removal of the large intestine, etc— ie, my first surgery] is considered to be the 4th most painful surgery to recover from — which is? WILD. 

How I am: Mentally 

 

I won’t lie to you friends, I am struggling.

 

I have felt wave after wave of physical traumatic-memory flood my body and psyche constantly in the last few weeks— sensations I had long anticipated putting to bed for good. While I was working my ass off between appointments to pay for all of this, the experience of going through some of these old “motions” (places, sensations, people, smells, sounds, literal pains) has not been breezy, and oftentimes has been outright (a word we overuse in pop psychology but I am told by professionals is apt here) triggering. 

One of the more frustrating elements of this has been the medical rigamarole of begging the system for help, waiting. Not getting to who I need to get to without doing a complex dance of charm-offensive, bureaucratic paperwork and sparring but judicious use of the "speak to the manager" voice (my least favorite voice of all). 

 

 Begging and waiting for insurance to cover things. And of course: not knowing exactly what was actually wrong, etc etc. 

- The greatest doctors I saw approached me with the respect and seriousness that comes with being the best in the world (thank you, Sergei Khaitov). 

- Some doctors met me with a “breeziness” that perhaps seduced me in to thinking this recent blockage experience is “no big deal” and something that could be handled relatively swiftly and without major interruption.  

- And then there were the doctors who outright convinced me I was “stressed” and that this was “in my head” and essentially: calling me hysterical without calling me hysterical. (It really is AMAZING being a woman... inside a healthcare system…)

It was… confusing. 

Further, so much of this was also experienced physically-without Alec— because our various jobs have taken us to different parts of the world since March. That has been extra hard. 

All of it led to me— (some of it not to be helped, some of it the power of denial)—  not really mentally grasping the scale and magnitude of what was going on inside me, partially because, I don’t think I wanted it to be true. In general I’m kind of a “slap-a-bandaid-on-and-get-on-with-it” kinda person. Not only do I not want to make a big deal, I don’t WANT it to be a big deal. I also don’t want anyone to think I AM A GIANT WEENIE. I don’t want to bore you all. I don’t want to talk about this anymore! Plus, I want to be "tough." I want to be "strong.” But sometimes toughness and strength are in surrender… Sigh. I am learning… 

I am heartbroken to have not been as present as I have wanted to be for my friends and family—missing milestones, big events; big shows, being with your children; not having the bandwidth for conversations and get-togethers that sustain meaningful connections, and sometimes forgetting or missing out on things that DO matter to me very much, simply because I am “doing colitis.” I think this is this colitis' greatest theft.

To illustrate how caught off guard I was by all of it I’ll describe the “aha" moment from the day of surgery last week. Moments before I went in to the actual surgical room, Dr. Khaitov's second-in-command surgeon Jackie (so nice, we go way back) closed her clipboard, took me by the hands, and said:

“Alexandra I want you to know we understand this is your fourth major bowel surgery in as many years, and we recognize that you’ve had a totally traumatizing surgical history.”

I stared at her. I vaguely blinkblinkblinked. Jackie continued:

"What you’ve been through is olympic, is cruel and unusual, and you’ve truly been SO great about it. But we’re going to do everything we can to make sure this is IT.” 

And then I just… began to sob. Because it was only then, only when this really nice surgeon was saying the actual words, giving me the permission about how I am allowed to VIEW this entire experience, that any of it actually registered with me. 

“…OH. Right,” my brain finally clicked. "This has been sort of...incredibly horrendous…and hard... and very very serious?” 

So I am taking a vulnerability leap here with my closest actual friends by sharing that I believe I am now experiencing  that “tabled” emotional reality in great big waves. I see it, I accept it, I apologize for not getting it sooner so that I could communicate it accurately to ALL OF YOU, and I vow to do and be and get, better. Healing is not linear, and these emotions must and will, be dealt with. It’s part of the healing. I once again ask for your grace as I navigate it. (You know. While also doing two unbelievably challenging plays. Because, art. But also because, healthcare.)

To every single one of you for your extensions of love, care, prayers, vibes, jokes, meditations. Thank you for the support, the gifts, the texts and voice memos and calls. The drives to appointments. The random FaceTimes. Thank you for being on my team. Thank you for allowing me to be any part of your lives. I have often said that being alive is worth fighting for— it is. But each of you, our connections and our stories and our love, is what that fought-for life is truly about. I am hungry to get back to it fully, ASAP. 

With all my heart (and none of the guts),

Al

Phoenix Rising

Thank you to the brilliant, visionary, cheeky, and utterly fabulous Dustin Dale Barlow for having fun with me dressed in my favo(u)rite celebratory colo(u)r in the heart of New York’s Chinatown. 

He’s the real deal.
 
For an hour I felt like the very best of myself.

Rising like a phoenix from an artistically abundant, but privately quite challenging (but ultimately victorious) summer of health ups and downs. 

Oh friends. I realize I'm being a little cagey and secretive about my health right now. There is a huge energetic difference between things that are "secrets" and things that are "private." Secrets contain deception, shame, fears of being disconnected with. Private points to things that are personal, not embarrassing or shameful but belong to a select, intimate few. 

 

I have never wanted my experience with ulcerative colitis to be secretive and drenched in any kind of shame. But I often sit on new while I collect information-- and this particular era of my life there have been a lot of waiting, wondering, holding patterns and "no new developments."

 

So I just... got on with things. As I always do. 

 

I really wanted my surgical journey in 2021 to mean the end of me discussing illness ever again publicly OR privately— but c'est la vie. Life happens. 

We persevere. 

 

All to say: this 60 mins of artistry and playfulness and celebration was more than a treat or a “play date”— it was a victory. 

 

These glorious photos were was last Saturday

I was in surgery Wednesday. 

And I’m still rising — stronger than ever— on this Monday. 

On the other side of the latest chapter.

Onward.
Upward.
Ever-rising.
Inextinguishable.

Catherine: The Great

The great MamaSilbs left yesterday— after extending her trip slightly (because I wasn't 100%)

 

I want to take a moment to publicly thank Catherine Silber not only for, ya know, giving me life, and a lifetime of care, but for enduring so gracefully beside me. Truly: I have no personal experience that could ever instill within me the ability to fully empathize; to begin to imagine what she’s felt every day for the last few weeks (and frankly, years.)

 

Sure, she’s smoking-hot and has the horse power of 10 men, but she is also a widowed woman bearing witness to her only child going through all of this. 

She has done so with breath-taking valiance, capability and never-ending one liners.

 

 

We’ve shed a totally appropriate amount of tears over this (and many things) together, but the last two care-taking episodes (in NYC and previously in Chicago) both in the physical absence of Alec— have truly been world-class. 

 

Brava Cath. The only kid in American that loves their parent more vociferously is Gus Walz.

Standing ovation.  

Four encores. 

 

Now: where is the watermelon?

4th time is the charm

After much a TO DO, the [unexpected? "Bonus?""Extra Credit?"] Surgery #4 went great.

 

The intention was to: 

1. correct two “twists/blocks”

2. stabilize my internal J-pouch (the “new colon”) from moving again in the future, and

3. figure out if anything else sinister was going on...

 

Going in, the surgical team wasn’t 100% certain of what they were going to find in the depths of my intestines— they had an IDEA of what they could ascertain from the (two!) MRIs and (two!) endoscopes, but the rest would be revealed once they got inside. 

So:

1. All twists and blockages, corrected 

2. J-pouch, sewn down (to my internal fascia— in case you were curious) to avoid future twists and blocks

3. plus, they discovered a hernia (wtf ?!) which was causing another blockage of its own. They fixed the hernia (that sneaky little b*tch...). 

After it was over the incredibly dashing Dr. K came out after, and Catherine Silber would like everyone to know that he hugged her…. TWICE

They super-glued me shut, gave me a Rx for pain, and, not-so-ceremoniously told me to go home (no beds).  

+ HOSPITAL NOTES: 

The experience of this surgery at Mount Sinai versus the experiences in 2020-21? Pretty stark. 

Many things were better: 

     - getting to remain with your next of kin right up until you walked in to the surgical area. 

     - no doctors in full hazmat suits and no more being separated by shower curtains 

But it was also many less good things such as 

- busier, louder, faster 

- much more hospitals-are-a-for-profit-business VIBE

- far less humanity, beside manner and general compassion. 

I felt a little “knocked around” and emotionally pulled in several directions about how I was supposed to feel ABOUT all of this (more on that later), and though I was told by the surgical team I would be in the hospital recovering for 2 days, I was very brusquely asked to leave. 

 

Anyway, what a roller coaster but it is behind me. (Maybe? They've said that before) Once again. 

 

I'm so glad for a chance to feel better after so many months of this limbo. 

And now? sleep.

Things I like about Alec: a List

Alec is currently in Edinburgh for all of August, for the third year in a row. It’s been quite the year of time apart— we will really only been together in bursts of 3-14 days from March til September. It’s been tough, but a challenge we are more than capable of rising to— after all, our love was born of, and fostered within, long-distance. Plus, it is an incredible indicator of our mutual professional/artistic abundance this year. Yay abundance.

All that said? I freaking miss him. And wanted a chance to list a few things I love about him— large and small. I love Alec. And you know I love me a list. 

So. Without further ado

Alec:

- has a deep, deep love for theatre and will discuss it at length with anyone, any time, any place

 

- is always up for a walk on our "favorite streets," always (I mean always)

- is always up for a laugh, always (I mean always)

- has a deep, deep love for board games and will discuss them at length with anyone, any time, any place (even strangers… in line at the grocery store)

- has the actual kindest eyes that sparkle like diamonds when he smiles therefore reducing me to a drippy pool of goo

- wakes me every morning with a kiss on the forehead and the question “will you be mine today?”

- he tells me I'm pretty, even when it is abundantly obvious that "pretty" is not what is happening, lol

- quite charmingly, does not really care about “sportsball” but cares a great deal about fantasy football (and extra charmingly, he once asked me what the “symbol” on my Tigers baseball t-shirt was to my extraordinary delight. Don’t worry, Detroiters: I set him straight)

- makes an out-of-this world traditional stir fry (it is apparently very important to use day-old rice)

- makes an equally out-of-this-world egg of any variety

- is, was, and continues to be very supportive about my Jewishness in all its iterations and colors and shapes and never gets judgey or squeamish about the word “G-d” and is always up to try new things and learn new things with chutzpah

- loves board games more than any person I have ever, ever known. So much so that he texts his best friend henry out of absolutely nowhere to explain in detail a special move he made in a board game he played by himself, and though the boxes of games have taken over our entire 800 square foot home, it is worth it to see his glee.

- sends me pictures of Tati even when we are all in the same room

- is the biggest, most passionate, most genuinely enthusiastic cheerleader to everyone he loves without a scrap of comparison or envy or anything other than astonishing genuine enthusiasm and celebration. 

 

- really hates to be wet (and will avoid activities with the excuse ".........sounds wet")

- puts so much love into the dinners he makes us, I swear I can taste the actual love like it is an additional spice

- is a bonafide master at playlist compilation assemblage AND naming (I'm telling you his skill level in this arena is wholly unmatched)

- is just so good— and I mean so, so staggeringly good— at being a Cat Dad

- is very very brave about his big big feelings

- truly appreciates when we go to a musical and I explain in staggering Wikipedia-like detail the entire history of the musical 5 minutes before it begins.

- takes longer than anyone I have ever known to hang something on a wall. A mirror, a frame. A hanging plant— my Gd. I bet he breaks records for  h o w  f r e a k i n g  l o n g  it takes him to hang a thing. Bless him. But it’s always straight as hell.

- knows that my favorite flowers are ranunculus and when he cannot buy me an actual ranunculus, sends me photos of them “just because”

- will pull over (in a nanosecond) to do something fun

- teaches me every single day (without being a jerk about it) about how to expand my thinking, empathy and capacity to connect with humanity, and also encourages people to be their very highest selves.

- is not afraid of taking giant, big, scary leaps into the unknown

- has *that* gene where he is incredibly good with little kids (and it isn’t put on, or dumbed down— just a genuine joy spent playing) 

- kisses like whoa

- will drop whatever he is doing when you tell him you are feeling down and do whatever it takes to ease the moment (sometimes that includes telling a story, sometimes a distraction, and sometimes just holding you in silence)

Things I am Leaving Behind Me, Right Now: a List

• things that no longer serve my highest self.
• worrying what others think.
• [within the reasonable realm of responsibilities] anyone/anything that doesn't promote inner peace.
• comparing myself to other people, in any manner.
  
• stressing about things I cannot change.
• worrying about unchangeable events that happened in the past.
• saying 'yes' when I really want to say 'no.'
• not prioritizing the things that truly matter.
• doubting my abilities, resilience, strength, courage, intelligence, or capabilities
• believing I don’t deserve things.
• holding on to past mistakes and defining myself by them for eternity.
• being hesitant to step into my authentic self.
• second-guessing 
•  procrastinating. 
• fetishizing having "less" needs
• not being fully present. 
• doom-scrolling 
• grudge-holding
  
• overthinking. rumination. obsessive thoughts.
• taking on more than I know I can give myself to, fully.
  

 

©Nick Bantock

 

Together again.

Alec is home. 

 

Since I left (for Chicago, in March) we've only shared a handful of days together-- 

5 days. 

12 Days. 

9 days. 

7 days. 

Here and there.

 

One handful in New York. 

Then Chicago.

Another in Sacramento. 

Back and forth. 

There and back again.

But too few here, in our beloved "Winter Palace" as a whole family with Tati.

 

He's back for 14 precious days before going away again (for his third annual August trip to Scotland, for the Edinburgh Fringe). 

 

When we first got together we courted long-distance with letters and phone calls and FaceTime and texting. It never felt like a chore to communicate. Remaining connected always felt natural and easy, in many ways pleasurable; and the love did thrive between Chicago and New York. We saw one another every three weeks or so (we learned that was the "max" pretty early on), learning that after the 21-day mark we became out of sync, forgot little things, became accustomed to solitude. 

Then the pandemic. Hyper-closeness. We were thrown together in 750 square feet and as two introverts perfectly suited to one another? We thrived where many suffered (and never to be forgotten: many did not literally survive).

All of that is to say: this is hard. But I acknowledge that, in a way, we are "victims" of our collective artistic abundance, the price of a life in art, can be sacrifices like this. 

 

So here is to soaking up these summer days in the glow of my love. 

 

And then one more Scottish separation before a fall together.

 

Home stretch, my love. 

Bon voyage. 

Take Off: Filming Five Women at an Airport

That’s a wrap on my first full musical production as director, and my first feature film as director, the glorious filmed musical, "Five Women at an Airport.
"

 

This piece. 

This experience. 

This team. 

These WOMEN. 



I will never know what I did to deserve this perfect alchemy of passion, commitment, humor, depth and talent— but we got it all and then some, all in 20 days that felt like 20 years. 

What we achieved artistically, emotionally, and all ahead of schedule (?!) was a miracle. 

 

A few months ago my dear friend lyricist, playwright, and musical book-writer David Goldsmith approached me about an idea conceived by the great Paul Gordon, who David describes as the "Jobs to his Woz," and this idea as the proverbial Silicon Valley garage. And you, dear audience will be the potential proof of their genius concept.

 

David and his fellow creatives Wendy Perelman (book) and John Kavanaugh (music) had a piece of material that they deeply believed in. 

A piece of musical theatre they felt needed to be seen. 

They called that piece “Five Women At An Airport.”



 

At the same time, we had a broken industry. 

Paul and David wanted to figure out a way to democratize more than merely was what was produced and celebrated within it, but what was ever seen at all. 

They came up with an idea, and called it Virtual Stage Lab. 

They wanted to film our musical within weeks, not months; and not as a finished product, but as a video demo filmed on a stage at the highest possible level. The focus would be on the story, music, lyrics, and the performances of the actors. 

And then they intended to post it online, for free. For anyone and everyone to see the work, and the work of their colleagues and collaborators. 

If any productions came of it—or any licenses derived from it—all of those artists would share in a royalty pool that, in success, would bring them revenue in perpetuity. 

Plus everyone would get some beautiful footage, doing beautiful work. 



 

That was the idea.

 

I was entranced. And I cannot believe they asked me along for the ride. As the DIRECTOR. (I mean. Were they insane? Didn't they know the only thing I've ever directed in my life was countless scene study classes and like six Greek tragedies at a conservatory? What were shot lists? Who was going to costume this and design the lights and keep everyone on schedule? ME?! That's insane. That's for adults...)

 

They didn't care. David knew. He saw something in me I didn't even dare to see in myself.  It also came with the unparalleled trust of its genius creators John, and Wendy— who created a work of such indescribable truth and beauty; a work about real, mature, fully-embodied, nuanced women speaking to one another like real human beings. These are roles women can savor, relish and feast upon for eons to come. 



 

I’ll never fully have the language to express what this three weeks meant to me. 

I’ll say until my breath runs out: in show business it is not the work you make, where you make it or the tens of dollars we are sometimes paid for the privilege. It is, above all, about who we share it all with. 



 

 

None of this would have been possible without the entire technical team — Ian, Tais, Dylan and our magic MD Andy Collopy and genius Director of Photography, Konstantin Yelisevich. Dreamboats ALL. And above all; the literally jaw-dropping organization of our Stage Manager Morgan Holbrook who kept us on track at every turn. 



 

But to my beloved ladies — Bryonha Marie Kate Rockwell, Elena Shaddow Katy Geraghty and Cailen Fu— I have never had an experience like this. One of instant collaborative and temperamental alchemy. From the word “go” you generously offered me not only your time and infinite talents, but your trust and hearts and souls. Thank you for making my first directing experience such a dream. I passionately love you.



 

And now? That’s a wrap. 


See you at the movies. 


Director (and Karole)—out.

 

Watch this space in 2025 for the full feature film. 

 

"Return to sender. With consciousness attached."

Admission: I'm embarrassed about something.
 

Over the last few months I've allowed someone (who doesn't know me at all) to profoundly affect my self worth. Let me be clear: I let this happen.

I (think?) they passed judgement swiftly and harshly, and I absolutely allowed it to mentally and physically somewhat destroy me.

 

I can only assume they were jealous(?) I'll never know for sure.
They barely know me, and never communicated their feelings directly.

But whoa Nellie was it agonizing, and despite the agony of it all? I learned a lot. So rather than wallow, before I move on, I wanna share the lessons. Here is what I've discovered and re-discovered:


I. "Comparison is the Thief of Joy" 

Theodore Roosevelt had it right.  The more we focus on our own growth, the less we despair at what others have, and where others are in their individual journey.
 

Their success is nothing more than a perception.


2. Hoping for the "failure" of others does not make anyone a "winner."

Period.

 

3. Envy versus Jealousy

Social psychologist and best selling author Dr. Brené Brown defines the differences between jealousy and envy thus:

• ENVY occurs when we want something that another person has.
Envy can come with hostility: 

"I want that, and I don't want you to have it." 

"I also want you to be pulled down and put down."

• JEALOUSY: is when we fear losing a relationship or a part of a valued relationship that we already have.

She goes on to explain that it doesn't appear to be a singular emotion, 

but rather a toxic mashup of ANGER, SADNESS and FEAR—no wonder it packs a gut punch

 

4. Take responsibility for YOUR thoughts. 

Gosh this one is SO. HARD.

 

We must NOT give up our power to another person's emotions, POV thoughts or completely fabricated stories composed about us— founded or un. To quote Dr. Wayne Dyer: "what other people think of me is none of my business."

Another person's view of you is not your problem. (Okay okay: maybe if that person is an Autocrat who sends you to a prison camp for disagreeing with them...but EVEN THEN—your thoughts are your own)
But it sure as anything can become your problem—if you allow it.

 

5. Wow. We REALLY hate women.
And women? Let's not be part of the problem, shall we?
 

I am so deeply committed to the pure, unadulterated, obsessive, song wielding, mantra-chanting uplifting of other women.
 

It is one of my missions. I try to spread uplift and light and affirmation and the fortification of every person I meet, wherever I go. ESPECIALLY OF OTHER WOMEN.
 

I OWN that I experience envy like anyone else! But I always try to get real with myself about it, and take pains never to punish the object of my envy. I know the universe is an abundant place.
Further, I feel extraordinary gratitude to the women in my life who celebrate all of that with me. Finally,

 

6. Everyone is fighting a silent battle. Be kind.
Whenever I raged at the unfairness of how I thought I was being treated and perceived behind the scenes, I tried to soften, and remember that everyone has a silent battle we know nothing about.
 

I wish this same grace had been extended to me.

Sometimes we assume someone "has it all" or has bad, malicious or manipulative intentions. That CAN be true, but more often than not, someone's behavior is stemming from something that has nothing to do with us.

It's a tough world out there—doom-scrolling, hustle culture, the pressures for people to be "it all" from successes, to parents, to perfectly beautiful, to strong (but not too strong). Then there's mental health, family and social pressures, internal expectations; fighting to be a good parent, partner, friend; fighting for justice, fighting to stay in shape, fighting to cook more often and eat out stress, fighting against the behaviors of those who make us feel weak, purposeless, and sad. Fighting abuse, fighting to put yourself out there, fighting for love.

Fighting to be who we are.
So. Much. Fighting.
 

Be kind.

 

*

 

So here I am: makeup-free but sexy as hell, without a colon, or a functional womb; my 20s and 30s behind me, and truly so grateful to be reclaiming my lost time. This is me after a helluva cathartic cry, flushed of this experienced, ready to truly let this go:

 

I don't have it all figured out, but I can say with my whole heart:

I genuinely wish this person every possible wave of inner peace, contentment, success, happiness, abundance; 

and above all? I wish them the awareness to go forth with as many lessons from the last few months as I gained from the energy they sent my way. "Return to sender. With consciousness attached."

 

 

As always:

Onwards with courage and integrity.