The chronic, increasing, sometimes-doubling-over abdominal pain finally won the battle 30 hours, three Broadway shows, three celebrities, two museums, one tap class, one theater tour, one new-boyfriend meet and seven friend reunions short of the complete birthday Broadway vacation I'd planned. I decided it was best to get home and in the care of my own doctors on the off chance the pain is an indicator of something serious enough to warrant surgery or a hospital stay. My initial assumption that it was just another miserable side effect of my bipolar meds seems entirely misguided at this point, so home I go. And as disappointed as I am, I know it's the smart decision.
So now all eyes are laser-focused on next year! Watch out, NYC: I'll be 50 and wealthy beyond description and cured of all abdominal pain and bipolarness and if I'm not already starring in three Broadway musicals simultaneously I'll be coming to see every sequin and kickline ya got.
And I'm totally bringing my tap shoes again.
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