For those of you who don't know, European ballet demands skinny dancers. Ballet dancers in general are some of the worlds thinnest people, but on this continent, it's a necessity. This summer at the Bolshoi Summer Intensive, I was told I was fat for the first time by a ballet teacher. And here, now that I'm actually in Russia, it doesn't stop.

A regular phrase that my ballet teacher tells us is "Надо худеть" (pronounced "Nada who deet") which directly translates to "need to lose weight". And this upcoming week it's only going to get more frequently said. On Friday we have what's called Weigh In. In February there was a schedule posted saying on which days each class would have to report to the nurses office.

 

We all have to arrive, post ballet class, in only our leotards and tights, hair down and teeth as clean as possible. Then the ever chipper nurses (see previous posts for the backstory on the relationship with the medical staff) call us in one at a time and we stand on their scale and then they measure our height. Back into the waiting room.

 

Another nurse calls you into a room and she examines your hair and nails for malnutrition. No matter how clean your hair is, she tells EVERYONE that they have dandruff and that they need to go to the drugstore and buy a certain shampoo. I'm beginning to think that she's selling shampoo advertisements. Back into the waiting room.

 

Then the "dentist" calls you into her room and has you lay in her chair in her dingy room. She takes the cleaning instruments that she used on one of your classmates only a few minutes previously and swishes them around in water before sticking them in your mouth. So while you're thinking about all the germs your tongue is coming in contact with she's rattling on about how you need to have a certain tooth pulled or how your tongue is slightly too close to your teeth or how you have too much salvia and you need to see a doctor. 

 

Once this is all said and done, the head nurse makes a nice little report for your teacher to read. Then the next day at ballet class she tells you that you need to lose more weight. Last semester when I weighed in at 53 kilograms (116.8 lbs), she said I still had to lose 4 more kilos (about 8 lbs).  I did lose quite a bit of weight with my illness last month, but I have gained much of that back...

     

So that being said, while this is arguably the world's best training school, it's the best for a reason. 

So, two weeks ago, I was in Switzerland. Yeah that happened.

    One of my best friends here, Olivia, had an audition in Zurich and her Mom (who might read this blog post at some point, so HIIII) offered to pay for me to go along with her so that she wouldn't be all alone in yet ANOTHER foreign country. 

 

     So Friday after ballet class we headed off by taxi to the airport and flew for 4 hours while watching Sixteen Candles and sewing pointe shoes. And eating the free Swiss chocolate offered to us by the flight crew.

 

      You see, aside from being in Switzerland and the fact that that's really cool, Olivia and I were really excited about sleeping in a real, big, soft bed and showering in an actual shower (the hotel shower was probably the best shower I've ever used too) and eating food that didn't come from the academy cafeteria. 

 

       So basically, aside from the hour we spent actually sightseeing, Olivia and I laid in the beds and watched Netflix. Basically the extent of our trip. Bad tourists.

 

 

 

So, my fellow dancers, we're nearing Summer Intensive season.

This year I'm not attending any summer intensive, in favor of saving money and spending time with family and friends. But this blog post goes out to all of you who will be attending The Bolshoi Ballet Academy Summer Intensive (referred to as BBASI NY). Consider this your need to know things about the program based on my previous experience. Keep in mind that the rules and housing are significantly different this year but hopefully someone out there will be reading this and find it helpful.

    1) The summer intensive is huge. HUGE. Regardless of what companies and and academies may lead you to believe, all Summer Intensives are designed mainly for making money. The Bolshoi is no exception. The Russian students here in Moscow do not pay tuition, so the New York and Connecticut programs serve mainly as fundraising. Please be aware of this. The classes are over sized and a plethora of different kinds of dancers are accepted. I was assuming before I went that all the dancers would be bone thin and extremely talented, much like the image we receive of the academy. But honestly, many different body types are skill levels are invited. So on the note of the huge classes, I move to my second point. 

 

     2) The levels are random. Sure there's a slight order to them, in terms of best to worst, but honestly there are prodigies and dancers who lack luster in all the classes. The levels are named after the teacher who teaches them, rather than being numbered. I was placed in "Ivanova" indefinitely after being in "Pyatkina" for 3 days. Ivanova was technically ranked 2nd highest but like I said before, girls at MANY different skill levels were in my class. There were about 45 girls in my class. And one teacher. Bringing me to point 3. 

 

     3) Bolshoi teachers shamelessly play favorites. Here in Moscow AND at the summer programs. They do a pretty good job of being fair but Russians are very political. Students at BBASI can ask to be moved to a higher level and usually their wish is granted. Students with friends in high places in the dance world get special treatment. But in the individual classes each teacher has a few favorites and everyone else receives lesser attention. My teacher was one of the most fair out of all the teachers and she always made an effort to help even the worst in the class. But I had friends in other classes who never once got a correction from their teacher in the whole 6 weeks. I was blessed to have earned the favor of Ivanona and Gusev (my partnering teacher) and I firmly believe that their favor is what got me the invitation to study at the academy.

 

     4) Okay, final point. Everyone wants to be a favorite. It's slightly cut throat because getting into the academy is such a big prize and only people who get attention get in. Honestly, worry about getting better. Worry about improving. Your classmates are going to try and psych you out. They're going to give you dirty looks. The end performance is like, the final test to see if you're academy material and it's important to focus on yourself and your dancing. If your teacher sees that you're working hard and taking corrections well, they'll respond to that. Good work equals good attention. And that's true about all parts of life. 

    Here's another Emma fact for you all:  hospitals are in my top five fears. Right up there with airplanes and untimely death. I often say that I'd rather die than go to the hospital. Unfortunately, I don't really have that kind of guts and last week, I was forced to check myself into the hospital. Intrigued? Read my sad little story.

    So, some of my friends and I decided we wanted to try and see the ballet. We left on a Saturday right after lunch and stood in the bitter, bitter cold for almost 3 hours. I ended up getting a ticket along with my two roommates and our friend. However, two boys (Sterling and Kyle) who came with us had issues with their student cards and were unable to purchase tickets. So Morgan and I sold them ours because we both were freezing, tired and in vaguely grumpy moods. But before we headed home we decided to join the group for dinner. We went to this vegetarian restaurant that everyone at the academy always raves about and being the picky eater that I am, HATED the food. I got back to the dorms with a slight sick feeling in my stomach and passed out almost immediately. 

 

     At about 11pm, my Mom called me, worried because I had fallen asleep without telling her I made it back safe (even though I totally did) and upon hanging up I realized that despite my heavy sweat pants, sweater and wool socks, I was shivering and no amount of blankets could keep me warm. That night my fever crawled higher and higher until I actually started hallucinating about millions of sick Emma's all laying in my bed (I kept pushing them off the bed but they kept coming back). Desperate to escape my "clones" I retreated to the bathroom. And that's when the nausea hit me.

 

      HORRIBLE night. 

 

      The next day I started on the upswing. My fever broke and I kept down some water and applesauce. And the day after that, I had some juice and even some quinoa! I was feeling so much better! 

 

       Sadly, that evening, hell broke loose.

 

       Pardon the TMI details but my vomiting came back, this time accompanied by diarrhea. And even once everything I had ingested was gone, neither symptom stopped. That night, I only slept for about 30 minutes at a time and that was sitting on the bathroom floor leaning against the stall door. 

 

        Of course I was not about to suit up and take ballet class, so I stayed behind and Morgan was going to tell our teacher that I was sick. My teacher didn't like that too much. Demanding that Morgan tell me to go to the nurse and get a sick note to prove that I was actually sick. And believe me I was. At this point, my parents were worried. And even my friends in America who know I'm very independent and I like taking care of myself, started urging me to see someone. My friends at the academy were hovering around my room asking how I was, begging me to try and drink some Gatorade. 

 

         My plan had been to go to the nurse and say I had my period or something like that, so that they wouldn't freak out and send me to the hospital. But, when I informed my parents and best friends that my symptoms had become relentless and not to mention, full of blood, I was ordered all at once by about 5 people to go to the doctor immediately and ask to be taken to the Global Medical Center (which is where I had gone for my back injury. See previous blog posts.) 

 

          I could barely walk, and my head hurt so bad that I could barely think in English, let alone Russian. So aided by Google translate and several friends I explained to the nurse that I needed to go to this specific hospital TONIGHT. Needless to say, the nurses and doctors were angry with me but luckily, after seeing how drained I was and how I had been near to tears when my friends Morgan and Sterling brought me a bag of things to take to the hospital, they eased up on me and called a car to come pick me up. BUT, after they watched me throw up 3 times in 10 minutes, they decided to call an ambulance.

 

          So I rode in an ambulance for the first time. In Russia. 

 

          Right after I arrived to the hospital, I went straight to the bathroom and threw up, again. (Luckily though that was the last time I threw up.) 

 

          A nurse took me to a room with a bed and a huge bathroom and a huge tv and a table with chairs and handed me a bathrobe and said to change into it. Did I mention that this nurse didn't speak any English, regardless of the fact that she worked at a "western" hospital? Because she definitely didn't speak any English. And my doctor also, who walked in as I was doubled over on the bed in pain, spoke only broken English. Because of my extremely distressed state and the language barrier, clear communication about what was wrong with me wasn't made. They gave me an IV, turned off the lights and told me to sleep.

 

         I was confused, at a dangerously low weight, freezing cold, and in need of the restroom every 30 minutes because of the rapid speed that I was being rehydrated with.

 

         Luckily, in the morning I was greeted by a nurse who was friendly and spoke fluent English. And then a doctor different than the one I had the previous night came in, and in perfect English, inquired me about how I was feeling. With a clear picture of my condition she brought me medicine completely different than what I was given the previous night. And within hours I began feeling better. 

 

       One of the difficult things about all this is that recently I had turned 18. Which means that my medical records and conditions are private and only released at my discretion. I would try to relay information to parents and friends but, I've never really been a details person and honestly I did a horrible job at keeping people informed because I've never received so many worried texts and calls, despite the long distance phone charges. No worries though, eventually I convinced my insurance company that I was healthy enough to consent to giving my Mother direct feeds of information and updates. 

 

        After 3 nights and almost 3 days, I was fully hydrated, keeping food down and sleeping.  Finally getting sent home with medical records saying that I had somehow come down with TWO viruses and an infection. My ballet teacher at the academy was very anxiously awaiting my arrival. Worried sick, as I was her first student to ever be admitted to the hospital. 

 

        Once it was all said and done and I was laying comfortably in my own dorm bed with my own clothes on, one of my best friends messaged me saying, "Okay. We need to have a little chat about your limit before you go to the doctor because you're a painfully stubborn person." 

 

        And because I am such a good humored person, I laughed. 

Sorry it's been a while since my last blog post.  Our wifi router stopped working.  Now it works, but only in the student lounge.  Friends from the US came to visit for a few days.  Then I spent a week quite sick.  Including 3 nights in the hospital here in Moscow.  That story is forthcoming. 

In the meantime:

Snippets of things over heard in ballet class:

    "My brain feels like someone drenched it in oil and fried it." 

    "Was it at least good oil? Like coconut oil?" 

    "Not even. It's crappy canola oil."
 

    "Honestly Leonova (the principal of the academy) is way scarier than Putin. I think the USA is worried about the wrong Russian."
 

    "I took a double dose of DayQuil and honestly, I think I'm a bit drunk."
 

    "Oh blue leotards. I love looking like an Oompa Loompa." 

    "Wait, Oompa Loompas aren't blue." 

    "My childhood memories are all lies."
 

    "I'm not gonna die happy until I go to a Russian Discotecha (a Russian dance) where they play more than Pitbull and Lady Gaga." 
 

    "That awkward moment when the Djornya calls you fat."
 

    "Wait, the sun is shining and I'm really not sure I'll be able to dance today. I need darkness to thrive. Do not hold me responsible for my adagio."
 

    "There are about 7 different languages being spoken right now and it's giving me low key anxiety."
 

    "I'm 19 now. I feel like I should pay taxes."
 

    "You know, at home you're a god for getting into the academy. And when you get here, it is far less glamorous. My bedroom lights actually turned on today." 

    "That breakfast meat looks like the steaks that Alex the Lion eats in Madagascar." 

For some reason, all the teachers here at the academy don't tell us their names. I think we're just expected to know their names already. That being said, I don't know my character teachers name, but he's easily one of our favorites. Because my class is mostly Japanese students, he often starts counting in Japanese instead of Russian, sending them all into fits of giggles. He always jokes around, his many facial expressions and voices are easy to mimic and laugh about on the sides. Morgan, Yumiko (a japanese girl who's the best in our class) and I often mimic his sound effects until he hears us and starts laughing and shaking a finger in our direction.

Last week, he had downloaded a flashlight app onto his smart phone. However a popup offering that he buy the extended version appeared, but it was in English. So he walked over to me as I was putting my shoes on for class, and said in Russian, "I don't know English, could you help me?" After directing him in the right direction he stood and ceremoniously bowed in a Japanese fashion. 

 

And his reaction to me sitting out of class because my back was hurting? "Oh, your back hurts? Then my heart hurts."

Anyone who knows me, knows that I deal with back pain on a 24/7, daily basis. Diagnosed with spinal degeneration, in short, the cartilage in my lower back is either pulled tight or pinched depending on the vertebrae. Last time I had it checked (in late September, shortly before coming to Moscow) I had reached the 4th out of 5 categories in severity. There's no cure and since I'm super stubborn and I love ballet, I'm ignoring my chiropractor's suggestion to quit dancing for now at least.

So since it's been bothering me more than usual, I decided to head down to the Academy doctor's office to complain and get a slip of paper, excusing me from class for a few days. My plan was just to go have her look at me and say to rest, because since my back pain is lifelong all I really need is a short mental health break before going back in.

Let's just say things did not go as planned. 

 

The doctor was in a bad mood when I got there. Angrily asking what was wrong I told her my back was sore. She FLIPPED OUT. Telling me how bad that was and how I was a stupid dancer for hurting it in the first place. She sent me back outside to the waiting room and said she'd be making phone calls and by nighttime I'd be in a hospital. So, since I'm a person who'd rather die than go to the hospital, of course I was unnerved. I tried to explain that I had seen a doctor in America and I knew what was wrong and I just needed to rest. That made her even more mad. She told me I was stupid and disrespectful and to go to the nurse so that they could have data such as my temperature to give to the hospital. Turns out I had a fever. So when I had to report my temperature to the doctor she scolded me for being selfish and not coming to the doctor sooner and telling her because soon I would infect the whole school and when no one could dance it would be all my fault.

 

So after all that, arrangements were made for me to go the Global Medical Center and I was not pleased. I called my Mom at 4:30am her time asked what I had to do. I had to go to the ATM to get 7000 rubles to pay for this myself since it was too early in the morning for the Academy to contact my insurance. But neither of my debit cards were working. Then I briefly thought I lost my passport. So when Morgan asked me if everything was okay I just started crying and hyperventilating to the point when Morgan decided she'd be accompanying me to the hospital. 

 

Once we got there, I had to fill out my own hospital forms. And I decided that I didn't want to be a grownup. After a short wait I ended up in an exam room with a doctor saying that the doctor at the Academy requested X-rays and thankfully he didn't deem that necessary. He told me to take off my boots, jeans and t shirt and proceeded to administer mediocre chiropractic care. Surprisingly it worked. 

 

So 6 hours after this all started I finally arrived back at the academy it was dinner time. I thought, "Wow, I'm lightheaded with hunger and I have a splitting headache. Surely I can eat before seeing the doctor again." I was wrong. A nurse came into the dining hall and demanded that I go see the doctor right. this. second. So I went and the devil started yelling again because I guess she just likes yelling. I just answered, "Da." to every question because I was too tired to try and translate. 

 

And like a soldier from battle, I left that room waving a little, green sheet of paper saying that I didn't have to dance for 5 days.