When sweat and prickly heat take over my life and I tend to have a mental melt-down literally and despair can set in, even at my happiest. Just last week, I had this sweetheart of a part, but because of several things abutting or even colliding all at once in my life, the part was lost. If it wasn't my fault, who could I possibly blame? The heat? My reaction to the heat? Was it my Mp3 player/recorder's reaction to the heat or was it all three? Let me explain; I am not a happy camper when I am hot. Actually I don't camp, either. In fact, I become an unusually unorganized individual similar to a bowl of disoriented jelly or a mélange of incoherencies. Last week was one of the hottest weeks on record and even if it wasn't the humidity made it so within my own skin.
I used to live in Phoenix, AZ or rather I grew up in Phoenix Arizona. If you know anything at all about the weather in Phoenix, you know that summer there is six months long and at the height, June - August is some of the most brutal times to live or visit. I bring up Phoenix because I used to get prickly heat on my neck and back something fierce during the summer months unless I was within a constant breeze. The natural ecosystem of Phoenix is starting to change, but I hazard a guess that it is still its hottest during those aforementioned three summer months.
I lived there for nineteen years of my life and I can tell you I had prickly heat for at least half of my life there. After leaving Phoenix, I realized if I kept my skin cool, most of the time I could avoid prickly heat. Staying out of overly hot rooms for more than 20 minutes could assure my body's avoidance of that painful occurrence. Prickly heat, according to a medical website occurs when the person is over heated and cannot sweat, but for me that is only half right. In the summer I can get and usually am overheated and I do sweat.
All my life, I have been a sweat-er and in the summer have had minor bouts of the prick-like pins and needles under my skin, usually on my face and sometimes on my back and occasionally on my neck. When it would start on my skin, I would immediately put a wet towel directly on the affected area and after several hours; two or three hours later I'd emerge a new person ready to conquer the heat or really avoid it. Last week, I had this great part in a new opera and I was excited to perform in it, when a heat wave screeched into New York City and hovered for about 10 days straight.
The third day of heat wave, I was in the composer's apartment singing through the score. My Mp3 recorder was rebelling after I'd paused it during a part that the composer was explaining why this section was written the way it was written. The Mp3 recorder stopped dead in its tracks, possibly from the heat in the apartment, but with much pushing of buttons, prayer, and cajoling on my part, the Mp3 recorder started up again and recorded, I thought. Imagine the environment, 86 degrees with humidity about the same, with no fan just a breeze through a distant window. I'd already gone through most of my paper towels to wipe the sweat from my face and neck, especially after the first hour of going through the score. To say, I was soaked would have been an understatement. For me after sweating all that time, I was exhausted and the composer being young male, he'd forgot to offer me water. In his defense, I neither asked for water until we were finished going through the score. It was a terrific score and fun, with various mixes of music with great notes for my tessitura. I was in heaven vocally because even though some of the notes were written lower the composer said I could transpose them up.
My plan once I got home was to re-listen to the music on my Mp3 player and practice, with the wet cloth on my forehead, but the heat had evidently gotten to the Mp3 player because I couldn't hear it through my headphones. AaaaGH! I could barely hear it through the speaker I'd recently bought for it. I felt as though I was in a minor dilemma. I could still marginally play it with one hand. I don't play the piano well enough to accompany myself even for the simplest piece of music. Practice, I did over the course of the next two days. My Mp3 recorder had been tested and had recovered, so I took it to rehearsal on Monday night in a rehearsal space that was even hotter than the composer's home. I was definitely screwed and I could tell. There was a bit of air coming through an open window for a time, and finally the other windows were opened during the first break, thankfully. The fan was even turned on at that point. After the first half of rehearsal my Mp3 recorder was no longer recording. I tried to use my phone to record, which just spoke out loud prayers that I'd already recorded previously instead of recording. My clothing was drenched. My skin on my face, neck, back and even my arms were beginning to burn from within. My body was turning into a big giant prick of pins and needles all over now and I still had an hour to go in this rehearsal. Sitting in front of the window did no good, since there was no breeze anymore. During the second break an overhead fan was turned on, but at the end of the break because it stirred the pianist's music, it had to be turned off. An Equity monitor was there to adhere to the time constraints within the rehearsal, but not the heat restraints. Does that make any sense? Cruel rules at best, I think. It certainly didn't make sense to me. The rain had subsided, but had not cooled the night off at all.
To say that I was restless was an understatement. I wanted to scratch every inch of my body, but knew that would look bad to the other six singers there. We were all hot, so it was not just me. Someone made the comment that they'd have to wear swimsuits the next evening for rehearsal to be able to stay in the room. Others agreed. I thought about it seriously for a second, but since I rarely go to the beach I don't believe I even have a swimsuit at this time. No, that was not an option. This time, I'd gone through all of my paper towels. They were all wringing wet they were so wet with sweat. My deodorant was barely hanging on. My hair was completely wet and I was exhausted and hungry.
During the rehearsal with the itching and wetness on various parts of my body I was no longer in the caring mood of reaching for those beautiful notes I knew I had in my range. I just really wanted to be out of that room and into any room that had air conditioning, so I could be prick less and cool again. Stepping out in the hallway was a bit of relief, but still not optimum. Outside was cooler still, thankfully. I decided to go to a nearby 24-hour drug store, in hopes of securing some apple cider vinegar. Earlier I'd read that would calm the prickly heat considerably. There was none to be had, but at least I found something to eat right away and also it was cool, cold actually in the store, so I was less itchy, while I was in the store. I was beginning to be coherent again.
Luckily, at home, I had white vinegar and patted my skin where all the prickly heat itched before and after my shower. I was finally cool inwardly and outwardly and slept like a baby. Aaah! The next day, I was released from the opera. I pleaded my case about the heat, but never mentioned my Mp3's failure. I was upset for a time that I would not be doing the opera, but in reality my skin was happy because it would not have to go through another grueling day of trying to protect itself by imploding with prickly heat. My heart was breaking but my skin was rejoicing. I know my skin was right I would not have been able to take four more days of heat in that room.
