Janet Watson, wife of Tom Jones (of The Fantasticks) sent me to her chiropractor thinking I needed an adjustment, so I began seeing him once a week. He thought I needed an MRI, but the imbecile doctor sent me instead for more tests. Finally, on a Sunday morning in late September or early October, I went down to Union Square and had an MRI, and the results in: two crushed discs in my neck. This explained why, when I ate something, my esophagus expanded, huit the discs, and my left leg kicked. I still needed my idiot doctor and HMO to approve surgery. I had to go to London two weeks before Thanksgiving to attend rehearsa;s and performances for the BBC broadcast of Jubilee, and my condition worsened. I hope there would be a surgery approval by the time I returned. Well, there wasn't. When the taxi let me out at my apartment the Monday befre Thanksgiving, I dragged myself, my suit bag, and my bag of scores into the foyer of my building, took the first step up to the lobby, and fell up the stairs. Steve, the super at the time, was cleaning the lobby floor. He came over picked my bags in one hand, me in the other, and got me to the elevator and into my apartment.
