THE BRAIN ON THE CUTTING ROOM FLOOR
Last week, I had my first acting gig in over 20 years, a starring role in a
thrilling medical-disaster drama. Okay, I was an extra in a training video on
disaster response. But it was a lot of fun, and I did have three great lines:
“Okay, thanks,” “The seasonal vaccine,” and “Thanks a lot.”
Most of the time, my job was to play a doctor in the background of a POD
(point-of-distribution) clinic, a makeshift evaluation and treatment center
that can be set up in a library, a school gym, or other central location in
response to a large-scale emergency. While the experts demonstrated proper
screening and referral procedures in the case of a flu outbreak, my colleagues
and I ad-libbed off mike, and I got to interview and screen “patients” who
informed me, poker-faced, that they had been nasally impregnated by aliens or
had diagnosed themselves with exotic diseases they had read about on cereal
boxes. It was fabulous.
In one scene, though, I had to realistically “vaccinate” a “patient.” I was
given a collection of actual hypodermic needles, alcohol wipes, cotton balls,
and band-aids, and directed to talk soothingly to the patient & then have
at her, covering the business end of the needle at the dramatic moment so it
wasn’t clear that I wasn’t actually sticking her.
We ran through it once, and I thought I’d done rather well—until a nurse who
was watching said, “You want to tap the body after you pull down the plunger, to
release any air bubbles.” Right; I’d seen that done. No problem.
Except that then I held the needle upside down to tap the air out. And so
on. After I finally got the routine down, including the tricky
cotton-ball-to-band-aid transfer, we did it one more time. Everything went
smoothly, until I rolled up the patient’s sleeve and found that I had neglected
to remove the band-aid from the previous take. “Oh, shit,” I cried, loud enough
for the microphone to pick up.
Fortunately, everyone involved had a sense of
humor. But I’ve been thinking about how much rich material I probably miss,
through lack of attention. Good writing is dependent on sharp, specific
details. I need to watch, and remember, so much more than I do. I’m grateful
for the reminder.
Susan O'Doherty, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist with a New York City-based practice. A fiction writer herself, she specializes in issues affecting writers and other creative artists. She is the author of Getting Unstuck without Coming Unglued: A Woman's Guide to Unblocking Creativity (Seal, 2007). Her Career Coach column appears every Monday on Inside Higher Ed's Mama, Ph.D. blog , and she is a regular monthly panelist on Litopia After Dark. Send your questions to her at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.
But wouldn't it have been the responsibility of the actor playing the part of a patient about to receive an injection to remove the Bandaid for the next take?
Posted by: katharine weber | September 25, 2009 at 09:02 AM
It would have been nice if she had, but any actor can tell you that you need to be responsible for your own props. My concern is that there was so much I didn't notice.
Posted by: Susan O'Doherty | September 27, 2009 at 01:00 PM
I recently came across your blog and have been reading about disaster responses I thought I would leave my first comment. I don't know what to say except that I have enjoyed reading. Nice blog. I will keep visiting this blog very often.
Posted by: disaster response | November 30, 2009 at 09:19 AM