The show, or life, must go on

I've been a bit under-the-weather this week, which got me thinking about Lucy's approach to health and wellness.

Madame Ricardo was rarely sick, though the art of feigning illness was a well-played card in her deck. Any true injury or malady suffered was usually a condition Lucy accidentally brought upon herself in a botched attempt to reach a goal.

Been there, done that.

In Episode 3, "The Diet," Lucy will stop at nothing to lose twelve pounds in four days, a metamorphosis that would make her just the right size for a dancing costume in Ricky's show at the Tropicana. Lucy's self-imposed diet/exercise program is more punishing than any stunt on "The Biggest Loser" (have any of those contestants ever spent five hours in a pressure cooker box or wrestled table scraps from a dog?). Doubtful that she'll lose the weight, Ricky hires another dancer. Fortunately, when that dancer quits at the last minute, Lucy has successfully shrunk herself down to size and steps in to much applause. Unfortunately, the poor dear has to be wheeled away on a stretcher post-performance due to malnutrition - but not before handing Ethel a set of keys to the closet where the dancer who "quit" is trapped, bound and gagged. (The moral of the story? Dieting makes us crazy. I have too many stories in this vein to recount.)

No matter how horribly Lucy mutilated herself in the name of stardom, she always went on with the show, a most admirable trait.

In Episode 20, "The Fashion Show," Lucy eagerly volunteers to walk the runway for famous designer Don Loper as a "celebrity wife." All of the wives will be wearing their own dresses from his salon, Loper explains. No problem, figures Lucy, who doesn't actually own one of the exclusive garments: She'll just buy a dress, one simple dress. "You didn't ask how much it costs," hisses Ethel in the showroom. "Ethel, you don't ask the price in a place like this," says Lucy. "You don't?" "Of course not," explains Lucy. "You wait until they turn their back and sneak a look at the price tag."

No backs are turned, so Lucy blindly purchases a dress and waits until she gets back to the hotel (this was during the California season) to check the tag, which reads a whopping $500. The gown has already been altered to fit and can't be returned, so Lucy figures her only hope is to spend the day at the pool and get horribly sunburned - Ricky wouldn't dare hit her then, would he?

Ricky doesn't lose his temper, but Lucy endures a terrible amount of physical pain nonetheless when Loper switches her runway look to a scratchy tweed suit at the last minute (such a soothing fabric against angry red skin). Still, she staggers through the show, albeit stiffly.

The closest I ever came to a moment like burnt-to-a-crisp Lucy's was long ago, back when I was a young aspiring actress in a touring production of "Godspell." The night before a big performance I clumsily dropped a glass on my foot, leaving a gash deep enough in my big toe to require stitches. The show must go on, my director reminded me (as did my moral compass, set to follow in the footsteps of Lucy). I made it through our next two performances in a wheelchair, which screwed up the dance numbers considerably but made me an audience favorite. Took me a while to figure out this was because they thought I was actually disabled, but whatever.

Years later, as a single mother, I find Lucy's brand of stubborn stamina an inspiration in surprisingly practical ways. Just because I wake up with a fever of 103 doesn't mean my kids don't need their breakfasts made, their lunches packed, and a ride to school. The show must go on, my inner Lucy reminds me.

And so it does.