Months ago, my brother purchased tickets for the two of us to see an evening performance of The Nutcracker at the New York City Ballet.  As children, my mother would bring us to see The Nutcracker every year.  She always bought the cheapest seats up in the fifth ring.  We looked upon the stage at the dancers that looked like toys inside a music box from so high above.

Now, when we go to the ballet, we sit in the orchestra – as close to the stage as we can get.  The dancers are real and their skill so eloquently displayed for our pleasure and amazement. 

Three days ago, my boss handed me an invite he received from The New Yorker magazine to attend a brunch and matinee screening of The Nutcracker – today – the same day my brother and I planned to attend the evening performance.  So, we decided to see it twice!

We enjoyed a lovely bunch buffet with the staff and fellow advertisers of The New Yorker at the Empire Hotel and then made our way one block over to Lincoln Center.  Nothing feels more like the holidays than New York  in December!  Everything is lit up in lights, people bundle up in hats, scarves and gloves, trees are decorated in every square, stores proudly display their holiday windows…  Most of all, there is a magic in the air.

So, we stopped in front of the tree in Lincoln Center for a moment to take in its beauty before wandering over to the opera house to purchase tickets to both Hansel and Gretel and La Boheme.

We watched as well dressed boys and girls filled the City Center and took our seats.  Now matter how many times I see it, I am still taken aback each time the Christmas tree rises from the floor to 50-foot heights. I still experience childlike joy at the dances of the tea, the candy canes and the Sugar Plum Fairy.  I am awed when her consort pulls her on point across the stage (an astounding skill).

When the ballet ended, we had about four hours to kill before the second showing.  We walked up one block to the movie theater and saw Go Baby Go – and contrastingly heavy (but well-done) film.

We stopped in the restaurant inside Avery Fisher Hall for a light dinner.  Michael ordered a blueberry cosmopolitan and I had a raspberry belini.   He had the tri-color salad and I dined upon the endive, beet and goat cheese salad.  He enjoyed the veal lasagna and I ate a seared salmon fillet with Kale.

Our meal was just the right combination of light and tasty.  We paid the bill, walked outside – about 15 feet to the fountain in the middle of Lincoln Center and my bother said, "I can't breathe. My chest hurts." 

He looked pale. His lips were blue.  Now, it's cold outside, so pale skin and blue lips don't have to mean anything more than just cold.  We sat down by the fountain for a few minutes and then made our way into the ballet.

We walked up to the second floor to look at the gift shop when he said, "I think something is wrong. My chest hurts.  I can't breathe."  I took him out onto the balcony and we sat for a few minutes.  He did not look good at all.  I told him to stay there while I informed an usher that my brother (he's 27yrs old, by the way) was having trouble breathing.

Within moments, the theater manager and the house doctor arrived an began taking an assessment.  Meanwhile, the performance had begun.

My bother's condition quickly worsened.  He started turning purple.  His eyes and face began to puff up.  He could hardly speak.  We got him into an ambulance and into Roosevelt Hospital, where we identified that he was having an allergic reaction to something he ate and going into anaphylactic shock.  By the time they gave him IV Benadryl, he was completely purple, itching, unable to breathe and puffed up.  Thankfully, the drugs worked quickly and within moments, the swelling went down.  I stayed there with him until he stabilized and returned to normal.  Within a few hours, he was totally fine.

The theater manager kindly offered to help us arrange to see the ballet on a different night.  The entire staff at Lincoln  Center was truly wonderful and efficient in handling the situation.  I cannot thank them enough. 

Michael is fine now.  Both he and I are in our respective homes and almost ready for bed after what has turned out to be an interesting and dramatic day.

(More on my birthday dinner at the Dupy Canal House later)