The day I was to dance at an open-air concert in Times Square I woke before the alarm, as is my custom, and slid out of bed into the quiet dark. Instantly, I knew something was wrong: The room was spinning. Or was I? Putting out my hand to steady myself, I couldn’t find anything to touch. I didn’t know if I was sitting, standing, or if I had fallen to the ground.

I woke my husband. “Do we still go to New York?” I asked him. “I’m so dizzy. Is this a bad idea?”

“Probably,” he said. “And you’re probably going to do it anyway.”

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