Sasha and Duke came to visit me the day before I was to begin my therapy. I was almost embarrassed to see them in this condition, but I have to admit it was nice to see someone from the band. They told me that Billy would be along in a few days, but Junior was not well. He could no longer travel. No mention of Debby, I was maybe too afraid to ask. Elise added, “Linda is calling for her daily updates from California.” Duke told me that he had “Taken up chess and I am going to come by and teach you how to play.” I told him “Please just write songs so that we can get back in the studio as soon as I can stand again.” He used the now dirty word that begins with “R” and I told him “Please don’t use that word again!” I told him I was “not going to be here long.” He smiled back at me. I don’t think Sasha could handle as she didn’t stay long. She mostly stood in the hallway talking with Elise. I heard them both crying at one point. Duke did his best to divert my attention. Duke asked me if I minded if he contacted Sam the driver and asked him to “Join us on stage on our first visit back to the area.” I thought that was a great idea and asked him to “Make it happen.”
The next day was possibly the worst day of my life, other than the day I was injured. I was in so much agony just trying to sit up. That was the goal for the day, to sit for one hour. The hospital staff took their time, but I was finally unstrapped and sitting in a normal sitting position without my back sitting against the back of the bed. Again the doctor pushed and pulled and moved my body where all that contortion made me in gut wrenching pain. Doc told me what a good sign it all was that it hurt so much. He tried to convince me that somehow that meant I was healing. Well it was the first time in a month or more my body was in that position. The staff eventually moved me to allow my back to rest up against the bed in an upright position. I could now feel all the sores on my body from being in one position for so long. Nurse Kate again took a cool cloth and wiped the wounds where I had been lying for weeks. The good news was that once I was taken from all the straps I could wiggle my toes and actually move my legs slightly on my own. I could lift my arms even if one was heavier than the other with a brace on my left hand. Both my arms and legs felt like iron weights. Who knew it could take most of the morning to sit up and contort your body in ways that were so simple for thirty years. Elise was putting on a happy smile, but she left the room for part of the ordeal. She could see not only the agony, but also the fear of the unknown emanating from my face.
This went on for a few more days. The plan was to eventually get me so that I could stand on my own, if only for a brief time. At that time, I would be transferred to a place closer to home. I thought it took discipline to sit for hours and create a piece of music. I never considered it would take just as much to sit up. I was becoming exhausted from the little bit of therapy. All the pain I was in after the staff moved me about in my bed was overwhelming. Nurse Kate and my night nurse Emily, did all they could to appease me. But I was now angry that I could not get up and walk away. They kept insisting for me to listen to my doctors, all would be ok. I knew that the hospital was no place to heal with all the noises in the hallway as well as the constant monitoring they had to do.
After a few days I could move my arms and legs around in the bed. I could roll from one side then the other and sit up on my own. The staff seemed so happy they were going to move me to a local physical therapy center where I would begin to learn how to walk again. The plan was to keep me there maybe two weeks, then transport me back to North Carolina or even New York. Since my kids were more comfortable in North Carolina, we decided it would be easier for Elise to be there. It meant a forty five minute drive each way to see me, but at least she could go back home at night.
Elise arranged for all the nurses and staff to get a dozen roses and a nice gift certificate. They were trying their best, but I was too angry to notice. I did sign and have Duke, Sasha and Elise autograph a few albums as well for my nurse Kate. She did ask me a few days before being released.
The first time they put me in the wheel chair my legs felt like a ton of bricks. They dropped straight to the ground as if I had no control over them at all. The staff had to do it, so that I could be taken to the rehabilitation center. Once at the center the goal was to get me on my feet, and sit in a chair on my own. The people at the center were not as pleasing as the nurses at the hospital. They really pushed me to work hard. It was so much harder than I ever imagined to attempt to walk by putting one foot ahead of the other and move my body again.
I was so angry now. I felt so worthless to my family and my band. The staff reminded me that I was making good progress, but I didn’t feel that way. Maybe the anger was working against me in my recovery, or maybe it was driving me to get home. I really didn’t know. I only knew I was becoming an angry man for what had happened to me. The pain in my back was hard for me to take though I was still on very strong medications. Atrophy had set into my legs. Trying to walk on them was made even harder. Every morning they would take me into a room where parallel bars were set up. I was to straddle along them to walk about ten feet. I think it took me almost twenty minutes to walk the ten feet that first day. In the afternoons, Duke who I found out rented an apartment in the area to assist Elise and stay close to me, would come over and harass me until I agreed to play chess. Every time I tried to talk about the next album he would scold me and only say “Your move sucker.” He was a good friend, even if I didn’t want to admit to anything good during that time in my life.
One day while playing chess, Duke had a tear in his eye and asked “Dylan I have to tell you what my greatest fear was when I heard you were badly injured and maybe would not survive?”
“Oh what’s that” I replied?
He said “I had been in three bands before I joined The Overture. You were the only person who treated me like my brother. Everyone else looked at me only as the bass player and nothing more. You took me into your band, listened to my thoughts, and even asked me to write music. No one ever wanted anything more from me than to show up, bang on my bass and go home. I owe you a great deal. I was afraid I would never be able to tell you.”
“Get over it Duke, I even listen to Billy.” We both laughed because even though Duke didn’t always pretend to enjoy my humor, he understood me. He still took my king in about thirty moves so apparently he didn’t appreciate me enough to let me win just one game of chess.
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Chapter 18
As planned, I was soon moved to a center about forty five minutes from my home in North Carolina. Soon I was able to sit and even walk a few feet with the help of a walker. My hand had healed enough to sit in a chair and attempt to strum some chords with my guitar. However my fingers were still too weak to get good coordination. I would need strong fingers for my solo work. After I was there for a few days, they let my daughters come visit me. The first time I held the two of them I had such mixed feelings. I still felt the anger for losing this feeling for the last two months, but also felt relief that maybe one day I could return to my past life. I knew however I was somehow a changed man. It seemed all I had believed in was now gone. I felt angry at people I had no reason to be angry with.
Twice a week Dr. Summers would come along and want to talk with me about my emotions. I spoke about my anger. When he tried to question me about it, I would get angrier. I would occasionally get angry with Elise, there was no excuse for that, yet it happened. The more I wanted life to go back to the way it was before I got in that old Chevy, the angrier I got at the world. The only reprieve I got was the time Billy showed up to see me.
Billy sat there for hours telling me dirty jokes and trying to make time with all the nurses who dared to walk within twenty feet of my private room. He reminded me again about the time he too broke his hand in a bar fight. He assured me it was only a matter of time before I got all the dexterity back in my fingers. Somehow I knew he was more of the expert than the hand specialist who came to see me and told me it might be six months or more to regain full strengt
h. At least that’s what I tried to convince myself. Billy stayed overnight and stopped by again the next day. He told me that his blues band was doing well in the Chicago area. He had produced his first album with the band on his own, and it was released by a small blues label out of Chicago. I was really pleased he was having success with his band. For a day or so, my anger dissipated. For all his shortcomings Billy knew how to light a room and make it fun.
Linda started to call me once a week when I made it to the rehab center in North Carolina. Up until that time she would call and gets reports from Elise. Once I was stable and could pick up the phone in my room, she started to call me direct. We would mostly talk about music and how happy and excited she was after joining us on the last album and tour. She started talking like it was a given that she would continue with The Overture and not worry about being a solo artist any longer. I assumed the rest of the band would agree to make her a full member, but I would take it up with the band at a later date.
She wanted to know if she could come and visit so we could start writing as a team again. I told her once I was home at least on a part time basis that would be fine. At the end of her latest call I asked her if she had spoken to Debby. “Uhm, well no but every once in a while, sorta, why do you ask Dylan,” she replied. I could always tell when Linda was not telling me the entire truth. “Well, it’s just over three months now since I was in the accident and not even a card or a call from her, it’s all very odd to me”, I replied back. “Does that seem odd to you?” Linda responded back, “I know she is regularly updated but she has been keeping her distance for now.”
Now I was really curious. “How do you know that, because this is the first I have heard anything like that since the accident.” Linda became sheepishly quiet for a few moments and would only say, “Dylan my dear friend, you need to worry about you right now, the rest of us will take care of Debby. I have said too much and now. I must go, worry about you and not the others for now, please.” Linda quickly hung up the phone. I was now very curious as to what was going on and called home to speak with Elise. Elise at first acted like she knew nothing until I said that “Linda has already let on that something is going on with Debby.” Elise had a long pause and a sigh and would only say essentially the same thing as Linda would which was, “Debby has hit a rough spot. She is being cared for and didn’t want you involved. That is all you are going to know for now, so worry about yourself and by the time you are healed, Debby will come and see all of us.”
Now I was sitting in my bed with fumes spewing from my ears and nostrils like one of those raging bulls in Bugs Bunny cartoons. I can barely walk ten feet without needing a rest. I am again feeling totally helpless and worthless that I can’t help my lifelong friend, who it seems, is in need of my assistance. Plus I am angry that everyone around me seems to know what is going on with her, but I am being shut out. I wanted to say a prayer for my friend, but I was so angry with my God for putting me in this situation in the first place, I didn’t dare ask for help. I was doing everything I could not to put on some fresh clothes and leave the center. Unfortunately, I knew it was not going to do me any good to leave. Where and what was I really going to go or do? I didn’t know where Debby was, and let’s face it, I had no car. Since I could walk ten feet on a good day, it was not going to get me very far. I called Debby’s house but there was no answer.
The next morning was my visit with Dr. Summers. I wanted to talk about the situation with Debby. Why would others want to keep the news about her away from me? The only reason I picked on him was because the staff really didn’t have time to listen to me. Duke was back in New York for a few weeks working as a studio musician to keep busy. He started talking about prescribing anti-depressant drugs for me. That only fueled my anger. I was on far more medications for the back pain then I ever wanted. I had taken very good care of my body all these years in eating properly and never ingesting drugs or alcohol, but I could feel my body slipping away. Who would not be depressed over not being able to do the things they always took for granted a few short months ago? I told him I didn’t want any more drugs and his only response was “It will help in your complete healing process.”
“It will only make it so that I can’t ever write another hit song because my mind will be fried” was my response to more medications.
“You have been through a dramatic time Mr. James, this will help” was Dr. Summers last comments before leaving the room. I was determined not to take any more medications.
I was going to go crazy if I had to stay in the center full time much longer. I had been there for about three months. I was progressing to the point where at least I could walk with a walker for a fair distance, and a cane for a shorter one. I didn’t see a reason why I could not stay at home now and come in for treatment. I was told to be patient, that I still needed daily therapy. The summer was ready to give way to fall and I wanted so badly to be home for Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. I picked up my intensity in my work outs so that I could achieve that goal. My legs were no longer the issue. They had regained their strength. It was more the lingering back issue, and my hand was not at full strength. Even though the doctors and staff at the center were all great, the army would send over their specialist for wounded soldiers to keep an eye on my progress. I was not a veteran, but the army took a special interest in my well being. I was appreciative of their efforts. The doctor they sent started to offer me some exercises to help my hand and fingers gain strength. I would do those every chance I got since that was my life blood, my hand and fingers.
Just before Labor Day, Linda gave me a call and informed me that the record label asked if we would do a follow up to our 1950’s album, only this time with 1960’s classic songs. I reminded her that I was not really in any position to make the record. She understood, maybe. I think it was an incentive to heal quicker, as if I needed one. I told her that I would love to do it, but all indications were that it could be another year before I would have the strength to do it. She disagreed and pushed me for a response. I would only agree to proceeding when the time was right. Linda really didn’t like that response and told me she was going to “Come and see you soon to get your head right. You have sat on your ass long enough now get over yourself and start to think about not only the 60’s record but the next Overture release as well. I will see you in a few weeks. Let’s hope your disposition can improve by then. Life is going to keep going on even if you don’t want to participate in it right now Dylan.”
Next thing I heard was the click of the phone in my ear. I thought about calling her back, but I was sure they would come and take my blood pressure soon since even here there seemed to be an endless parade of nurses interrupting either my afternoon nap or the thirty minutes I enjoyed spending with Alex Trebek watching “Jeopardy”. Being secluded from my world was driving me crazy. I only got to see my daughters for a few hours on Sunday. With Elise only coming three days a week, I felt lost. I didn’t need anti-depressants, I needed my fingers to work so I could go back to work.
Later in the week, I was informed that my session with Dr. Summers was canceled because of visitors. To my surprise it was Gordy and Father Daniel. It was nice to see them both, but I quickly became suspicious that they would come as a pair to see me. They claimed it was to save on expenses and “to have a driving partner.” They started with all the usual “Wish we could have gotten here sooner” and “You look better than expected” comments. It seemed we sat talking for hours about the weather and how Orel Hershiser was having a great year pitching for the Dodgers. Eventually Father Daniel asked me if I would like him to pray with me. I replied “Why? God hates me.” I had never seen that look on his face before. Not even the time the bells almost didn’t ring in his church, did I ever get that much of a disappointed stare. The horror was a bit much to take, but he finally sat calmly and asked “Why would you say such a thing” in his best Irish accent that seemed to get stronger when he was upset. “Because I did nothing to have this
happen to me and I am convinced I am being punished by your God” I replied.
Again Father Daniel took his time to measure my tone and his own thoughts, then stated in a rather strong tone of his own “Stu you listen to me and listen to me good. Neither my God, nor yours, put you in that intersection at that time of day, your free will did. It was your choice to be in that car at that time and it was an accident, pure and simple. It was not your time to move on from this earth. Did you ever think that your God saved your dumb ass from more pain and suffering or death at that corner on that day?”
Well I have to admit, I hadn’t thought of it in those terms. We sat there for a few more minutes, looking a bit angry at each other when Gordy spoke up. “Stu I want you to move to the window if you can please. Look as far as your eyes will take you.” I did. He continued, “Way out there is your soul, I warned you about losing it, you have.” It hit me pretty hard hearing that from Gordy but I told him “If I had, it had nothing to do with the music business and everything to do with the fact that my hand is useless to me now.” Gordy came over and put his hand on my shoulder and said, “My dear friend Stu, you will never write a good piece of music, hug your wife and kids the same way, or smile warmly again, until you find your soul. A big reason why your fingers won’t play your instrument, even if they were fully healed, is because you became one with it. Now you are lost. When you want help in finding your soul again, you know where to find me. Until that day, please avoid my shop.” Father Daniel tried to smooth over the tension some but it didn’t work. They left soon after since Elise had invited them both over to our home for dinner and stay the night. It seemed as though no one understood my pain.
A Beautiful Song: A Musical Soul Story Page 16
