Edition #30
As Music Slowly Comes Back Whispering to Me (Part 1)
My dear brothers, sisters, friends, and loved ones,
I hope you are all doing great, and that you are able to enjoy the last flashes of bright light that summer has to offer before the vivid autumnal atmosphere slowly takes over.
I can’t believe we are already in September. It particularly struck me when I was walking with MacKaye and Leonard early this morning; the wind had more layering contrasts in its temperature, multicolored leaves now covered the endless ground, which was still a luminous green yesterday, and even the birds weren’t singing quite exactly the same somehow. It feels like I haven’t noticed much of the major transformations every single one of the luxuriant mountains surrounding me has been going through lately, which offers a clear reflection of just how difficult it has been for me to keep track of time ever since I had my heart surgery and how laborious of a challenge it is for me to find back some kind of rhythm through the ongoing routine I usually flow in so naturally. I found it quite disturbing and disorienting to lose my referrals like I feel I have, as if my inner clock was completely unhinged and my perceptions of reality upside down. If it’s incredibly strange for me to be in such a puzzling situation, I know it’s an absolute good thing to lose control and to let go in my case. I just wish I had found the first step defining that new necessary pulsation of mine already, but I haven’t yet. At least, I don’t feel like I’m in any sort of continuous motion so far, or maybe my life doesn’t move as fast as I would like to, even though so many magnificent and singular events happened since I left intensive care back in February.
Therefore, I thought that, for what I consider the very first edition of “From a Stranger to Another” post-surgery, it would be a wonderful opportunity to not only revisit some of the most significant elements that took place in this disruptive year, but also to give you some heads up on what is coming up for me, both personally and creatively.
“So, Doctor, When Can I Go Back To Living My Life?”
That question has been a recurrent theme starting the second I left the intensive care unit after being plugged into more machines than I thought a human body could possibly be connected to for 7 long days — of which I recall about 3 or 4. Not bad, considering I’ve been at the hospital for almost 2 weeks before being sent back to the band’s HQ, following my gentle and polite but highly insistent desire to permanently leave the premises of the medical center. My haste to leave the facility wasn’t about the personnel, who was absolutely fantastic, nor was it based on how I was being looked after; on the contrary, I just can’t believe how much dignity and kindness I was treated with, and that in the public health care system. I don’t have enough praise for those fabulous people working in terrible conditions in most cases. I had to leave because it was too emotional for me to stay there; too many haunting memories resurfacing in my heart and soul, from spending most of my childhood in hospitals, to the successive death of my grandfather Henry and my grandmother Manse, friends I lost to drugs and suicide as a teenager, up to my father… It was too much to take all at once, I suppose.
My recovery didn’t go as smoothly as I would have liked; it’s been frustrating and challenging every step of the way. I thought it would take 4 to 6 weeks, then it became 2 to 4 months, and now the time table is more in the likes of 12 to 18 months. The path back into the lights is way more hazardous than anticipated, mainly because my condition was way more urgent and critical than initially diagnosed. The double-graft surgery was scheduled to be 4 to 5 hours but turned to be close to 10 hours, my body was in shock, I suffered massive blood loss and had several “this is the end” close calls, but thanks to the surgeon’s outstanding abilities and his team’s tremendous awareness, here I am. Still pretty damaged, but considerably less broken… I’ll take it, right?!
The good news, and there are many, is that my voice is slowly coming back. The meds that were turning me into a quiet zombie have been considerably decreased and I am aiming to stop them all by the end of the year (even if it is unlikely). My energy level is getting a little higher, I can stay up after 7pm now! I’m able to focus a bit longer (what are all those contracts you made me sign, Jeff?), and I’m getting more cohesive, mentally and physically, on a consistent basis, which is a good thing, at least I suppose. In other words, I feel more like my true self by the day, which is a massive victory for me, especially after months fighting with my brain, my body and my moods.
That being said, the next couple of months won’t be short in intensity, as after many false starts and failed attempts, I have to reembark in what is considered intensive physical therapy to get me back on track after half a year of being unable to move much. I will spare you the usual before and after photos.
As for the answer to “So, doctor, when can I go back to fully living my life?”, it is never. I’m aiming at something in the realm of “Hey, doctor, I’m deeply grateful for embracing the freedom of truly living my life to the fullest now!”. It’s a slight change in the rhetoric, but trust me, it’s a life-changing transformation for me to even contemplate the patentability of being genuinely happy. Yes, it’s already a major victory.
New Management - New Beginning - New Family
One of the most significant elements that took place in the last few months is the blessing I had to find my people when I joined the In De Goot family, following my decision to have management after more than a decade acting as a self-represented artist. While it had become obvious, or should I say necessary, for me to have a team in order to focus on my art and creation, I knew it would have to be a perfect scenario in which I would be able to meet very unique individuals who would not only care for my music and share my values, but with whom I would be able to grow, both as an artist and as a person. And for that, the people had to be driven by the heart, so I would be able to trust and confide in them, not only for myself, but for all my friends who have been sharing that beautiful and crazy journey with me as well. That’s the reason why I was mainly looking for soulful reciprocity rather than a more classic type of management, and that’s exactly what I felt when I first met Bill and Jennie McGathy, as well as the rest of the team shortly after. I had a profound conviction that they were who I belonged with. The fact that they are one of the most high profiles and amongst the few marquee management companies in America wasn’t a factor for me. Even if it’s a real privilege for me to be associated with such a successful enterprise, I’m even more honored to be part of a family primarily founded on a unique set of human values as their core.
You’ll be able to know more about it through an upcoming The Club exclusive “Conversation” with Jeff and by reading my column to be published in the Canadian Musician Magazine real soon. You can join The Club here.
MacKaye’s Cancer
The weeks that followed were entirely dedicated to finding a proper hospital for MacKaye’s treatments. His health was deteriorating hastily and I didn’t have much time to waste. I saw him become incontinent, lose his ability to walk and move, becoming blind from blood accumulating in both eyes, but I kept on searching for the animal hospital that would be able to treat his particular case. MacKaye’s lymphoma is a very rare type which has rarely been treated, and only a handful of hospitals have the resources and the knowledge to do so. If the words “incurable cancer” weren’t destructive enough, now we also had to manage the rarity of his condition. But it didn’t stop me. I was determined, while being conscious that it was about his quality of life, not about my desire to prolong what was starting to look like agony…
My hope came from the Roanoke Animal Cancer Care and Research Center, that not only has a cancer department completely dedicated to animals, but that is also a research center and therefore equipped to deal with MacKaye’s singular condition. I drove over the minute I knew they were habilitated to treat MacKaye and they were kind enough to welcome him almost immediately, which came as a blessing because his condition was just enough to start chemotherapy that same day. It was an intense day, followed by several other ones, a major fight for him and the enemy known as being implacable. I lost track of time. For me, life was about holding him in my arms everywhere we had to go daily; the vet hospital, his general daily appointment at the clinic close to him, his several blood tests every week, his ultrasounds, and on, and on. It was an uphill battle for him, but his spirit was great. That was the ultimate condition in my heart; the second I would notice that he was too tired to fight, that it was becoming too much for him to handle, it would have been the end of all those treatments and we would have peacefully stayed home until the end… While I was pretty beaten up inside, I was ok with that highly possible outcome…
Thankfully, I gradually saw him becoming better and better, up to the point where he was regaining his ability to see, to walk slowly, to ask for the door, to eat by himself, to climb the stairs to our room. The first floor camping trip was over for him and for me. In the meantime, his determination gave me a whole lot of courage to keep on fighting for my own recovery, which gave me quite a boost since I was facing setbacks after setbacks. I was clearly starting to lose the ongoing momentum I had created at that point in time. So even if it was a terrible thing to deal with, entirely dedicating my focus to MacKaye’s health shifted my unstable emotional rhythm to a completely positive one, reminding me of all the time Mac came to rest on my lap in the past. Going forward, getting back on my feet, taking punches and keeping on striving, that’s how I’ve been raised. The other side of that is that I’m incredibly sensitive and rarely allow myself to be touched, and that impossible situation was profoundly distressing for me.
We have now finished 2 cycles of treatments with MacKaye. He will start another stretch of chemo next week, a more complex and experimental treatment, which will be a major step, as it will either lead to his remission or leave him on his actual plateau… I will let you know the progress.
Again, I’m grateful for the privilege I have to share that little overview of how the most personal aspects of my life are going on. The second part of the journal, to be published next week, will be about the projects I’m devoting my time to, while the third and last part will be dedicated to answering some of your questions. Don’t miss those 2 upcoming “From a Stranger to Another” entries… I think you’ll be pretty happy about what you’ll learn! 😉
Much love always,
AHF