Oh!!! You Are Suffering From Brain Trauma!
My 2-day tests at the hospital were intense, in a positive type of way. Every professional has their specialty and personality. My first test was to address some of the side effects I suffer from because of the meds. The doctor was really cool, funny and relaxed. We must have been interrupted something like 10 times within the hour we were together. His phone was always ringing. “Do you want to answer?” he asked me, laughing, at some point… You get the vibe! A very sweet person, and besides all the metrics and data, all the analysis, and counter-analysis, he turned to me and said: “You know, Alex, what you’ve been through left a major trauma to your psyche. You don’t see it because you are wired in a way that you defuse that trauma to keep doing what you do without having to rest and heal. You don’t look like someone who’s able to take a vacation from his brain activities too often, am I right?” Of course, he was! I guess it wasn’t too difficult to read me, especially when I mentioned that I didn’t have much time to be there and needed to head back to the studio. Maybe it was enough of a clue to understand the type of person I am. Well… Who knows?! The conversation that followed was incredibly real. He explained the whole PTSD cycle and had me lift my t-shirt to look at my endless scar. “You don’t look at it often, do you” “Do I have to? It’s awful,” I said. That was another clue, I suppose because he kept on going. He was right, on every count. I neglected the psychological aspect of having to prepare myself to die, getting really close to it, and then surviving. “You are suffering right now, Alex. Whether you admit it or not, you are.” “Wasn’t I supposed to feel better after coming here”, I asked myself. I understood, of course, but the sole idea of having to stop, especially after a whole year of inactivity, was difficult to fathom. How can you take a vacation from your brain anyway? I might need some of my sister’s tequila after all 😉
My second stop was to get to a machine designed to take my pressure every 30 minutes for 24 hours. I had to answer questions about my lifestyle. The specialist asked me: “At what time do you go to bed, 9 pm, 10 pm?” “Umm… 12 am, 1 am, maybe?”. He laughed. I didn’t. “Oh, you are a late-night guy,” he said, trying to be cool. “I’m a musician, so I tend to work late.” “Oh, you’re a musician. So you must wake up around noon?” “No, I’m usually up at 7 am.” He laughed. I didn’t. He kept asking me questions without guessing any of the answers right. He was seriously really nice, preparing me for the fact that I wouldn’t sleep much trying to hold a machine with too-short a wire, uncomfortably plugged into my arm and beeping every 15 minutes. “It’s like mental torture, but without a fabric covering your head,” he said, smiling. I didn’t smile. We had a real connection.
My last stop was in order to test my vocal cords. That one was a bit more stressful, as the last time I saw that doctor, he seemed unpleasantly surprised when he put a camera through my nose to film down my throat. “Please don’t talk, Alex, I’m recording some metrics.” In my head, I was freaking out. After something like 25 minutes of having to say: “hiiiiii, haaaaaa, HAAAAAAAaaaaaaaa, aaaaaaaAAAAAAAH”, hold notes, and do a series of inflections, up and down, down and up, he FINALLY removed that freaking camera from my nose, so I could ask him: “What was that ‘Oh!!!’ about???” He looked at me a little confused. We had some back-and-forth discussion, as he was saying he couldn’t remember. “Ah! Do you mean when I inserted the camera? Yes, yes, it was because the camera didn’t start recording the metrics right away.” He apologized for the confusion. I bet he was sorry, I was flipping out the whole time! Good Lord!
Anyway, I went back there, this situation didn’t happen again, and we did all the tests, I almost puked because the camera went too far into my throat, but I was happy to hear that everything was normal, that my recovery was normal, that I would have to go slow for a few weeks still, that I had to take care not to push myself too much, but could start doing some light vocal exercises. YES!!! He was suddenly my favorite Otolaryngologist. I almost ran out of his office fearing he would throw some “Oh!!!” all over my newfound peace of mind, in such a hurry that I literally lost myself in the hospital. I didn’t remember the door I took, made the mistake of entering a maze of dead-end departments, of right turns, left turns, of going one level up, 2 levels down, until I came to think that the first doctor was right and that I was suffering from brain trauma. I laughed to myself before I hit the first exit door and walked for 25 minutes around half of the hospital compound to find the place where I was parked. Fun day… “Oh!!!”, I kept on saying.
I got back to the studio, had dinner with the rest of the band, and went to bed around 1 am with my freaking machine strapped on. I didn’t sleep much. “BEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEP.” I got out of bed with Leonard at 7am and wanted to throw the machine on the wall when I remembered I couldn’t take a shower. I got prepared and left for my second day of tests at the hospital, hearing BEEEEP all the way there. SHUT UP!!!!!!!! Oh, it’s true, I need to remain calm, it’s measuring my pressure and if I’m mad at it, they will give me more meds. “Nice machine, I love your comforting beeping sound buzzing every 15 minutes.”
My second stop was to get to a machine designed to take my pressure every 30 minutes for 24 hours. I had to answer questions about my lifestyle. The specialist asked me: “At what time do you go to bed, 9 pm, 10 pm?” “Umm… 12 am, 1 am, maybe?”. He laughed. I didn’t. “Oh, you are a late-night guy,” he said, trying to be cool. “I’m a musician, so I tend to work late.” “Oh, you’re a musician. So you must wake up around noon?” “No, I’m usually up at 7 am.” He laughed. I didn’t. He kept asking me questions without guessing any of the answers right. He was seriously really nice, preparing me for the fact that I wouldn’t sleep much trying to hold a machine with too-short a wire, uncomfortably plugged into my arm and beeping every 15 minutes. “It’s like mental torture, but without a fabric covering your head,” he said, smiling. I didn’t smile. We had a real connection.
My last stop was in order to test my vocal cords. That one was a bit more stressful, as the last time I saw that doctor, he seemed unpleasantly surprised when he put a camera through my nose to film down my throat. “Please don’t talk, Alex, I’m recording some metrics.” In my head, I was freaking out. After something like 25 minutes of having to say: “hiiiiii, haaaaaa, HAAAAAAAaaaaaaaa, aaaaaaaAAAAAAAH”, hold notes, and do a series of inflections, up and down, down and up, he FINALLY removed that freaking camera from my nose, so I could ask him: “What was that ‘Oh!!!’ about???” He looked at me a little confused. We had some back-and-forth discussion, as he was saying he couldn’t remember. “Ah! Do you mean when I inserted the camera? Yes, yes, it was because the camera didn’t start recording the metrics right away.” He apologized for the confusion. I bet he was sorry, I was flipping out the whole time! Good Lord!
Anyway, I went back there, this situation didn’t happen again, and we did all the tests, I almost puked because the camera went too far into my throat, but I was happy to hear that everything was normal, that my recovery was normal, that I would have to go slow for a few weeks still, that I had to take care not to push myself too much, but could start doing some light vocal exercises. YES!!! He was suddenly my favorite Otolaryngologist. I almost ran out of his office fearing he would throw some “Oh!!!” all over my newfound peace of mind, in such a hurry that I literally lost myself in the hospital. I didn’t remember the door I took, made the mistake of entering a maze of dead-end departments, of right turns, left turns, of going one level up, 2 levels down, until I came to think that the first doctor was right and that I was suffering from brain trauma. I laughed to myself before I hit the first exit door and walked for 25 minutes around half of the hospital compound to find the place where I was parked. Fun day… “Oh!!!”, I kept on saying.
I got back to the studio, had dinner with the rest of the band, and went to bed around 1 am with my freaking machine strapped on. I didn’t sleep much. “BEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEP.” I got out of bed with Leonard at 7am and wanted to throw the machine on the wall when I remembered I couldn’t take a shower. I got prepared and left for my second day of tests at the hospital, hearing BEEEEP all the way there. SHUT UP!!!!!!!! Oh, it’s true, I need to remain calm, it’s measuring my pressure and if I’m mad at it, they will give me more meds. “Nice machine, I love your comforting beeping sound buzzing every 15 minutes.”
