For those not in the know, your intrepid blogger was hospitalized a couple of times in December after a crazy bout with shingles, vertigo, and other complications that pretty much left me bedridden and darn near immobile for a good few days.  My head felt like it weighed 500 pounds and pressure on the left side of my noggin was equivalent to a blunted drill bit trying to work its way into my brain.  On top of that, I couldn’t keep any food down as any slight movements would send my into a violent spin and then…  well, you get the picture.  Toss in a morphine drip that did nothing other than generating vivid dreams of bluish white, dreary rock strewn landscapes that would melt and appear as “talking stomachs” (don’t ask) and I was an abject mess.

It’s hard to describe just how my five day hospital visit went but those first four days were extremely ugly and most of all, helpless.  All I wanted to do was lay there.  The TV was on but I couldn’t (and wouldn’t) look at it because the motion was enough to make me want to vomit.  Conversations between anyone in my room or with me and the nurses would just exacerbate the “brain ache”-  I couldn’t just turn them off entirely; I had to answer questions I was asked but I would rather have just turned my brain off and lay there.  I really just wanted my brain to be devoid of any thought because it was essentially too much to think about anything as that drill kept grinding away on the side of my head.  I knew I was sick; I was just too worn down to think about getting better.  I would just fade in and out of sleep/consciousness and watch the crazy melting and talking tummies.  Day one of these morose feelings blended into day two, which blended into day three, then day four.  Then something magical happened on Day Five.

On Day Five I got to the point where I wasn’t quite feeling the vertigo symptoms and the headaches had become less intense, so I decided I’d try to sit up in bed a little more and watch some TV.  My wife helped get me situated and got me some breakfast while we both watched the morning news and talked about just how soon I’d be able to get out of the hospital.  Day Four had been a bit of a turnaround so I was feeling a bit hopeful, although I’d not really moved much from the bed at all.  My mental state was starting to turn around and I was getting a bit of an itch but still a little worried to move as I thought for sure I would once again “lose my lunch” even if I rolled over.  And then…  I heard it…  that piano…  and those faint words…  “when I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be…”

And…  I cried.  I looked up at the TV and saw one of those Time/Life commercials and Paul McCartney was singing and playing the classic Beatles tune, accompanied by good ol’ Ringo behind the drum kit and that’s all it took.  The music that is always part of my daily repertoire in my mind was back after being gone for four days thanks to Paul McCartney and this silly commercial.  They probably didn’t play but ten seconds of the song but that’s all it took-  my eyes watered, my mind cleared somewhat, and then I realized…  I think I’m going home today.  My wife looked at me with concern and said “what’s wrong?” and all I could do was point to the TV with tears in my eyes and trying to get the words out to say that for the past few days I didn’t even think or hear music when I was so down and out and sick.  We laughed a bit, thinking that I was getting a little overly emotional from the steroids I’d been taking, but she knows how much music is a daily part of my life and was happy to see me take a turn for the better.  And yes, I did get to go home a little later that day and I’d like to think that Paul McCartney had a little bit to do with that.  Thanks Paul!