I would rather put salt on a fresh rug burn than write a blog entry right now but I have been kicking myself for slacking so badly on posting entries so I will put something to blow the stink off this thing...
As some of you know, it has been an intense couple of weeks. I was on my way to play a show at Casa Nueva last week when Ingrid called and told me she was about to have a seizure. I blasted home to find her unresponsive on the floor and Somnia screaming bloody murder. It was a surreal scene I would rather never see again. Poor Somnia was traumatized. She had seen the whole thing. She was a big girl and helped Ingrid dial 911 before the seizure intensified then tried to call again on her own when the seizure intensified and Ingrid ended up on the floor. Exacerbating Somnia’s fear was the fact that when she tried to call 911 again when Ingrid was seizing, she could not get the “1” on the phone to work. The “1” key has been sticking for months now and with us both using cell phones we have failed to replace the home phone for a new one. Lesson learned there.
Ingrid spent the night and much of the next day in the hospital. Despite the usual post-seizure haze, headaches and aches and pains, both she and the baby appeared to come out of the event unscathed.
Ingrid has a history of epilepsy, but has been seizure free for almost 6 years and off of seizure medication for about a year and a half. With this most recent seizure however she will return to her medication. While it adds risk to the pregnancy, the prevention of seizures is of utmost importance since a seizure can seriously injure both mother and baby.
Ingrid spent all of Somnia’s pregnancy on anti-seizure meds so I suppose Fabiola(the baby) is getting off easy right?
There are many points in that scary evening that could have made it a far worse disaster. Had it happened an hour later, I could have been playing drums and not heard the phone. Had Ingrid not had a warning that the seizure was coming and had the foresight to call me and employ Somnia’s help calling 911 she could have laid on the floor helpless even longer.
For now, and for several months to come, Ingrid cannot drive or be left alone so we are adjusting to serious logistic changes in our lives and for both of us an intense loss of freedom. The most difficult aspect of the events last week are seeing the marked changes in Somnia since the seizure and dealing with our loss of freedom.
I would love to hear from other families coping with epilepsy to see how they worked through their more difficult times.
This is the longest span of time since putting this blog online that I have gone between entries. I get really tired of hearing the proverbial “I’m just so busy these days” from other people so I am not going to state it myself but only allude to it with a reference to how much I get tired of hearing other people say it.
One of the many activities that I have been involved in lately that is taking me away from making blog entries is playing drums again. It feels good albeit a tad odd to be back in a music scene as a “civilian.” What do I mean by civilian?
In my former life as a musical “soldier” of sorts, music was an all-encompassing obsession that completely defined my entire existence. Now I define my own existence and that definition makes its way into the music.
In my former life, I chose to sleep on floors of dirty warehouses turned practice complexes in wretched parts of Boston to demonstrate my dedication to my craft (and my distain for dayjobs and responsibility) Now I believe a good night’s sleep and the security of a good day job actually free my mind to make a more secure pocket for the rest of the players in the band.
In my former life, I sought out companionship with the seediest of the inner city’s characters in the hopes that their desperation would rub off and somehow create great art, not understanding that the only thing that emulating desperate characters does is make oneself as desperate and uninspired as they are. Today I avoid those people as I would a gasoline bath.
In my former life, I believed that touring for the sake of touring could make a successful band. Today, you would have to pay me a lot of money to ride around in a van for days on end with no business plan or quantifiable proof that I would come home with enough to pay my rent and then some.
In my former life, I tried to be part of the “scene”, discussing at length and trying to meet the others players in the scene. Today, I could give 2 shits about any players in any scene. I simply want to enjoy playing with the people I am playing with at the moment and would hope they enjoy playing with me.
In my former life, I thought that thinking about nothing but music is what made good music. Today I realize that music is a reflection of life. Music is great stories. Living life first and concequently allowing life to reflect into your music makes great music.
In my former life, I grew to hate playing music. Today I spend the workweek looking forward to it.
Calling myself a “civilian” is perhaps a more apt means of referring to myself as an outsider or non-involved participant. Sometimes I miss the passion and one-sightedness of younger musicians and their race to be the “next big thing.” Most days though I am thankful that I can enjoy music for music’s sake without the distraction of how I am going to pay my rent playing it.