Monthly Archives: February 2014

A Guitarist’s Nightmare 3

Huntsville Hospital, April 2012

The hospital is just a ten minute drive from the clinic. We go in the emergency entrance, tell the receptionist who I am and we sit down. I’m thinking, I know Dr. Campbell said we’d be met right away but I assumed the worst and settled in for a wait of several hours. I was wrong, they hauled me off in minutes to be checked out. I was given a shot of morphine to dull the pain. That was a first for me, I’ve never been injected with narcotics before. It felt great, and narcotics were a constant companion for me for months, but to be honest the buzz wasn’t worth what I had to go through to get it. I was also afraid of becoming one of those twitchy losers you see at the pharmacy from time to time, the ones that always have an issue with their prescription. Anyway, a quart of morphine wouldn’t have dulled the mental pain. I just kept thinking that everything I had worked for decades was finished. But there I was, in the belly of the medical-industrial complex, all I could do was just sit and do what I was told.

I was hauled off to x-ray. I could walk, no being wheeled about, just follow the technician to the massive machines. She said as we walked, “You look familiar. Are you a musician?” I said “yes, I’m a classical guitarist.” “Oh now I remember, you played that concert with Microwave Dave at Three caves!” I said “yes, that was me.” “That was a really cool show!”. I agreed. Maybe there will be more really cool shows. Maybe not. Here’s a pic of the concert at Three Caves.

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The damage tally after a series of extremely painful x-rays (I had trouble positioning things the way they needed to be to be photographed, but I did the best I could) was a shattered right elbow, broken left wrist, and broken right scapula. Overachieving is overrated for some things.

I was admitted, sent to a room, and the plan was that I would be operated on by the orthopedic trauma surgical team that evening. So no food, no liquids, just an IV drip and the occasional morphine hit. Unfortunately for me a bunch of goobers got themselves boogered up in a car wreck and I was sent to the back of the line. I assume at some point the phrase “hey would you hold my beer for a sec sweetie?” was uttered during the festivities. I was ok, I guess.

It was odd that the palm of my left hand was a normal pink but the right hand had a grayish look to it. This pic isn’t a selfie, it’s a someone elsie. 

huntsvillehosp.