Archives
September 2004
9/26/04
9/15/04
9/13/04
Meanwhile, back at the ranch
Monday, September 13, 2004
2:01:00 AM EDT
Feeling Worried
Hearing none (see below)
Once again, I’ve been remiss in “blogging in.” I do have my reasons, which you’ll see shortly. But first, a recap: my first Southern Musical Odyssey was a success, albeit more vacation than gig. I ended up playing at the Open Mic at Jammin’ Java in Vienna, VA (it, the Coffee Gallery and Escanaba’s 8th St. Coffeehouse have raised the bar for full-time performance cafes). When I return to the area in May (I hope), I will be the Featured Artist.
All good things must end, but not always well. The travel aspect of the trip (save for the awful storms on I-295) was wonderful until the final leg, Atlanta-Midway. Due to Chicago storms, our plane was late in arriving in Atlanta. No problem carrying the guitar on board. Just as the doors were about to close, in rushed a harried late-twentysomething aspiring Master of the Universe in a horribly wrinkled white business shirt. He looked down at my feet, disgusted that I had used up my half of the underseat space so he could not fit his overstuffed tote beneath the seat in front of him by encroaching on my space. He grunted and shoved it into the overhead, cussing because my guitar case was already there (hey, you snooze, you lose, pal). He sat down next to me and I could barely stifle a gag—he smelled like a herd of cows had farted in an ashtray. I realized instantly why he was so late—he had spent every possible moment inside the terminal’s glassed-in smoking lounge and just had to get in those last couple of cigs. I was able to breathe into my hand and lean against the window away from him, but came the bad news that we’d be delayed yet another half-hour. I noticed one more empty seat in business class and gladly took it—though the woman next to me had drenched herself in Opium (or was it Poison or Emeraude?), but she was a breath of fresh air compared to Mr. Nicotine Fiend. It was a good thing I hadn’t brought food on board, because I had no appetite. And the jerk was arguing with the stewardess that he was entitled to my free drinks because the seat was empty and I wasn’t ordering any. She prevailed, and he had to make do with two scotches (poor baby). When we deplaned, I looked at my former seat and saw a Nicorette wrapper.
Had several gigs since my return: music comedy at Frankie J’s, Arbor Vitae (Ron, Greg and I as a de facto trio).the Pumping Co., Borders Oak Park, and Fox Valley Folk Festival—the last three performed under a considerable handicap. I woke up a couple of days after my trip with a scratchy throat, stuffy head, and a slight fever, so I took Sudafed, Tylenol. Vitamin C and Echinacea. Next day I was watching “Jeopardy” and noticed the theme song was flat and “wow-y,” kind of like a cassette or 8-track player with failing batteries. Then the theme song for the news was the same. I realized I had an ear infection, and it was going to be a tough one to deal with. Woke up the next morning and was alarmed to hear that not only was it worse, my voice now sounded to me like I was putting it through an octave doubler pedal. My new Martin came, and when I tuned it up and played it, I winced at how tinny, dissonant and out-of tune it sounded. Picked up my other guitars and they all sounded the same. Uh-oh. Made the first ENT appt. I could get, and had to see the most junior member of the group. I told him all about my symptoms and that I am a professional musician—he treated it as a clogged Eustachian tube and prescribed what I was taking, plus Afrin and a nasal steroid spray. I asked him why the weird pitch problem, and he shrugged and said it “must be something going on in the cochlea.” How reassuring—I’d studied more on this than he had.
It was only by sheer dint of will (and amplification that blocked the high harmonics) that I was able to get through my gigs; I could not stand the sound of acoustic stringed instruments, violins, or pianos. Oddly enough, voices were and are just fine, The problem seemed to ease, then it got worse again. I have an appointment tom’w with the city’s top otoneurologist and his audiologist, to ascertain the extent and cause. All my reading suggests it’s sensorineural (inner ear) and thus possibly irreversible; though an online audiologist says the fluid in the middle ear can be notorious for blocking some frequencies (the low fundamentals) and letting others (the unpleasant high harmonics and attack transients) through. If I have to get specially EQd hearing aids, I will. Funny thing is, everyone says I sound terrific, and so does my guitar. And I hear everything loud and clear—I can hear a pin drop; and the crickets and cicadas are still louder than the tinnitus.
But that may be dwarfed by the following: in late June, my hip popped out on me as I got out of bed. I was able to lean on the dresser, swing my leg around, and pop it back. It began to happen every few days, but each time corrected by the leg swing. Sunday at FoxValley, it began popping out constantly; Mon. morning, I picked up my guitar case and got a searing pain—and this time the hip would not pop back in. Earliest orthipod appt. I could get was Thurs. The ortho was sure it was just bursitis, certainly nothing requiring hip replacement, but ordered an x-ray to be sure. The x-ray showed a fracture of the pelvis—the anterior iliac spine, with a jagged shard of bone floating free at a slight angle. I had no recollection of falling or bumping into anything, and a pelvic fracture that big is something one woulf ordinarily notice happening, Only thing I can think of is that the iliac crest was the donor site for the bone graft used to patch my smashed tibia back together in 1996, and eight years of wear and obesity finally took its toll. The iliopsoas tendon had gotten caught on the bony prominence, and thus the hip popped out. The ortho had me take a bone scan to rule out cancer as a cause of the fracture (so far, no news is good news). And I will probably get an MRI and a bone density scan to see how bad my osteoporosis is (I’m too soon post-change for that to be advanced enough to be a factor). Meanwhile, I will almost certainly need surgery—either internal fixation or at least removal of the shard. So it looks like the Bar Show is out unless I can get a non-dancing part (and a second-floor dressing room).
I sure hope there’s an explanation other than cancer, which in a non-amputatable bone has a miserable prognosis. I’ve started praying a little harder these days.
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2:01:00 AM EDT
Feeling Worried
Hearing none (see below)
Meanwhile, back at the ranch
Once again, I’ve been remiss in “blogging in.” I do have my reasons, which you’ll see shortly. But first, a recap: my first Southern Musical Odyssey was a success, albeit more vacation than gig. I ended up playing at the Open Mic at Jammin’ Java in Vienna, VA (it, the Coffee Gallery and Escanaba’s 8th St. Coffeehouse have raised the bar for full-time performance cafes). When I return to the area in May (I hope), I will be the Featured Artist.
All good things must end, but not always well. The travel aspect of the trip (save for the awful storms on I-295) was wonderful until the final leg, Atlanta-Midway. Due to Chicago storms, our plane was late in arriving in Atlanta. No problem carrying the guitar on board. Just as the doors were about to close, in rushed a harried late-twentysomething aspiring Master of the Universe in a horribly wrinkled white business shirt. He looked down at my feet, disgusted that I had used up my half of the underseat space so he could not fit his overstuffed tote beneath the seat in front of him by encroaching on my space. He grunted and shoved it into the overhead, cussing because my guitar case was already there (hey, you snooze, you lose, pal). He sat down next to me and I could barely stifle a gag—he smelled like a herd of cows had farted in an ashtray. I realized instantly why he was so late—he had spent every possible moment inside the terminal’s glassed-in smoking lounge and just had to get in those last couple of cigs. I was able to breathe into my hand and lean against the window away from him, but came the bad news that we’d be delayed yet another half-hour. I noticed one more empty seat in business class and gladly took it—though the woman next to me had drenched herself in Opium (or was it Poison or Emeraude?), but she was a breath of fresh air compared to Mr. Nicotine Fiend. It was a good thing I hadn’t brought food on board, because I had no appetite. And the jerk was arguing with the stewardess that he was entitled to my free drinks because the seat was empty and I wasn’t ordering any. She prevailed, and he had to make do with two scotches (poor baby). When we deplaned, I looked at my former seat and saw a Nicorette wrapper.
Had several gigs since my return: music comedy at Frankie J’s, Arbor Vitae (Ron, Greg and I as a de facto trio).the Pumping Co., Borders Oak Park, and Fox Valley Folk Festival—the last three performed under a considerable handicap. I woke up a couple of days after my trip with a scratchy throat, stuffy head, and a slight fever, so I took Sudafed, Tylenol. Vitamin C and Echinacea. Next day I was watching “Jeopardy” and noticed the theme song was flat and “wow-y,” kind of like a cassette or 8-track player with failing batteries. Then the theme song for the news was the same. I realized I had an ear infection, and it was going to be a tough one to deal with. Woke up the next morning and was alarmed to hear that not only was it worse, my voice now sounded to me like I was putting it through an octave doubler pedal. My new Martin came, and when I tuned it up and played it, I winced at how tinny, dissonant and out-of tune it sounded. Picked up my other guitars and they all sounded the same. Uh-oh. Made the first ENT appt. I could get, and had to see the most junior member of the group. I told him all about my symptoms and that I am a professional musician—he treated it as a clogged Eustachian tube and prescribed what I was taking, plus Afrin and a nasal steroid spray. I asked him why the weird pitch problem, and he shrugged and said it “must be something going on in the cochlea.” How reassuring—I’d studied more on this than he had.
It was only by sheer dint of will (and amplification that blocked the high harmonics) that I was able to get through my gigs; I could not stand the sound of acoustic stringed instruments, violins, or pianos. Oddly enough, voices were and are just fine, The problem seemed to ease, then it got worse again. I have an appointment tom’w with the city’s top otoneurologist and his audiologist, to ascertain the extent and cause. All my reading suggests it’s sensorineural (inner ear) and thus possibly irreversible; though an online audiologist says the fluid in the middle ear can be notorious for blocking some frequencies (the low fundamentals) and letting others (the unpleasant high harmonics and attack transients) through. If I have to get specially EQd hearing aids, I will. Funny thing is, everyone says I sound terrific, and so does my guitar. And I hear everything loud and clear—I can hear a pin drop; and the crickets and cicadas are still louder than the tinnitus.
But that may be dwarfed by the following: in late June, my hip popped out on me as I got out of bed. I was able to lean on the dresser, swing my leg around, and pop it back. It began to happen every few days, but each time corrected by the leg swing. Sunday at FoxValley, it began popping out constantly; Mon. morning, I picked up my guitar case and got a searing pain—and this time the hip would not pop back in. Earliest orthipod appt. I could get was Thurs. The ortho was sure it was just bursitis, certainly nothing requiring hip replacement, but ordered an x-ray to be sure. The x-ray showed a fracture of the pelvis—the anterior iliac spine, with a jagged shard of bone floating free at a slight angle. I had no recollection of falling or bumping into anything, and a pelvic fracture that big is something one woulf ordinarily notice happening, Only thing I can think of is that the iliac crest was the donor site for the bone graft used to patch my smashed tibia back together in 1996, and eight years of wear and obesity finally took its toll. The iliopsoas tendon had gotten caught on the bony prominence, and thus the hip popped out. The ortho had me take a bone scan to rule out cancer as a cause of the fracture (so far, no news is good news). And I will probably get an MRI and a bone density scan to see how bad my osteoporosis is (I’m too soon post-change for that to be advanced enough to be a factor). Meanwhile, I will almost certainly need surgery—either internal fixation or at least removal of the shard. So it looks like the Bar Show is out unless I can get a non-dancing part (and a second-floor dressing room).
I sure hope there’s an explanation other than cancer, which in a non-amputatable bone has a miserable prognosis. I’ve started praying a little harder these days.
Written by sandina Blog about this entry |
Add to del.icio.us | digg this
