The Music of Our Lives

Playing bass guitar in an all-girl band in the 60’s during the “golden age of top 40 radio”, was an amazing experience. I only wish I would have kept a diary of all the places, people, & events during the 5 ½ years that began when I was just 12 ½. I knew then that we were doing something special; I was just too young to realize how much those memories would fade after 40 years. At least the songs are still there, thanks to CD’s & “oldies” radio stations. 97.1, “the Drive”, (out of Chicago) is my favorite, as they play many of the “hard rock” songs that we, as girls, tried to replicate live, including the Beatles, Hendrix, Mountain and Who. I have always liked most kinds of music, however, and appreciate real talent and musicianship. Classical music is very calming and I often tune the TV to one of the classical stations (one of the only advantages to satellite TV over our previous cable) in the evening while napping, waiting to give Earl’s evening meds.

One of the radio programs I listen to regularly is a syndicated show called “The Music of Your Life”. Earl used to tease me and say it is an “old fogey station”. I’ll admit, once in a while it just gets too corny & I have to switch to something else, but they usually play a wide variety, from 40’s Big Band to 70’s classics, to new recordings. No, they don’t play Purple Haze or My Generation; they play Glenn Miller, Harry Connick, Jr., Etta James, the Carpenters and Frank Sinatra. Who would have guessed that a child of the 60’s would be listening to this type of music?
Just as I was too young to realize I should document my experiences with the Powder Puffs, I never truly appreciated the talent of Frank Sinatra. Since he was in his waning years as I was growing up, I really only knew of his “Rat Pack” days and that stupid duet with his daughter. Recently I heard again his rendition of One for My Baby. His voice was so pure; his timing absolutely impeccable. Many of his techniques were completely opposite those taught by voice coaches, but I think that was part of his appeal—he had that raw emotion and it all just worked.

Sunday, September 04, 2005 2:20 am
This last week has been hard. It’s hard for me to see Earl in a steady decline; hard for me to see his hands shaking when just a few months ago they went smoothly & swiftly up and down the fretboard of his guitar. I am not sure if the shaking is due to the cancer or the morphine; maybe it is a combination of both. Because he sometimes loses his balance, I have to walk with him if he goes the short distance through the kitchen, the hall and to the bathroom. He is still able to go upstairs a couple times a week to sit in the bathtub, but soon it will be all sponge baths, since the climb up the stairs and the bath itself is exhausting. Since Wednesday, the rate on his pump is up to 4 mg. per hour, plus he can push a “dose” button if he has a pain spike. The higher morphine rate has generally kept his pain under control, but he sleeps much more. Since the Hydrocodone are needed now only about every 6 hours, I am able to sleep more than two hours at a time. After giving Earl his sleeping pill and a Hydrocodone at 10:45 pm, I was pretty tired and was looking forward to a fairly good night’s sleep. I was as deep in sleep as I have ever been since May 30th, when at 1:15 this morning I was awakened by a beeping on the morphine pump. I bolted off the couch and checked the message on the pump screen: “volume is 0.0”. Great. I wondered how long before Earl would wake up in pain. Would it continue to pump air into his port? How do I stop the alarm? Should I give him another pain pill? After another minute or so, I was wide awake and thought more clearly. I called the after-hours number for the VNA and told the answering service I needed to speak to the nurse on call and why. Avonne called me back within 10 minutes and said she would be right over. She exchanged the bag that the morphine had been dispensing out of with a hard plastic cassette that had been delivered to us on Friday and then re-programmed the pump; Earl slept through the whole thing. She then took his blood pressure and got a response of “tired” when she asked him how he was feeling. We apologized to each other as she was leaving—she for not calculating correctly how long the previous bag was going to last, me for having to call her in the middle of the night. I tried to go back to sleep, but decided to get up and write this as I kept thinking of a young Frank Sinatra in his beautiful, sexy voice, singing, “it’s a quarter to three, there’s no one in the place…”

Monday, September 05, 2005 (Labor Day) 6:28 am
After Earl’s bath yesterday morning, he slept in our bed upstairs for about 40 minutes. He had become so winded just climbing the stairs that he had to sit several minutes before getting in the tub. I mentioned this to Debra and she thought he might be getting to the point of needing oxygen, so she arranged for the delivery yesterday afternoon. When my father-in-law needed oxygen last winter, I never dreamed that just a few months later, there would be a concentrator and a huge bullet-like tank in my family room.
I had to call the VNA after-hours number again yesterday evening when we discovered, by pure chance, that the line on his morphine pump was leaking. Since the morphine drip is so concentrated, the amount of fluid was minimal and would have gone undetected if it was just dripping on the carpet or the bed. The line, however, was hanging over Earl’s knee, and he felt the few drips and told me. The on-call nurse, who was Chinese, was very nice, and stayed through a couple cycles of the pump to make sure it was OK after she fixed it.

Later on, when I laid on the couch to catch a nap before it was time for Earl’s nighttime meds, I cried thinking of the many blessings we have been given, and I cried thinking of the rough days ahead. I thought of all our plans for the future, realizing they will never materialize. I cried for the families affected by the hurricane and prayed for their comfort. We never had the chance to visit New Orleans; we would have loved to absorb all of the fabulous music and atmosphere. Many of you know that music is what brought us together, and it has always been a major part of our life. In my own world, slowly losing my husband is earth-shattering, but to suddenly lose several family members or friends, plus all earthly things that you own—I cannot begin to imagine what those people have to endure. I pray daily for the survivors, the victims, and most of all, the emergency response teams, the policemen and firemen, the doctors, nurses, National Guard troops and everyone putting their own lives on the line for those affected. A special part of America is lost forever and I sincerely hope the city rises again.
Last night I also thanked God for neighbors, family and friends that have done so much, each in their own way, to help, comfort and uplift our family, as well as the compassionate strangers who are helping the victims of Hurricane Katrina.

It truly is people that compose the “Music of Our Lives.” Bravo!