And I Write For Once

Survivor

            My mother has always been a strong woman with strong faith for as long as I can remember.  She always seemed to be a backbone for the family keeping us strong and always letting us know that everything would be all right.  In 1992, her strength and faith were tested more than she could have imagined.

            Shortly before Christmas in 1992, my mother found a lump in her left breast.  Needless to say she was surprised as she had regular exams along with always doing self-exams.  The fact that there was no history of cancer in the family made it more difficult to swallow, because she was not a candidate for it.  “It felt like my blood stopped pumping,” she said, “if you can feel white, I did.”  An appointment was made the next day with the family doctor, and was sent to the local hospital for a mammogram.  It showed the size and shape of the lump very clearly.  She recalled the time she was there saying;  “I remember how cold it was all of the time, through everything.  I couldn’t keep warm and I was always the type who was hot all of the time.”  The smells she remembers were the smells of disinfectants and medicines.  Smells you may not really notice until they become a part of your life, then they seem to be magnified.  This was a week before her 43^rd birthday.

            My mother knew that her life had changed now, in ways that she could never have imagined. Some things change your spirit as well as your body.  You are never the same afterward.  “I think I know how people feel who have their homes broken into,” she said, “you never feel safe again because your personal space has been invaded.  Cancer is like that, and you never feel safe in your own body again because you know there is no cure and it can come back at any time.”  Our family doctor tried to reassure my mother by letting her know that only one in eight lumps come back cancerous, but of course he couldn’t know until the test came back.  My mother had a lumpectomy the same week, which means they surgically removed the lump and sent it to a laboratory to test it to see if it was malignant, a word she describes as an “ugly” word, no matter what it is used to describe.

            It was almost a week before the test results came in.  Days can seem to last forever when you wait for news like this.  Being optimistic can be a very difficult thing, as well as trying not to worry.  “It was easy to feel alone at this time because I didn’t want my kids, parents or husband to worry and or be afraid,” she said.  My mother decided to go to the surgeon’s office to get the results alone for the reason that she and my father really didn’t believe that it was cancer.  It was about a 30minute drive to the surgeon’s office as we lived in another town at the time.  “The office was dim, and smelled like bandages, alcohol and, oddly enough, cherry flavored suckers,” she recalled.  The nurse came in with the surgeon and put her hand on my mother’s shoulder.  “I knew then what he was going to say.”  The doctor opened the file and said, “you have breast cancer and you need to have a mastectomy as soon as possible.”  Without another word he turned and walked out of the office. No “We are very sorry to tell you that your test came back positive and you have breast cancer.”  That was it and he left.  I guess sometimes professionals get so used to these things that they forget that the rest of us are not used to being told that we have a life threatening illness. 

            When my mother left the doctor’s office it was around five o’clock in the evening.  After a few moments of confirming what she already knew in her heart, the feelings of panic began to set in.  “”What would this do to my kids?  How would my husband manage without me?  I wanted to be there to see my grandkids.  I was to looking forward to being a grandma, and I didn’t have any grandchildren yet,” she said. Then thoughts of all of the things she would never get to see or do came rushing.  Things like babysitting grandkids, growing old with her husband, and seeing her kids grow older and live their lives, along with parents, siblings and others left behind.  “It was the most helpless feeling,” she recalls, “I was not in control anymore, the cancer was.”  Constant feelings of recurrence lasted for a very long time.  

            The mastectomy was scheduled for a few days later.  Sometimes we are too embarrassed to ask questions about things we are unfamiliar with.  Two days after the mastectomy, the first week in January 1993, was the first visit to the oncologist to begin chemotherapy.  Chemotherapy is basically having poison administered through an I.V. to kill cancer cells.  The only problem is that it kills healthy cells as well.  It was a nice, quiet room with recliners to sit in while having the medication administered.  “When the first medication was put into the I.V., I had an immediate, horrible metallic taste in my mouth.  I can still remember that taste to this day, fourteen years later.”  Chemotherapy can consist of four or five medications going into an I.V. at once.  It took almost an hour to get them all in.  The medications cause feelings of being sick to the stomach and being very tired all of the time.  My mother went to receive chemotherapy intravenously twice each month and took it in pill form the rest of the time.  A port was put in under one arm to deliver the medications straight to her heart so that the medications would work faster and so that her veins would not collapse.  Having something like that is very uncomfortable and painful.

            If there is to be a comforting thing about dealing with this it was the fact that my mother did not lose her hair.  It thinned out quite a bit but she did not go completely bald like some do.  The oncologist said that he was going to use her as a poster child for chemotherapy.

            Cancer was not all of the worry, either.  My mother had to stop working because of all of the surgeries and appointments, which made it hard financially.  Cancer is a very expensive disease.  With having the port surgically removed, my mother started back to work full time.  “At work I felt like every one was looking at me funny.” she said,  “Everyone knew that I didn’t have a left breast and I don’t blame them.  But it was hard to live with some days.  I fought a lot of depression during that time.”

           After the scars were healed from the mastectomy it was time to be fitted for prosthesis.  This was an embarrassing thing to go through.  Eventually, reconstructive surgery was needed.  The problem with this was that the insurance company would not cover the cost because the surgery was considered cosmetic.  Thankfully, all of her doctors wrote letters to the insurance company stating that she needed the surgery to alleviate pain from a nerve that was pinched as a result from a previous surgery.  The insurance company agreed and she was able to have reconstructive surgery on her left breast.

            It has been fourteen years since my mother was diagnosed, and during that time I cannot recall one complaint.  It has also been fourteen years and counting that she has been cancer free.  Although the fears of recurrence never fully go away they do subside.

People sometimes don’t realize how important family support is when you are having your life twisted and turned upside down.  The love, support and care from people that love you can make the most unbearable things seem more bearable.  There is a song that says “Every rose has it’s thorn,” but more importantly, every thorn has it’s rose.  Life can be good even though it can be very hard at the same time.  But, as my mother so eloquently put it; “You just have to remember to pick the roses and leave the thorns.” 

Star

            I wouldn’t have guessed that North Platte, Nebraska was so rich in history.  It is home to the largest railroad classification yard, William F. “Buffalo Bill” Cody and his Wild West Show and also NEBRASKAland Days.  The latter of which, is why I’m writing.

It’s funny how you always dream of something, and if you’re lucky, it comes true.  I guess I was one of the lucky ones.  Playing drums for a country music band was not my first choice.  A person can only play so many country bars and fairs as a rock drummer before it starts getting to you.  As a drummer for more than 20 years I was pretty set in my ways and knew what I wanted to do.  I was in a country music band for a number of years.  The name of the band was “Tim Holcomb and the Union Cowboys.”  I’m sure that you can guess that Tim Holcomb was the founder of the band.  There were five of us in the band altogether, which helped us accomplish a very full sound on stage.  The other members of the group were all seasoned players and very talented at their respective instruments.  Tim, our founder, was our lead singer and rhythm guitar player and also wrote the majority of all of our original songs.  Larry was our lead guitar player.  He was a small man from Birmingham, England who didn’t like to sing.  This was a good thing because we wouldn’t have let him even if he‘d wanted to.  John was our bass guitar player who also did lead and backing vocals.  John was from Axtell, Nebraska and came from a background in music in Mexico.  Our keyboard player’s name was Ron.  I don’t know honestly where Ron was from, although we joked that he may be an alien because he always had to have the temperature cold, along with a cold towel on his head no matter where he was.  Last, but not least, there was me.  I was the drummer and also sang lead and backing vocals.  I had been playing drums since I was around four years old and had been in numerous bands before joining this one, but that’s another story.

     I was ready to leave the country scene until I heard;  “We’re opening for Brooks and Dunn.”  I said, “What?”  Then I heard it again;  “We’re opening for Brooks and Dunn.”  For those who don’t know, Brooks and Dunn are very big in country music.  They have won numerous awards and have topped sales charts for years.  The odds are good that when I heard this, my face turned white and I had to sit down.  I felt like a kid in a candy store but scared at the same time.

After learning the news practice was constant.  In the weeks leading up to the performance we practiced at least 4 times a week for a minimum of 3 hours at a time.  At times, it was hard to concentrate on what we were learning because our anticipation level was so high.  I can remember having so many “wonders” going through my mind.  I wondered how many people would be there or what the stage would look like. 

The day of the performance was long.  I was dealing with a lack of sleep from the night before because of the excitement and nervous feelings I was experiencing.  Tim, John, Larry, Ron and I were all on the edge of our seats as pulled into the backstage area.  Tractor-trailers and tour busses were all lined up in a row.  The tractor-trailers were used to carry the stage, sound equipment and instruments, while the busses were there as luxury suites on wheels for none other than Brooks and Dunn themselves.  We spent some time speaking with our agent and concert promoters finalizing how everything would be done, taking care of back stage passes and getting settled into our trailer.  We had our own trailer for changing and lounging in before and after our part of the show.  This was one of the neatest things for me.  I had not been in a position where I would have my own trailer to be in before and after a show.  I was used to having to be ready before we got there.  This was a nice little bonus.  We began setting up our equipment on the stage once we were done with what we had to finalize with our agent and promoters.  The stage was a behemoth compared to any I had played on before.  It easily stood eight feet off of the ground, and was nearly the size of a small house.  The band equipment for Brooks and Dunn was already on stage and set up.  The drums were slightly left of the middle of the stage in the back on a riser that almost made them look they were floating above the stage.  The guitars were on the right of the stage on another level not quite as high as the drums were.  The bass and keyboards were on the left side of the stage at the same level as the guitars.  I remember it was awe inspiring to see.  It was like watching a concert video.  I couldn’t believe that my old drum set was going to sit up there.  After we finished setting up our equipment it was time for the sound check.   As it is with most sound checks, the drums go first.  The sound engineer said, “Give me the kick.”  The “kick” is otherwise known as the bass drum.  I slammed my foot down on the pedal and what came out of the speakers sounded like a cannon blast from a Spanish galleon.  The force of it felt like someone was punching me in the chest while vibrating the entire stage and everything on it.  It was one of the greatest sounds I had ever heard. The echo of it was like a sonic boom.  That is a sound I will never forget.  Once we had finished sound check it was time to eat and relax a bit, if that was possible at this point.

It was around 6:30 p.m. and we had all gotten dressed in our wranglers and boots, when the knock on the trailer door came.  Showtime.  We had a little pep talk before walking what seemed to be miles to the stairs at the back of the stage.  The sound of the crowd was overwhelming.  That’s when I realized this was really happening.  The M.C. grabbed a microphone and said  “Hello, North Platte!”  During this time we moved onto the stage so we would be ready when it was time to start.  I was making last minute adjustments when I heard the M.C. say “…Tim Holcomb and the Union Cowboys!”  Without hesitation I clicked my sticks together and we were off, playing “Bandy the Rodeo Clown.”  It was about that time that I looked up and saw people everywhere.  I cannot recall ever seeing this many people in one place.  I would find out later that there were more than 10,000 people at the show when we stepped on stage.  I’m glad I didn’t know that before hand as the biggest crowd I remember playing in front of was about 700.   We had monitors so that we could hear ourselves on stage, but that wasn’t working because of the deafening sound of 10,000 screaming people who were, no doubt, engulfed in the excitement and anticipation of the show that was coming next.  The whole thing was so overwhelming it almost brought me to tears. 

When we had finished our set, the last thing I wanted to do was get off of the stage.  I could have stayed up there all night playing, basking in the spotlight.  But our time was up and it was time to leave the stage.  The entire time we were tearing down our equipment, all that I could do was smile.  I had just played for 10,000 people.

It was nearly 30 minutes since we had left the stage when the two tour busses doors opened.  Kix Brooks stepped out of one bus while Ronnie Dunn stepped out of the other.  I can say it was quite exciting to have these two big stars say hello to me on their way up the stairs to play their show, but nothing could top the feelings I felt in the fact that even though I was not headlining the concert, nor was I at the front of the stage during our set, I, for that one 50 minute period of time, was a star.

It seems that no matter where I look, there are children.  There is an older boy reading a book and, no doubt, immersing him self in a fantasy world of swashbuckling, treasure and sailing the high seas.  There are a number of children here.  There is a little girl; no more than three years old, admiring Christmas lights that are hanging very delicately on a tall green tree.  I see two more children playing a game of Battleship and becoming more and more excited with each hit, and disappointed with each miss.  It’s bright here, but then it always is unless the sun has gone down.  The loud whistle of a train passing through overpowers the sounds of singing birds that have not yet flown south.  Looking through the windows, all that is to be seen are signs of the season.  No green leaves on the trees only bare branches with an occasional bird nest built close to the top.  No sea of green grass but rather a thick white blanket that oddly looks soft and comforting.  The chimneys of the snow-covered houses emit plumes of white smoke from a cozy fire surely being enjoyed by someone inside.  It gives off the wonderful smell of burning wood; a smell that let’s you know that it is winter.  A Beagle is running, stopping and sniffing, in search of a treasure, presumably buried some time ago. It’s almost as if there is a magnet on it’s nose and one in the ground judging by how abruptly it stops.  The silence here is constantly broken by laughter, arguments and the sounds of footsteps running here and there, back and forth.  Silence is a rare commodity here.  It’s good to be home.

     Let me begin by saying that the last time that I wrote an essay or paper, was nearly eighteen years ago when I was in high school.  With that in mind, it’s hard for me to recall anything that I have written in the past.  I guess the only thing that I could write about is the fact that I have written a number of lyrics, as I was a professional musician for over twenty years. What led me to write lyrics, initially, was a love of music and I wanted to convey messages through it.  I not only wrote the lyrics for myself but for anyone who was willing to hear them.  The purpose being that I wanted to create music others would enjoy listening to.  The planning of writing the lyrics depended on a number of factors.  How I felt at the time, what was happening around me, or just things I was interested in.  If something was happening in the news that I found particularly interesting, that could easily trigger the thought process of telling the story in song.  If I thought of something or someone that inspired me, it could also trigger the process.

     The majority of ideas I had when I was writing, I would share with my friends and family to get feedback from them.  They were always eager to read them and this helped the process by either giving me new ideas to build off of within the song, or even something as simple as changing a single word.  Most of the lyrics I have written have been rewritten in some way, whether it is a word, a phrase or even the title.

     I have continued to write lyrics from time to time, and I imagine I will continue to do so as long as I can, or at least as long as I still have an imagination.