My Arms

-My Arms-

Today is August 19th, 2017. Six years ago today I had surgery on my right arm for Cubital Tunnel Syndrome. The doctors said that I had about 25% nerve damage in that arm. Ten months before that, I had the same surgery for the same problem on my left arm. 35% nerve damage on that one. Since the operations, my ability to play like I use to has become all but a memory. Hours behind a piano to practice so I can play for hours in front of people. Now… I am lucky if I can get an hour in of practice before my hands completely give out. Not to mention playing in front of people and how much of a challenge that became. 

Something like this would be devastating to any pianist who put in as much time as I have. But, the piano is more than an instrument to me. It is more than wood and metal. It saved my life. 

Growing up proved hard for me.  Being labeled as, “the stupid one” all throughout my elementary schooling. I had to repeat kindergarten because I couldn’t spell my own name. When I hit the 2nd grade, there were talks in holding me back again. It wasn’t until my Mother took me in and a doctor diagnosed me with Dyslexia and ADHD. So there was a name, or a reason why I did not learn like the other kids my age. But that didn’t help the teasing, or make me feel any smarter. 

A few years later I saw the movie, “Great Balls of Fire.” I watched the hands glide over the keys and I thought to myself, “That is what I want to do.” So that Christmas, I got a little keyboard. And I started Lessons a few months after that.

Almost instantaneously my grades started to improve. My self esteem started to improve. I didn’t hide away from the other kids in hopes that they wouldn’t tease me if they couldn’t find me. I realized that I wasn’t any good at sports, not because I was stupid, but because I just didn’t like sports. But I could play the piano. I liked playing the piano. No one else in my class could do that. No one else my age could play like I was learning how to play. And so I no longer accepted being “The stupid one,” in my class. Or ever again.

After that I went  to a performing arts high school to play the piano, and then off to college to play the piano, and even in Europe to play the piano. Graduated with a Bachelors in Music in Music Studies with one of my emphasis as Piano Performance. The piano took me from a small scared little boy to an upright, self-confidant man. 

And six years ago, it left me.

First my left arm, closely fallowed by the right. My hands grew numb. I would drop things all the time. My scale passages got sloppier and sloppier. My chord passages couldn’t hold. My hands and arms grew tired after opening a can of dog food, let alone a Bach Prelude and Fugue.  So the surgeries happened to try and keep any more damage from happening. 

But so much damage had already happened. 

I know that I shouldn’t let it bring me down as much as I do. But the Piano is what I have always felt defined me. And to lose what I had is excruciating. 

I can still compose. And I do. I compose almost every day. From Folk songs to String Quartets, I have so much to say through music. But sometimes it even feels that people would rather hear me play the piano than the music I write. 

Today, six years after my right arm surgery, my right arm seems to be having new troubles. I am terrified to go to the doctor and hear what they say. I may not be able to play a full Beethoven sonata anymore, but I can still play for myself at home. I can still play enough to record tracks for some of my compositions. But I fear that I am going to lose that too. 

And what is left of me? Could I still call myself a pianist if I have to have another surgery on my arms and I lose the ability to play all together? The Piano has done so much for me, and I took it all for granted back in my youth. I wish I hadn’t. 

Look upon me, my children. Let this be a lesson to you. Find what you love. Find what makes you lash out in joy and wonderment. Hone those abilities. Study and learn all that you can of what makes you happy. And cherish every moment. And take care of yourself so that you never lose it. Whatever it might be. Cherish it, as your Mother and I cherish you. 

And my wife, Meine Alles. Thank you for not giving up on me. Even in my darkest times. And thank you in advance for when I fall back there. You truly are a light in my darkness, and a voice of reason in my depression. An angel to my inner deamons. I am forever grateful and in debt to you.

And I should look upon an old mantra I use to live by in my Taoistic days. 

There are no mistakes. Everything happens for a reason. The pain and growing I get from all of this I could use for my compositions. 

As my mother once taught me about a pice Beethoven wrote, “This is the sound of his sadness.” 

To give a voice to an emotion, such a power Beethoven had. Such a power any composer has. Such a power… I must harness. To compose something like that, all I have to do is bleed.

And bleed I shall.