The Power of Music

I’m so used to writing stories or more extended fiction and novels that my original thinking for this post about music was that it would fit neatly into some imagined grand scheme of things – like a part of an organised plot outline. Again, it has been hijacked – rather in the same way that cancer hijacks your life and creeps up like a mugger, always waiting to catch you off guard.

Today I went for my post-op follow up appointment to get the results of my lumpectomy. It didn’t turn out how I’d planned. No, not at all how I’d planned or expected. But let me return to that in a bit.

I can still write about music because this is what I turned to when I got home from the Macmillan Cancer Centre this morning. Or rather, yesterday morning since I’m writing this at 02.23, Thursday 23 December. I couldn’t sleep so decided to get up and bang some words out. Better on the page than racing around in my brain.

I have always turned to music for a variety of reasons. For the pure pleasure of listening, playing, or creating, but also to get me out of a funk. My tastes are extraordinarily eclectic from the sublime beauty of Schubert, the majesty and order of Bach, the sparse minimalism of Philip Glass, to some of the corniest pop and the coolest jazz and funk. So, today after crying my way home I listened to some playlists Spotify had kindly made for me. Aretha Franklin’s version of ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ got me in the solar plexus and started the river to course down my cheeks again. Right now, as I write, I’m playing Schubert’s Schwanengesang. It feels satisfying and heart-warming. A damn sight more so than my right tit which is hurting like mad. Yet, I don’t reach for the pain killers – I probably shall before I finish this post. Alternatively wait until I’ve finished typing, which is no doubt an irritant.

I’m not sure what it is about music that reaches parts of the soul that other art forms don’t for me – whatever genre it is. I think that most people can relate to this. I do believe that there has been considerable research conducted under FMRI conditions which show the areas of the brain that light up when listening to different types of music.

So, what has all this got to do with breast cancer, I hear you ask? Well, for one, since my surgery on December 2, I have not been able to play the piano because it hurts. Ditto typing. Thus, the two things that usually help me centre myself – making music and writing – have been impossible. Tonight, I’m ‘battling through the pain’ like the jolly soldier many people seem to see me as. ‘You’ll fight this. You’re strong and will win, etc. etc. ‘I know they mean well, but why is this a battle? And what’s more, I’m not that fucking strong. I’m human and still rage with what I see as the injustice of this breast cancer. There is no justice in cancer. Just prevalence. One in two of us will experience it in our lifetime. Go figure.

I’m thinking it’s time I got back to the moment of sitting in the breast surgeon’s consulting room on December 22. But before I travel back there, I want to say something about a different kind of music to the Schubert that accompanies my writing now. This is the joyous dance music of Stax. Massively important in the ‘60s and still is.

Before my husband died, we went to listen to a gig by the Stax Music Academy students who were touring Europe. These were teenagers from inner city Memphis, funded by the record label to study and reproduce some of the wonderful Stax classics. We were all dancing in the aisle. At times, I wanted to dance today. Purely for the joy and lightness of moving my body and forgetting the heaviness in my mind. My motto is whatever does it for you, then do it. Throwing my hands up into the air and jumping around proved a bit of a challenge today. You see, I seem to have developed a bit of a haematoma around the wound which has become increasingly painful as the day and night has progressed. Perhaps it is my body moving in sync with the pain in my mind? Or, perhaps it’s just bloody painful in my tit! I think I might have to see someone later to make sure I have enough powerful painkillers over Christmas. Christmas, the season of joy and happiness! ‘What do you want for Christmas, Susan?’ Simple. Give me back my perfect tits – without disease, without the parasite that is cancer constantly doing its malevolent way. Silently, but with deadly intent.

Yesterday, I started decorating my sitting room with lights. A curious couple of twig Christmas trees with tiny lights sprouting from the branches. Driftwood tea light holders and lots of beautiful fresh flowers in vases. That was before I went for my appointment today. I will take a few photos of progress so far and put it as the header for this post. (I didn’t trust myself lighting candles in the middle of the night, especially as I’m still rather unsteady in my balance) Centre stage will be my beautiful Bluthner Vintage Grand piano, which sits untouched – not unloved – for now.

I’m afraid this blog post isn’t up to my writing standard, but it will have to do. It represents a mind that is skipping all over the place, desperately trying to retain a theme.

The photo at the end of this post is of me wearing the Stax Academy T-shirt a few years ago. Long before the big C came to call.