That moment when ...

A lot of people remember seminal moments in their life as if they were yesterday. I'm one of those lucky people that can put myself in myself years ago and feel the same things. Though all memory deteriorates with time, I'm highly convinced that this is not true with pain.

I've been a musician my entire life. No really, I have. I know I mentioned it before, but growing up my parents had this old rotor organ. I would play it, compose on it, and my sister and I would play this odd game of church. No really, we went to church 2 times on Sundays, once on Wednesdays, once during the school week (we went to a private elementary school), and then we'd come home and pull out a hymnal or Bible and play church. I was always the organist. My little sister was always sitting cross legged on the floor singing while I pounded on the keyboard and foot pedals. I believe there is video evidence of this somewhere - and I'm sure my parents laughed. But it's true. Since I can remember music has been in my life as a fixture. I would make songs up, teach myself to play, perform ... and that's the way it was.

When I was about 6 or so, I got a little keyboard. My parents threw out the old rotor organ about the same time. It was a dying behemoth. I would rock out on this little keyboard. I was very selfish with it though. I didn't want anyone else to play on it for fear they would break it. My little sister almost never got to play with it. Not too long after, in the fourth grade, my mother put me into piano lessons. This same year, we had a new music teacher, and she allowed us to join band in the fourth grade. So, I joined band too. My mother played the flute in high school and had an old flute that she let me take 2 times a week to band class at school. My best friend also joined band, and also took piano lessons - though she took them privately outside of school I took mine after school with the music teacher. My bestie chose to play clarinet.

Since that time, I have been with music nonstop. I went from elementary music, to middle school music, to high school music, to college music, and now I teach music part time out of my home. For me, it's one of the best things life has to offer. Music is not just a gift, it's a language. And, it's a language anyone can learn and anyone can understand.

These thoughts and feelings I have about music were crushed in the fall of 2002. I was attending Washington State University in pursuit of a B.A. in Music Education. I realized halfway through my first semester that I couldn't keep up with my piano assignments. The previous fall, I had been in a car accident in Seattle and had seen my orthopedist (one of the ones who said nothing's wrong with me). She had put me in these hideous wrist braces. She thought I had tendonitis in my hand. In my piano lessons a few months later, I knew something was wrong. Things I never had problems with learning or playing became absolute chores. I decided maybe the piano isn't going to work out as my major instrument. Besides, I cannot memorize music on the piano to save my life unless I wrote it. And no music was a requirement I hated with a passion.

The next year, I decided to switch to flute as my major instrument. I wasn't as strong in flute as I was in piano, but there was no harm in becoming a better player and musician. My sophomore year, I distinctly recall being in my tiny apartment with my husband, doing homework, and feeling the worst pain in my entire life in my right hand. We couldn't' have been more than 3 or so weeks into the school year. I literally felt like my bones were being crushed to death. You know how annoying that sound is when people crack their knuckles? That sound is the feeling I had that night. I remember crying a lot, holding my hand in my other hand and rocking on the bed.

To this day, I can feel that same pain and those same emotions. There is nothing holding that back from my recollection. I can't seem to get away with that feeling. It's exactly like the bone sawed in half feeling. You never forget the distinct feeling that has. It will be with you forever. And when you recall it, it's like nails on a chalky chalkboard; a disgusting feeling up and down your back, your nose burning, and your mouth tasting metallic.

I've had many incidents with my hand, but this night in my second year of college in that tiny, dark apartment is the exact moment I believe my lunate fractured and collapsed. That moment will haunt me until I die.