The end of March marked 6 years since I woke up from a coma. On the evening I came to, there was a sign at the end of my bed that said
‘Today is March 31, it is sunny outside, you are at Guelph General Hospital’
I immediately and simultaneously thought 3 things:
1- What the fuuuuuuuuuccckkkkkkk
2-Water. Dear God. Water. Please. No coherence. Will never ask for anything ever again. Dying. Give me water. Only water (hours later I was offered a disgusting faux-mint moistened swab to quench a two month thirst).
And 3-I cannot BELIEVE I have missed out on being able to play the world’s BEST April Fools joke by ONE FREAKING DAY
Okay, jokes aside, my post-coma year in 2011 was one of the worst periods of my life. When I finally was discharged from the rehab hospital, I had nowhere to live, was too sick to work, had a goddamn tracheotomy tube sticking out of my neck, a brain injury and was in a painful haze from being weaned down off a boatload of fentanyl. I could barely talk or walk. You know that cliché about when things go to hell you find out who your true friends are? It’s an unfortunate truth. The guy I had been casually seeing for months met another girl while I was having my big nap. A bunch of my friends bailed on me. My body, my mind, my relationships, my heart- everything hurt. To be clear, this isn’t a ploy to air my grievances with those who I felt abandoned me, not at all. People, particularly people in their mid twenties, are not always emotionally equipped to deal with a friend with critical illness and the grapple with mortality that comes along with it. I harbour resentment towards no one and I bring it up only to illustrate what it was like for me at the time. As anyone who has had their health taken away from them can tell you, the road to recovery isn’t just about your physical health, it is multi-faceted, long and overwhelming.
One particularly bad night about week after I went ‘home’, I laid awake in bed in a friends spare room, my possessions piled around me in boxes, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure my life out. I was mentally in such a dark place, I didn’t know where to start or how to do it. Then a song I had never heard came on my spotify that had been playing randomly in the background that straight up saved me from giving up. You hear emo kids say trite things like ‘music saves lives’ all the time, but for me it was really true that night. I needed that exact song so bad in that moment. It was William Fitzsimmons ‘Beautiful girl’ and I listened to him sing ‘girl you will get better, you will get better’ over and over and in that moment, for the first time since getting sick months before- I believed it.
A couple years ago I ended up working merch for William at his Toronto show and I got to tell him that story. When he went on stage and started playing that song, I watched in wonder at how far I had come from that sick person clutching her stomach on that bed. I only recorded this short clip towards the end because cause I was so caught up in the moment but here it is below, along with the full song. I keep it on my phone and still watch it when things are hard.
At the risk of adding to the faux inspirational garbage that saturates the internet: Wherever you are in life right now, no matter how daunting the road ahead of you seems, however far you need to go- you can get there.
Thanks to William for writing this song and telling me that I would get better.
It worked. I did.