Day nine

Thursday November 11

Maja:

Today is finally time for my dreaded and anticipated hand surgery. I arrive early and get to meet the hand surgeon who explains the procedure; they are planning keyhole surgery, and depending on the findings they might not need to reopen the old incision. They are removing a ganglion, and that ganglion is just under my thumb, next to a big artery. Usually ganglions have a root, and they hope to find that root, remove the root from the inside and then it hopefully won’t reappear again. The ganglion will then disappear in a couple of weeks or months. I feel very positive about this as I go into surgery. I get dressed in the hospital gown, and wait for my turn in the assigned bed in the wakeup area. I get to chat with the nurses, and have a nice chat with the nurse from my last surgery. She remembers me and we chat about what’s been happening with the music and my move to Ireland since last time. It’s nice to be remembered. As the time drags closer it’s my turn and I follow the nurses to the operating theatre. The room is quite big and I don’t really get a proper look around since everything goes so quickly. There’s a small board/bed like object in the middle of the room which I am instructed to lie down on. They cover my body in a couple of blankets because the room is properly cold, and I am shivering. They strap me in with a safety belt on top of the blankets, I guess in case I start to roll over or move or something. On my right arm they check my blood pressure. I also have an IV inserted into that arm. My left arm is getting disinfected and I’m asked to hold it up in the other direction. After it is properly disinfected, it gets covered in a sterile cloth and I lose sight of it. It feels very awkward lying here in the same position as Jesus on the cross. Without any control over my arms. The nurse holds the gas element over my mouth, and I focus on her eyelashes as I breath in the gas. Her eyelashes are slightly lumped together with mascara.

Next thing, I am in another room feeling completely dislocated and my hand is enormous. It takes quite a while before I am able to properly wake up. When I am more awake I get a cup of tea, apple juice, a sandwich and chocolate which I absentmindedly eat. I’m still groggy. When the surgeon comes by I am finally awake enough to have the conversation. He had opened up six holes on the back of my hand for the keyhole surgery, but he couldn’t find the root of the ganglion. But he found some other tissue injury on the back of the hand which he fixed. As for the ganglion, he had to open up the wrist up where the old incision was and remove the ganglion. He then said that he burned the area to prevent it from coming back again. But there’s still a chance it might come back again, and then he might not want to surgically remove it again. 

I am absolutely devastated. It might come back and if it does, he might not want to take it out again. I can barely call a surgery like this a success. 

When I get home, I’m sad and in pain. It might be fixed, but I am mourning since it might not be. I don’t want to live with that thing on my hand, restricting my movements. Please. Let it never come back. Please.

Mark:

Maja’s into surgery first thing this morning so I know I won’t be hearing from her for a while, although we do have an early morning call and keep in touch right up to when she goes in.

Now I start to send pitches. The bulk of this will just be researching who to send it to and just sending it and hope they get back. I’m looking at sending to different types of publication, both on and offline proposing a regular feature of The Tour Diaries once we get on the road in December. And there will also be book pitches to be sent and literary agents. And I’m also trying to get us on an established tour, either something to make us change our plans for December or, more likely, something starting hopefully early next year.

What I can say is that the people I want to get our stuff to really do not want to be called. I get it. You work for a music publication. The world and his mother either wants to be writing for that publication or being written about by it. That’s a lot of people looking for their attention. If you were able to call, they’d never be off the phone dealing with just that stuff. So, email us please. If we like it, we’ll call you. Fine.

But there is one person I can speak to. I hope. I know we’re not right for him, but he might just know someone we will be right for, then I can go to them with his name and his blessing. And it will be nice to start with at least one friendly phonecall where I might just get the time of day and a little more besides. This is to John Dolan who was my boss when I was a music writer and general feature writer on The Evening Echo in Cork.

The mad thing here is, he was already going to be my first attempted point of contact today. He popped up on my social media last night and we had a little hello and I let him know I was living in Ireland. Which he said he would be interested in knowing more about. Well, he’s about to get the full lowdown.

I message him first thing saying I have something I would like to talk about and I leave my number, and he’s back to me almost immediately with his number saying I can call anytime. I’m on it immediately and we have the most wonderful catch up and chat. He’s hugely enthusiastic about all that we’re doing and says that yes, it really sounds like something the right kinds of publications would be very happy to work with and would pay for. Not his as they have a more specific brief, but then I knew that. What he does do is give me the name of the right person to speak to on one of the nationals. And I can drop his name in there. Brilliant brilliant. Thankyou very much. I’m on it. I call that newspaper office, expecting to be put through and to tell that person I’m an ex colleague of John’s and a former fellow journo and all that. But reception tells me all journalists are working from home, can’t be called and here’s her email address. Great. My one solid contact, complete with reference, and all I can do is email and hope it gets picked up. At least I’m able to mention my association with her friend and colleague in the subject field but that really isn’t the impact I was looking for.

After this, it’s onto the numbers game of identifying publications, trying to identify the right person if possible and sending the right kind of email.

Out of office hours and it’s back to recording, finally succeeding in getting a vocal down that’s absolutely on the line for every single syllable.