Bringin' on the Heartbreak

 

There’s a scene near the end of Wes Anderson’s 2001 movie The Royal Tenenbaums where Ben Stiller’s character, Chas Tenenbaum, emotionally breaks and says “I’ve had a rough year, dad.”  It’s almost too much for me to watch, and one of several moments during this quirky movie that never fail to get me emotional.  It has always resonated with me in a way that I haven’t fully understood.

 

This past summer, I had two medical procedures to insert five stents in around my heart to clear some blockages.  After awakening in the post op recovery room after the first procedure, my senses were flooded with a surprisingly loud presence of the Def Leppard song “Bringin’ on the Heartbreak.”  In that moment, I could not remember the band's name, so like the nerd I am, I began calling out to the entire Recovery unit - anyone.  I’m certain everyone there was born long after the song’s release, so they weren’t privy to its ubiquitous radio presence during the early 80s. They may not have been old enough to be privy to the idea of radio ubiquity.  My guess is that they were playing some kind of streaming service’s “Heart” playlist algorithm – you know, for fun.

As I stirred back to consciousness from the procedure, my squirming brought a nurse over to tell me not to move my legs, because of the incision in my right inner thigh.  She tied some bedding around my leg as a reminder to keep them still.  She moved to the left bedside and introduced herself as Nicole.  I asked her again, if she knew who did the song that was playing, just as Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again” came on.  There goes my “Heart” songs theory.    I guess someone in the room was feeling their 80s hair rock.  Like a drifter they were born to wear cologne.  I chuckled and Nicole asked me what was so funny.  I thought to myself, that it would be fitting that the final flashes of my life would be the music that I couldn’t stop mocking as a teenager.  I twitched my leg and Nicole asked me to relax.  Then she put my left hand into a tight clasp between both her hands.  I could barely make out her smiling eyes floating above a surgical mask. At that point, I knew I was okay and drifted back to sleep.

During my life, I have tried to not be noticed.  I think I’m pretty good at it (see Nowhere Man).  I rarely offer up participation in groups, but if I do, I often try to be first in order to lessen the pressure and be the first to be forgotten.  I try to be as small as I can be despite my size, and I always try to leave space between me and the general public.  I try to blend in as much as possible.  I used to wear concert tees all the time, which would occasionally elicit notice out in public, so I stopped that.  It's not difficult to be forgettable.  I’ve always been generic, because I am.  History and the size of the population tells me so.  There are billions of souls with hopes, ideas, fears, problems, tastes, skills, etc. – all more profound than what I can muster.  It’s an overwhelming realization.  Who am I to believe that anything about me is worthy of notice? 

I get that I have posted these occasional poor health missives for potential public consumption over several years, which is antithetical to my stated efforts to not call attention to myself.  I do not do it for notice, or for sympathy.  I do it to sort out my own feelings.  I write these things to settle my thoughts.  The act of writing helps to calm my anxieties.  Plus, I feel safe in my little anonymous corner of the internet and the mostly abandoned realm of blogs.  If there is a public side, I’d hope to maybe spark conversation about health experiences and health care and just life in general. 

 

Because of the stents being placed near my heart, I was prescribed 36 sessions of Cardiac Rehab, which is comprised of two hour long sessions a week at a gym within a hospital that is supervised by several on staff exercise physiologists.  They keep an eye on us via heart monitors, routine blood pressure checks, and observation.  I love it.  It makes me feel like I’m taking an active role in improving my health and life, which, like the writing helps give me purpose.  I enjoy casually learning about my fellow patients and learning about their health experiences and how they wound up at Cardiac Rehab, and I enjoy the check-ins by the staff who are all very kind and motivating. 

Recently, I was scheduled for an Endoscopic Ultrasound to get a closer look via biopsy at some “concerning” cyst growth in my pancreas.  The procedure is pretty simple, and I’ve been through it before (see Here’s Where theStory Ends).  I know that VHL cysts in the pancreas are benign, but I’m okay with them looking closer to be safe.  A few days before the procedure, while at Cardiac Rehab, Hannah, the best of the exercise physiologists approached me while I was flailing around on a recumbent bike.  She was there to ask me about my daily exercise routine, to take my BP, and to answer any questions I might have.  I reported to her that I was about to go in for this minor procedure, because I had previously been informed that I should alert the staff of any new medical news.  Hannah asked me how I was doing, and how I felt about it.  I think I grumbled something about “futility” and “being tired,” and Hannah retorted with encouraging specific evidence about my progress since beginning the classes, and dammit, I broke!  An instant flood of emotions rushed up into my nose.  It was as if she pushed a button that unlocked a lot of unresolved pain.  Sure, we both knew that this procedure was not serious, but for me, it felt like a breaking point after a lifetime of struggle.  Is this what it means when people say they “feel seen?”  Was this me allowing myself to be “seen,” or was I simply caught in a flash of light before scurrying into the shadows like a cockroach?  

Ever since that moment, I’ve been a ball of conflicting emotions with bouts of excited optimism mixed with total unflinching despair.  The optimism?  Maybe I’m beginning to realize that being seen is not so bad.  That it’s okay to ask for and accept help, and to trust, and to admit that I’ve had a rough stretch..  The despair?  I wonder if I’ve waited too long to learn this lesson.  My efforts to be alone have been pretty damn successful, so now I feel like I’m left with no shoulder to lean into and say “I’ve had a rough year.”

Disintegration

 

In March of 1985, I was diagnosed, along with my mother and older brother, with Von Hippel Lindau (VHL).  It’s a genetic disorder that is characterized by the development of both benign and malignant tumors in various parts of the body.  Within a week or so of this diagnosis, I had a tumor removed from my right kidney.  I was not symptomatic.  I was a couple of months shy of my 14^th birthday and in the midst of 8^th grade and basketball season.  At that time, I was obsessed with playing basketball.  I wasn’t the phenom that I had always hoped.  In fact, I had become awkward, overweight, and slow, but I still worked hard to be a good player and teammate.  I had some skills: I was a decent and willing passer, a good screener, a respectable rebounder, and I could shoot accurately.  I was middling – not the superstar I had dreamt about becoming as a young kid who got to play in the third grader game on the playground as a kindergartner.  Those were heady times!

Anyway, I am losing my focus.  The thought of having a major abdominal surgery was so foreign to me that I didn’t know how to react.  I wasn’t scared, because I didn’t fully understand what was about to happen.  I felt great, so it did not seem possible that something was wrong with me aside from my usual insecurities.  I was more worried about my brother who had already gone through a brain surgery (his symptoms of dizziness and nausea led to a CT scan that led to our family’s diagnosis) and was also set for a partial nephrectomy to remove a kidney tumor.  We would eventually be in the hospital during the same week.

That was a little over forty years ago.  Along the way, my mom passed away at the age of 46 from this genetic syndrome, my older brother has had multiple surgeries and is now completely disabled, and I have also struggled through several surgeries, treatments, radiation, three years of dialysis, and much more.  Some of these things have gone well and a few haven’t.  My last surgery in 2021 was for the removal of a few hemangioblastomas.  This was one of those few.  I was on heavy steroids for a few months and gained an astonishing amount of weight, nearly bit my tongue off during the surgery, was left immobile on my back for nearly two weeks, had limited contact with people due to the Covid lockdown, began having incredibly intense paranoid delusions, and by the time I left, I could no longer walk without assistance.  The scariest part for me were the delusions and the loss of control.  My mortality never felt stronger and the feeling that I am very unresolved.  I have always fought hard for my recovery and survival.  That last surgery made me realize that my ability and resolve to return to a fairly healthy stasis is compromised.  I’m older and my body is no longer able to bounce back so easily. 

 

Recently, I was diagnosed with three vein blockages leading in to my heart.  I was casually informed that not only do I need surgery, but I need bypass surgery, which is much more invasive.  Within a few days of this diagnosis (and Yes I was diagnosed because I’ve been struggling with fatigue and low energy and inquired repeatedly with my doctors), I met with a surgeon and he seemed skeptical of my extensive medical history.  Am I too much of a lost cause?  Would a major surgery such as this be deadly?  The surgeon ordered several tests in order to determine my viability.  Those tests are nearly complete.  I am in a limbo state at this moment.  What’s next?  No surgery has been scheduled at this moment and I am left to stew this scenario in my thoughts all the time.  This is not good.  I am getting more anxious and scared by the day – even hour to hour.  Will I be denied a potentially lifesaving surgery and left to disintegrate, or will I receive the surgery and have to endure incredible amounts of pain and be able to summon up the drive to get well, or even back to the tenuous state I’ve been living in for the past four years?  An existence of near daily medical appointments, limited ability to accomplish almost anything, non-stop paperwork to prove that I am unable to function well, and insurance denials (receive one today!!), and that ever increasing realization that I need help that I do not know how to ask for, or come to terms that there are a lot of things that I am no longer able to do.

I am fiercely independent or a control freak.  I have lived alone for twenty years, and I like being alone.  I like to take care of my business and not rely on others.  It terrifies me to lose that control.  This is not unusual.  Lots of us eventually find themselves at this stage as our bodies and minds begin to fail and we try desperately to hold on, while those who care for us try to help.  It often ends in conflict.  It’s all very uncomfortable. 

I’ve considered giving up driving over the last few years, but I am so immobile otherwise, the idea of losing that freedom scares me.  Plus I feel embarrassed if I cannot accomplish simple tasks on my own anymore, and I feel gross and weird.  None of this is good.  One would think that all of the long hospital stays I’ve had would be humbling enough, yet I try to maintain some sort of delusional sense of dignity. 

That’s just it.  Currently, I am frightened.  Something feels different.  It’s a more common surgery than what I’ve been through before, and yet it seems foreign to me.  I’ve become accustomed to kidney and brain surgeries, but the heart?  Never even considered that as a possible future diagnosis.  Plus, during the past year or two, I’ve kind of felt like I’ve reached my limit of medical issues.  I’m exhausted from not ever feeling well.  I’m tired of struggling to tie my shoes, or of feeling like my head will explode, or of whatever.  In as non-dramatic way as possible to express this, I am often so tired that dying does not seem so bad.  There are many great aspects of my life, which I am incredibly grateful for, yet the discomfort and challenge of re-learning how to do simple things over and over have gotten to me.  We all have problems and I do not share this for sympathy or attention.  I write this to help my psyche.  Writing calms my restless head, and sharing makes it all feel a little less scary.  

Candidate

 

During my last extended hospital stay for brain surgery, I experienced a lot of disturbing hallucinations.  I think I was mostly unconscious during these times, in my mind, I was convinced that I was being held captive by alternately two separate underground terrorist groups who for various reasons wanted me to pay for my alleged betrayal to their respective causes.  Despite not being able to walk, I managed to avoid capture for long periods of time by riding the rails all over the U.S.  Despite these situations all being imaginary, I found solace in forgoing my fight and flight instincts and giving up.  I allowed the hospital worker terrorist group to capture me for their surgical experiments and the military terrorist group to capture and imprison me for my beliefs.

It was all incredibly scary and I have had a difficult time putting these imaginary battles behind me.  However, the idea of giving up has continued to feel like a great decision – one that gains more and more appeal as time progresses.  In one of those hallucinations, I was trapped, so I simply laid down and tried to sleep.  I was done trying to find ways to allude my potential captors.  In reality, I am also finished with trying to find ways to continue to survive.  My long time fight against VHL (Von Hippel Lindau) has found me at a stalemate, yet it is a very precarious position.  I have lasted longer than I ever thought, and I am tired.

I am fully aware that millions, if not billions of people have much more difficult struggles which they handle with strength and grace.  In addition, I am fully aware that there are some people close to me who are in crisis.  I understand crisis and am absolutely out of energy to deal with it.  This is about me losing the desire to fight anymore.  VHL is a relentless and endless genetic syndrome and I am done with trying to navigate the unforgiving bureaucracy of health coverage in its many forms.  It is not enough that my health continues to decline, but that I constantly have to prove to faceless entities that I am broken.  There is a lot of paperwork necessary to prove that I am "sick," and most of it is insanely repetitive and incredibly inadequate.  I find it all discouraging and exhausting, which is why I am too tired to fight anymore.  I have fought very hard for a long time to live as normally as possible and not allow my medical asides to be anything more than an occasional distraction, which is why trying to convince others that I'm unwell is so awful..  I want to rest.  I want to crumple up all of the forms, pile it up, and climb atop and rest.

 

Bother

 

None of us want to be a bother, yet we all have differing ideas of what that actually means and likely apply it differently to those around us.  Trying to not be a bother has played a huge roll in my life and I’m not exactly sure why.  When asked why I’m so afraid of being a bother, I generally resort to an answer involving not wanting to be the center of attention or a nuisance, which is true, but it doesn’t tell the whole story.  Much like my recent realization that much of my decision making throughout my life has been made with a very temporary mindset, me realizing that I worry too much about being a bother to others has hindered my growth.  In both cases there’s nothing I can do about the past, but I can try to recognize it going forward and potentially do better going forward.

Abecedarians "They Said Tomorrow"

In 1990, I first heard the amazing song “They Said Tomorrow” by Abecedarians, which has a repeated line about the singer trying to build up the nerve to approach a someone he is drawn to: “If I bother you/please tell me to go away/I don’t want to bother you/but it’s not for me to say” and it hit me at the time like a ton of bricks.  It encapsulated so much of what I’ve always felt.  I’ve always felt like my presence alone is an unwanted intrusion.  I do not have a ready reason why this is and I don’t think it’s particularly important.  What I do know is that feeling this way has prevented me from trying a lot of things.  In that song “They Said Tomorrow,” it displays the other definition of ‘bother,’ which is to not try something period.  The narrator of that song keeps putting off this supposed urgent need, instead saying to himself “I’ll try it again tomorrow.”  This other side of the coin is intriguing me today, because it calls to motivation.  Have I been more concerned about disturbing others, or does it have to do more with me not wanting to disturb myself?  Did I not ask the girl out on a date, because I was afraid of bugging her, or was it because I was afraid of her saying yes?  It cannot ever have been about rejection, because that was pretty much my expectation.  After missing a week of school as a little kid, and falling woefully behind in math, did I not ask the teacher for help, because I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, or be a burden, or because I didn’t want to do the extra work to catch up? 

Not sure any of these questions are answerable in a definitive way, or if they’re even relevant.  The important part is to recognize, going forward, when I am about to use ‘bother’ as an excuse, I need to consider the response further.  If the past week has proved anything to me is that I am not far from needing to be taken care of to survive.  During the past week or so, I have fallen in public, which is scary because there’s little chance that I will be able to get up again on my own, I have found it nearly impossible to climb out of bed, I am struggling to eat or prepare food or even obtain groceries, I struggle to focus to fill out or even read health insurance paperwork, I canceled a doctor’s appointment, because it was too much effort to get there.  I will have to be a bother.  This cannot go on.  It’s depressing as hell.  I don’t know how to ask for help.  Perhaps, ‘bother’ to me, has always meant ‘burden’ – a heavy load to be dragged around.  I am trying my damnedest to get through this.  I wish it were a switch I could flip off.  

I have been blessed with family and friends that want to help, but I honestly don’t know how to accept it.  I do not feel like I deserve it.  It’s not so much that I don’t want to be a bother, it’s that I don’t think I’m worth the bother.  Perhaps that is where I need the most assistance – help to find the ability to accept assistance and accept it gracefully. 

Age of Consent

 

“My last day of work is June 30^th!”   “My last day of work is June 30^th!” 

I keep repeating this to myself.  I have been at my current place of employment for nearly 13 years, so it’s not like this is the end of a major era, but it is long enough that it feels strange to think that I won’t be going in anymore.  I am officially taking a medical leave of absence.  My goal is to get better in every possible way.  Ever since my brain surgery in February of 2021, I have not been right.  I still cannot walk.  I still struggle with control of my left side.  I still have swelling on the back of my neck.  I still have a laundry list of issues with my vision, strength, my transplant, etc.  In addition, I am now taking a medication named Belzutifan to try and shrink my VHL brain tumors, which will be inoperable because it would be too dangerous.  At any rate, the new medication, applied to my already shaky state of being due to my long history of medical issues, has been incredibly difficult.  The drug reduces my hemoglobin to dangerously low levels, which means I have no energy, feel fatigued, and feel like I cannot breathe.  The medication also makes me feel foggy, experience nausea, headaches, and edema.  I am no longer able to be the best employee I can be, no matter how hard I try.

For the first time in my life, I’ve decided to focus on getting well.  I am trying to learn to ask for help.  I have reached a point, where I struggle with day to day living.  I cannot express how difficult this is for me, but I find myself worrying if I can put together a meal, or take out the trash, or get my weekly blood labs drawn, because the parking lot is three football fields away from the hospital entrance.  It’s scary to let go.  It’s scary to admit that I’m not capable to take care of myself anymore.  As a young man, I used to daydream about the idea of living in an assisted living home.  Of having my own pad in a building that serves food and takes care of the cleaning and entertainment.  That was before I realized that the only ones worth a damn are unbelievably expensive and that giving up control of one’s life is one of the worst feelings in the world.  I probably have an unrealistic and super bloated sense of pride and control, because I’ve always taken care of all of my own stuff and have come back from a lot of set-backs.  I didn’t understand why people resist retirement homes and assisted living.  Well now I understand how it feels like being thrown away. 

Please understand, I realize that I am privileged.  I’ve debated about even telling others, because things could be so much worse, and these days, so often are.  I am honestly scared.  As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, during my brain surgery in 2021, I was completely crazy for a time.  That experience still haunts me.  I was bed-ridden for a month (two of those weeks was ordered to be immobile and lay flat 24/7).  I had no control.  No one would listen to me.  I lost the feeling of trust.  That experience still informs me.  I am especially slow to trust.  I feel isolated.  I have no plan about how to get better, or what to do in the future.  My leave is indefinite, but my work benefits are not.  Yet I am reluctant, embarrassed, and seemingly unable to ask for help, nor do I know what that help would actually be.  If someone offers help, I do not know how to accept it!  What do I ask them to do?  How do I get over my stupid pride and ask? 

When I was crazy while in the hospital, I hallucinated every night that if I drifted off to sleep that the staff would change my room and place me in places I could not get out of.  I’m sure I was a prize patient for the nurses, because I would panic.  I still panic.  I currently struggle to stand from a seated position, but am also unable to stand for long periods of time.  I feel like I am easily stuck or stranded, so I become anxious about things going wrong before anything happens. 

I am very uncertain if I am making the right decision here, but I can honestly say that working every day has been nearly impossible physically (along with the mental struggle most of us worker ants can experience).  I worry that my health decline will continue and then I could be stuck without income, and health insurance.  I suppose it is my new adventure.  Sorry for taking up your time.

Movement

There is a young gal who volunteers at the non-profit I work for who has become my hero.  I do not know what issues she’s had to deal with specifically, but I do know that less than two years ago she was in a motorized wheel chair.  She would struggle with one hand to control the levers that operated the chair and she would arrive with her fellow classmates in a bus from a local High School – all under constant supervision.  I was often in a position to provide tasks for these students, as part of their volunteerism/therapy.  She was always the quietest, as she seemed to struggle to communicate, and she was seemingly the least motivated to get involved.

In the spring of 2014, I was invited to a graduation ceremony for many of these students.  I found myself overcome with emotion, as the teachers and administrators gave out awards and certificates to these kids and told stories of their burgeoning independence.  It was touching to learn about their strides and efforts made throughout their time at school.  It made me realize, more than ever, not to take anything that I do have for granted.  But then, of course, I kind of forgot.

Last Halloween, I experienced a hemorrhagic stroke.  The genetic disorder Von Hippel Lindau (VHL) that I’ve written about in these pages numerous times before ( like here) was the culprit.  I had a small hemangioblastoma that decided to burst, which, while wandering the streets, trick or treating with some friend’s kids, caused a major headache, nausea and an inability to walk without drifting sideways.  Of course, I did not know this at the time, nor did I seek medical help for a couple of days – thinking things would improve, which is strange since I was with a close friend when he had a stroke and I’ve seen the horrific damaging effects of a brain hemorrhage on my brother.

After Halloween, things got much worse.  First, I had another brain bleed and it wasn’t long before I lost the ability to walk at all, while also losing control of my left side.  I spent much of November and December in the hospital and half of January in an inpatient rehabilitation hospital. 

During these extended hospital stays, my life became centered around very basic things.  Did I have a bowel movement today?  Can I touch my nose and touch my doctor’s index finger alternately with the index finger of each of my hands?  Can I stand without holding on to something for support for 30 seconds without falling?  You get the gist.  I found myself super excited and incredibly nervous when my physical therapist had me walk a few steps without aid and I was able to do so.  I found myself overcome with a huge swell of emotion when I was able to stand and touch my left foot to a step and return it with actual control and without violently falling to my right like I had every previous time.  These tiny victories were the only things that motivated me and continue to keep me going to my weekly physical therapy appointments. 

Once again, I am now able to drive.  I am able to walk with the aid of a cane.  I am able to shop for groceries and make my own simple meals.  I can do laundry and kind of clean my apartment and myself.  Everything takes more effort than I could’ve ever imagined prior to the stroke, and it all takes a lot more time than it ever used to.  My left hand seems to continue to do its own thing, which is a constant frustration, but I am getting by.

I see that same young gal volunteering at work a couple of times a week now that I am back at work.  She continues to come in, except these days she comes in on her own.  She has progressed so that she stands on her feet and uses a four-wheel walker, in place of a wheelchair, and she travels to and from the work place on the regular bus completely on her own.  She is always bright and cheery and outgoing and she now does projects that take fine motor skills without hesitation nor does she ever show frustration.  She is amazing!  She has gained so much independence and has achieved so much in such a short amount of time.  She is such an inspiration, as she continues to gain her independence, and she has taught me so much.  I can only hope that I progress and achieve as much as she has.

Is It Safe?

I’m coming up on the 8th anniversary of my kidney transplant. If you know me, or have taken the time to peruse the nonsense I’ve been posting on here for the last few years, you’ll know how monumental that event was for me. However, I am not heading in to this year’s celebration feeling too hot. It all reminds me of the second and third years after the transplant. Once the huge high of receiving the new kidney and lease on life started to wear off, once the build up of a few years worth of terrible side effects from massive doses of steroids began to exact their toll, and once reality started to set in, I had a minor crash. When I first received the new kidney, they had me so hopped up on steroids (including rabbit adrenaline!) that just a few days after the surgery I was literally riding my IV pole throughout the hospital hallways like a skateboard with my hospital gown blowing free and loose in the breeze. The excitement of getting a second chance mixed with the brew of hyperactivity inducing drugs had me talking a mile a minute and nearly foaming at the mouth with excitement. I vowed during that frantic time that I would never waste my time again. Of course, within a few months I was back to my old work grind, living essentially as I had before, and instead of being pumped with energy, I was in constant physical pain from something called “avascular necrosis” (which roughly translates as ‘dead or dying bones’ - caused by the same drugs that were helping my body accept my new kidney), and exhausted all of the time. It was then that I truly realized that my big plans and ideas were not realistic. Life is a series of mundane activities broken up by occasional moments of excitement both good and bad, and in my case, after all the 27 (gulp!) surgeries and horrific medications that helped keep me going at all costs along with my increasing age, I was no longer physically capable of doing what I used to or longed to do. It was during that time around 2006 and 2007 that I was working to earn a living for survival, but had zero energy left over to do anything in life that I enjoyed. My life had become mostly a cycle of getting out of bed, going to work, and coming home to watch TV until I fell asleep - only to start over the next day. Does this pattern sound familiar? I think a lot of us have a similar discouraging pattern, but because of my vow and because of that second chance, it felt so acutely painful to realize that I was too exhausted and limited physically to feel like I could escape. It took me a long time, but I was able to slowly work my way to better health again and to finding more frequent moments of recreation – so much so, that this year, I made another unrealistic vow to try and do as much as I could to get out of my home and my shell and do. I can proudly say that I have! This year has been stuffed with adventures, road trips, a ton of live music, my insane LPGA marathon, and more, but I have once again found myself exhausted and frustrated by my total lack of energy and wondering if I will be able to climb back out of the hole again. What I find most depressing about all of this is the daily grind – the ease of falling so easily into the spin cycle of working every day and watching time fly by helplessly.


It’s no wonder then that the second album from L.A. based artist Dina D’Alessandro (Is It Safe?) has found its way back into my car’s CD player all summer long. I was first introduced to her music via Myspace, of all places, around the time that I was struggling with the dark spiral of the endless work grind of 2006. Back in the mid-00’s I would get 10 to 20 friend requests a week from different musical acts on Myspace (along with the multitude of “prostitute” requests from stock photo blondes claiming on my profile page things like “UR HOTT!!” despite the only picture available on my page being one of the mythic Bigfoot strolling across a clearing) and only sometimes did I actually bother to listen to the music from these artists. Thankfully, when I received this friend request, I was in one of those searching for new music mindsets and took a listen to the handful of songs featured on her profile. I believe it was then that I immediately clicked the link to CD Baby and ordered her two albums. I absolutely love them both, but it was her second offering that especially clicked with me.

2005’s Is It Safe? is absolutely a soundtrack for those of us who are not satisfied with the work a day world. D’Alessandro’s ability to capture the feelings of self disgust and frustration toward living the unfulfilling first world problem of the un-self-actualized life of a worker ant (the name of her music publisher, by the way) is profound. The opening song “Masquerade” was an instant favorite. Not only does it open with a quivering guitar line atop a bed of electric noise that rivals the best moments of A Flock of Seagulls (who she so expertly covered on her 2009 Beautiful Things album with an inspiring and energetic “Space Age Love Song” – my 2010 #16 pick – see review here), but it blossoms into a story of sitting at the office and pretending that all is well and good, while burning up inside with pain and turmoil (“I go to work and start my day / I make believe its all okay / but it’s not okay”). That’s not the only aspect that struck me immediately with this song, because the second verse brings in the element of serious health issues that I identify with, obviously, on a deep emotional level, as our character struggles with not only the dilemma of balancing work and life, but trying not to let physical limitations get in the way (“Disease is such an ugly word / A word I think they’d find absurd / but it’s not absurd / A word I’d rather not discuss / because I don’t like to make a fuss / deny it all the way”). The clincher for why this song speaks so heavily to me arrives in the third verse as Dina brings the story full circle, because part of the need to go to work every day is to get health care coverage and to make enough money to pay for mounting medical expenses, despite the potentially declining ability to work that extra amount needed to do so (“I can’t take it anymore / the desolation I ignore / I’ve got all these bills to pay / I’ll deal with it another day”). It is absolutely heartbreaking.

This album does not focus solely on this dark topic, but touches on it enough throughout to keep the emotional thread alive. The second track, “Dream the Day Away,” which is an amazingly catchy pop rock song with a fantastically catchy chorus atop layers of buzzing guitars, still finds us dwelling on a serious need for escape from “misery.” “Down Again” opens with a guitar riff that reminds me of the stratospheric edgy guitar majesty of the much missed early 90s UK band Adorable as it builds to another driving sing-a-long that finds Dina in a fighting mood and refusing to “go down again.” Before I lose control with my over analysis of the lyrics within, due to my extreme personal identification with these stories as I have interpreted them, I must point out that, aside from the minute long instrumental “Interlude” stuck fittingly in the middle, that this album is an upbeat thrilling listen. I don’t say this enough about the music I recommend, but this is fun to listen to! The performances are spot on, as Dina is backed by a tight rhythm section, giving her space to layer her stellar guitar work and the huge hooks that she writes out in front. Over all of these years and all of the listens (especially the last few months), I still find myself not only singing along while I drive down the road, but throwing in air drum fills, and wringing out feedback on my air guitar as I bounce around behind the wheel. There is not a dud in the bunch. If you take away some of the emotional impact of the lyrics, this album reminds me musically of the chiming beauty of an album that fellow Californians Julie Plug (In Every Corner) released back in 1998, one that is so endlessly likable and (sorry) adorable that it begs for repeated listens, or the non-Madchester inflected Darling Buds from the early 90s (i.e.: their amazing Erotica from 1992). However, D’Alessandro brings an added depth that makes this album an emotional rollercoaster, along with the amazing ear candy, giving her music a timeless feel. In other words, take my medical trauma colored lens interpretations of almost every song herein (aside from “Interlude” and “Everybody Loves You” – an ode to disingenuous trickster) with a grain of salt and give the album a chance to sink in and affect you in its own way. Having said this, I cannot finish this piece without mentioning the closing song “Silly Girl,” and its powerful return to the tragedy of the opener “Masquerade.” The song opens with the lines: “Hope I never see this place again / Hope I never need this place again / The world goes round me every day / As I sit here and waste away” and it is exactly the sentiment I have echoed time and again after leaving a hospital stay (or even the office at my job). Luckily, the opening guitar turns electric, a shuffle beat comes in and the lyrics offer a message of hope and support from an outside voice. It is the perfect closing song to a powerful album (these two song bookends also provided me with inspiration for an early blog post where I quote “Silly Girl” and steal the “Masquerade” title – which can be read here) that I highly recommend. Please go to CD Baby as I once did and at least give her a chance.

Unfortunately, I could not find a song from Is It Safe? on Youtube to post (oddly though this song has the cover art representing it), however, "Disappear" is a great song from Dina D'Alessandro's 2003 debut album Sweetness and Decency and is representative of her great music!