Singing with a Heavy Heart

First, a little background:

I've been a member of the Barbershop
Harmony Society for 13 years or so (from 1980 to 84 in Tacoma and from 2000 to the present in Bellevue). Barbershop harmony is a uniquely American art form...that is, it originated in the American south over a hundred years ago. Now it is international both in participants and those who simply enjoy the sound of close, four-part harmony.

I place a rather high value on my participation, in the belief that music makes our society a better place...besides, it is good clean fun, fellowship, and, when one needs it, a source of tremendous emotional support. In all these ways, it is truly a ministry.

My chorus, Northwest Sound Men's Chorus, produces two annual shows for the general public: a spring/summer show in early June, and a Holiday show in December. These help us pay the rent, our director, coaches, and other expenses that our dues don't cover. In addition to these shows, you might find us performing at local community events such as: The City of Kirkland's tree lighting ceremony, the Seattle Westlake Center holiday kick off, the Bellevue Strawberry Festival, Music in the Park in Everett, and many others.

And then, there is something else...COMPETITION! Chapters in the Barbershop Harmony Society can choose to compete among themselves for titles such as Division Champion, District Champion, and International Champion. (There are contests for both quartets and choruses.)

There is no money in this, but you would never guess it given the amount of work the members put in just to sing better than the other guys. The nice thing about the competitive part is that it raises the standards for everyone...we all get better.

If you would like to get an idea of just how good this music genre can get, here is a link to the St Charles Missouri chapter, the Ambassadors of Harmony and their performance of "76 Trombones" which won the international championship this past July. In that same competition, Northwest Sound placed 19th, highest of any chorus in our district.

Speaking of "district" we belong to the Evergreen District which is very large: Alaska, British Columbia, Alberta, Washington, Oregon, Idaho, and Western Montana. And this weekend was the annual Evergreen District Competition. In was Vancouver's turn to host it and they choose the convention center in Whistler, B.C. as the venue. Our chorus was in the competition, trying to earn the right to again represent our district at the international competition next year in Philadelphia.

So that's how I happened to be on a charter bus, 50 miles or so north of Vancouver at 2:00 Friday afternoon when I received a cell phone call from Dr. Stephan. I had given him my cell number and knew that he might call, but I really expected the call on Monday. When it came, this call was very like the call I made to Bettie the morning of the stroke (see The Day it Happened)...one of those moments I know can happen but I never really expected that it would ... at least not to me.

At first the doctor's voice sounded positive, that is he was direct, no grasping to try to find sugar coated words: "We have the results from Bettie's biopsy (a slight pause here) it is Lymphoma." If you put two words on a balance scale (like the scales of justice): "Stroke" on one side and "Lymphoma" on the other, the L word is clearly heaver. While it's true there are stroke victims who die and Lymphoma victims who fully recover, it is more often the other way around. Unfortunately for Bettie, she has both, plus she is down to 95 pounds or so, a grim picture indeed.

I thanked Dr. Stephan, though in hindsight I'm not sure why ... good manners I guess. My head was spinning. I wanted to stand up and shout "Stop the bus, I want to go home". I'm thinking: "What kind of man goes off to sing while his wife is..." But I took some time to think it through:

• The trip was already planned and the risks were considered and allowed for.
• She is in very good care with family.
• There is nothing I could do, even if I were there, until Monday when we see the doctor.
• I really do need a break from the daily stress of this, and singing is a very good stress reliever.
• In last place, but still a real consideration, is my commitment to the chorus.

So I finally made peace with myself, though I determined that I would high-tail it for home as soon as the contest was over, rather than waiting for the return charter bus on Sunday. Next, I called my daughter Kim and we cried in each others ears as I shared the news.

Seated next to me on the bus was a good buddy from the chorus, Ed Dierdorf. Naturally, he had heard me on the phone so I owed at least him an explanation. I asked him not to tell anyone, and said that I was not sure exactly what to do. He and I talked about it at some length. I knew that if I spread the news, I would be flooded with a big warm blanked of brotherly support. But...

The issue here is this: When chorus members prepare to perform (and this is especially true when the performance includes a tender love ballad, as our upcoming performance did) the emotional preparation is very important. Each guy goes to his own emotional space in preparation to deliver something from his own heart. Something that will move the audience, (and hopefully the judges too). In a tight brotherhood like Northwest Sound, when one member hurts, it affects the whole unit. So I thought there was a very real possibility that my issue could mess with the emotional preperation of the whole chorus and I didn't want to do that. Of course, on the other hand, maybe it would actually add some emotional depth, what do I know?

I thought for a long time about what to do, and who to tell, if anyone. I told Ed: "I think I'll just tell Donny" (Don Rose, our fabulous director). "He'll know whether or not to tell the others." I thought some more: "What if it messes with his preparation?" I finally decided to tell Don's wife Amy: "She'll know whether or not it would be good to tell Donny." So that's how I left it for the rest of the trip. The Roses were not on the bus so I would have to wait until much later to find and talk to Amy.

When I checked-in and got to my hotel room, I found that for a $12 fee I could get on the Internet. So I did, and soon found my way to this blog. However, try as I might, I could not edit the blog and let all of you, my faithful "Bettie Followers" in on the news. "Twelve bucks wasted" I thought.

That's when I thought of calling Steve, my son and co-editor of this blog. Of course he had heard from his sister Kim, so he knew what was going down. I asked him to put up a post (which he did later that evening Results of the Biopsy). To help him with what he might say, I talked to him at length, just so he'd get a feel for where I was with everything.

One of the things I discussed was the issue of telling the chorus. His counsel was: "Don't tell anyone. You'd only put Amy in an impossible position by having to keep a secret from her husband if she determined that Donny should not be told. That wouldn't be good, of course". (How did I raise such wise kids?) So that's what I did...er, didn't actually.

We rehearsed later that evening and again beginning at 6:00 the next morning in prep for our 10:15 a.m. stage time. Our performance was wonderful. At least we thought we were pretty good. (We placed third out of nineteen choruses.) I don't remember what I thought about during the ballad, but it wasn't Bettie. I could not have sung a note with her pretty face in my head. Sorry Honey.

After our performance I told Donny: "I have to leave now, I can't be here for the show tonight." (The top three choruses perform at the evening show). He asked me if Bettie was alright and all I could tell him was to check with Chuck Caplan, a medical doctor and a gifted baritone who sings with us. I had just told Dr. Caplan all the details that I knew and I thought he could provide the best description of the issue to anyone who asked. Besides, I can't tell anyone what is going on and keep my composure -- not yet anyway -- and I didn't have the time to tell everyone before I was to leave.

I caught the Greyhound bus at 1:30. So now I'm sitting in the Vancouver bus/train depot, with a tablet and pen, whiling away a two-hour layover before the Seattle bus leaves. I'll transcribe and post this, probably tomorrow (Sunday, Nov 1) morning.

I finally reached my sweetie's side about 11:15 p.m. She was sleeping peacefully but awakened to give me a weak smile. Monday we'll see Dr. Schumer and determine where we go from here.

But for now, this is where I need to be.