The Layers

The Claw

Thankfully, I can say that I have woken up in hospital only once in my life without knowing how or why I got there. The how and why are not going to play a big part in this particular article, but I can assure you that this is a shocking experience. 

I felt groggy, confused, but also a bit relieved. Whatever had happened, I was coming to now, and this was a very good thing. Questions arose in my mind: where was I? which hospital? how long had I been out? who brought me here? It was sometime late April 2020, shortly after the beginning of the Covid lockdown.

Next question: how am I doing? Like I said, groggy, and my body felt large and soft with the 40-45 pounds of extra weight I had put on the past few years. Also, my face was wretchedly itchy. I had grown a substantial unkempt beard, which looked and felt terrible. I really had not been taking good care of myself for quite some time. More on that later.

The most shocking piece revealed itself momentarily though. I’m right handed, but I suppose at one point I noticed there was something off with my left hand. It was there with all its fingers accounted for. However, there was a bandage covering a wound on the area of my palm between my thumb and index finger; and my thumb was flat against my palm pointing horizontally straight across my hand so that the tip was on the other side of it. When I tried to lift my thumb, I could barely move it even a couple of millimetres. 

I am a musician and have played stringed instruments since I was 5 years old. Ukulele for a year, at 6 started playing the violin, electric bass at 16 years old, and switching to upright bass when I was 20. Needless to say, after seeing my hand in this condition, I took a good long moment  contemplating what could potentially be a sobering and scary reality. Playing the bass and teaching the bass were how I made my living. The thing is, and those who know me may likely find this surprising, I hadn’t been enthusiastic or even into music for quite a few years. I hadn’t been practicing (weird for me, very weird), I hadn’t been enjoying teaching (yes, also weird), and I’d been turning down gigs even if I was available (perhaps the weirdest). All of this to say, that although finding my hand in this state was awful, it was also somehow, strangely a relief.

I was overweight, in fact a bit obese, for the first time in my life. I had always been slim if not even a bit skinny at times. And this beard I was sporting, an invasion on my face… The short answer to my physical condition at the time was that I had been suffering from a severe depression since 2016, and had made some poor choices during my illness. That coupled with the medications I had been prescribed for the past 4 years had exacerbated my mental and physical state. I was quite unhealthy. But, I was indeed also relieved. 

I was awake, so I was alive, and it was going to take a lot of determination and work, but I knew how to get back in shape, at least physically. The way I had been living my life clearly was not working for me, and it was time to start exercising again. I can be stubborn to a fault, thanks to genes inherited from my late mother. Once I set myself to something, I go as far as I can take it. I used to be an avid runner until the beginning of 2016, so I knew the correct steps in order to get back into it. Whatever was going to happen in my musical life would and should play second fiddle to my health. And, since I had fallen out of love with music, it was a relief that playing the bass was simply not an option for the time being given the state of my left hand.

Sometime soon after this resolution, a nurse checked in on me, and then my first doctor’s visit happened. I had been found unconscious in my apartment in LaSalle, and brought to the Montreal General Hospital by the paramedics. My ex-girlfriend Anastasia had come by after my father had phoned her. He had tried to reach me that morning numerous times and left a message. Having not heard back from me, he was worried. Anastasia rang the bell repeatedly, and when I didn’t come to the door, she dialled 9-1-1. The police and the ambulance soon arrived, and after some time deliberating, the police forced the door open. They found me unconscious, lying face down in my bedroom with my left hand pinned under my chest. I must have been like this for hours, which restricted the circulation to my hand, particularly my thumb. This caused my thumb muscles to atrophy to some degree, explaining the current predicament of my hand.

I was in the hospital for almost a month, and was moved to Hopital Notre-Dame about halfway through my stay. I was restricted to my room in which I was alone, due to Covid protocols. This was challenging for obvious reasons like boredom, but also valuable. I had a lot of time to reflect. Until pretty recently, music had been the most important activity in my life, and I had done really well with it, sometimes beyond my most ambitious dreams. However, my identity had become too entangled with it; how I saw myself and how I thought others saw me as a musician had become far too important. Not at all healthy, because when I felt like my skills began taking a nose dive, my opinion of myself as a person became very negative. I thought I had little or no value. Pretty early during my hospital stay, it became clear to me that this way of thinking and seeing myself was 100% erroneous. There is so much more to each of us than just one of the elements that comprise our lives, even when that element is the thing we have done a whole lot of for decades.

With this injury, my “career” (I’ve never liked that word when it comes to music) was on hiatus. Other things became much more valuable and important. I was lucky during my time isolated in a hospital room, because lots of the beautiful folks in my life reached out to me. I received calls, texts, and video messages daily from people near and far that warmed my heart, made me smile, and even brought me to laughter. Conversations with my brother Russell, an ENT surgeon living in Kingston, Ontario, were especially helpful. Having a sibling who works in the medical field when one is in dire straights health-wise is a huge privilege. Russell also shares his knowledge in a way that is easily understood by those who are not part of his chosen profession.

I was regularly visited by doctors, who asked me a series of questions and then examined me. Since I only had one working hand, I needed help with many, many things, like eating. I couldn’t peel fruit, nor the shell off of a hard boiled egg, or cut anything with a knife without the assistance of an orderly. The hospital staff were excellent. As far as I’m concerned, the nurses are the heroes. They work their tails off, have long shifts, they don’t waste any time, and were always cordial and respectful with me. That can’t be an easy gig.

I’m sorry to toot my own horn, but I am a very good patient. My Dad is one of the most patient people I know (even when it comes to his rebellious youngest son), and I very gladly inherited some of this quality of his. This was the 4th, and I hope the last, long stay in hospital I have lived. Not only did I weather it well, I’m sure I grew because of it.

In early June, I was discharged. Anastasia kindly came to pick me up and drive me home. I can’t describe the relief and gratitude I felt upon entering my apartment. The invaluable support from family and friends continued. I spoke with Dad and his wife Lorraine almost daily. Friends who knew what was up were calling and checking in regularly (a special shout out to my best mate Guy who now lives across the Pond in my Dad’s hometown of Bristol). George Doxas was coming by practically weekly from the West Island with home cooked meals, and believe me, the man can cook! 

A few weeks after being home, Russell came for a visit, which was great for many reasons. First of all, he’s my brother.  He also happens to cook really well, and as luck would have it, my first visit with the hand surgeon happened during his time here. He drove us to the appointment where we met Dr. Liquin Xu, a petite woman of Chinese origin who looked like she could be 30 years younger than me. I cannot sing my praises of Dr. Xu loudly enough. 100% professional, clear and efficient. The first thing she wanted to do was repair the nasty wound on the meaty part of the palm of my hand, which still hadn’t heeled. Two of her resident medical students did the job that afternoon. I was administered a local anesthetic, after which they took a skin graft from the inside of my upper arm (scar worn proudly to this day), and stitched it into place.

Most importantly, Dr. Xu informed me of the procedures she could perform in order to fix my hand, after asking me to demonstrate with my good hand the motions I would need to execute in order to play the bass again. She mentioned there would be two surgeries needed. The first involved cutting into the atrophied muscle in the palm of my hand so she could move the thumb back to its correct position as best she could. She would apply pins to the thumb so that it was kept in place. The second surgery a month later would simply be to remove the pins. Dr. Xu was careful that I understood that although I would be able to use my hand again for pretty much everything, including playing the bass, it was almost certain that I would not have the same flexibility and strength that I had before my accident. Two thoughts occurred to me. First, I’ll be happy just to be able to pick up a fork again like normal. Second, I will do everything I can to adapt and alter my left hand bass technique in order to play again. Like I said, the son of Alexandra Patricia Hollins does not give up easily. Thank you Mum.

My first surgery was soon scheduled for early December. Okay, now to get back in shape. I love running and had done a few marathons. It’s like a meditation for me, and I had fallen off the horse 4 1/2 years ago. Well, no more mucking about. I began training again, starting from scratch: 45 second slow run, 1 minute walk and repeat cycle for 30-40 minutes, gradually increasing run duration while decreasing walk duration until I could run slowly for 25 minutes without stopping. That took about 6 weeks. Then, I built up to an hour, and by late fall, I did a 2-hour run for my long run one week. I had lost all the weight I had gained and was back to my regular 155-160 LBS. Also, I had been following a strength program (TRX), so I was feeling fit again with my first surgery in a just few weeks.

It was then that I made one of the most impetuous and best decisions of my life. I had been on 4 prescribed medications for a severe depression for almost 5 years. The side effects of one of these, Lithium, were very debilitating. Basically, I felt like a zombie. It dulled all of my senses, and emotionally, I was flatlining. Certainly no terrible lows, but also no highs at all. I was numb all the time. So, I decided now was the time to stop taking these meds, without consulting or seeking the approval of the prescribing doctor. I am in no way saying that this would be an advisable course of action for anyone else in a similar situation, but I knew it was the right thing for me to do at this particular time. My method was simple: I cut my pills in 1/2 for a week, and in 1/4 the following week, and then I stopped taking them altogether. When I woke up the morning after my last dose of quarter pills, it was like a veil had been lifted off of my mind and spirit. I felt like myself again for the first time in almost 5 years. I was elated. There were some manageable withdrawal symptoms consisting mostly of some trouble sleeping for a couple of weeks; but that was it, and that was fine. I did consult my family physician about these symptoms, and he said I’d done my taper too quickly, and he recommended getting back on the anti-depressant for a short while just to be sure. Wise counsel, which I did not heed. Again, I am not recommending doing what I did to anyone reading this, but it was the right call for me.

The two surgeries went well, the first being in early December. I started meditating again, and I contacted my therapist, Emily Moody, so I could see  her every two weeks. I knew she could help me tremendously with getting back into music and the bass again, which would be in the very near future. After the second surgery in early January, 2021, I met with a physiotherapist named Martin, who gave me a bunch of hand and finger exercises. He was great and I did his exercises regularly every day. After an appointment with him in early February, we went up to Dr. Xu’s office, and both gave me the much anticipated green light. Start using that left hand as much as possible, and most importantly, start playing my beautiful bass again.

The moment I arrived home, I got right to it. I was both optimistic and cautious in equal measure. There were no guarantees of course. I had doubts and lots of questions racing through my mind. What if I couldn’t get back to the level of performance I had before all this? Maybe I would never sound good enough again? Would I be able to build up my endurance once more? The upright is very demanding physically, and it had been so long. There was only one way to find out about all of this. Do it.

That first practice session lasted maybe 5 minutes. My hand and fingers were very weak and stiff, my index being the weakest. Every note I played with it buzzed horribly since I was unable to apply enough strength and weight with it to hold the string down properly into the fingerboard. Evidently, this would require a lot of time. Fortunately, time was abundantly available, especially with everything still shut due to Covid. I would give this my best shot, and, like running, I knew what steps to take.

Long tones with the bow, scales and arpeggios in all keys, major and minor, play along with recordings, play some Bach, and check out some of my favourite recordings on which I play to try and relearn some of the vocabulary I like. I practiced daily, repeating everything over and over. I started with these 5 minute segments, and did as many as I could in a day, which became 10 minute segments, until I had built up to 30 minute practice sessions. After about one month, I was doing 6-8 of these sessions, adding up to 3-4 hours per day. Sometimes, I would get terribly frustrated and discouraged, take a break, face my doubts about if I was truly capable of this, and pull myself back together. In these moments I was constantly reminding myself of why I started playing music in the first place so many years ago. It’s great fun, I love it, and performing is a fantastic and magical means of communication and expression. Some days I would record myself on my phone, and at times send one of these to my friend and guitarist Carlos Jiménez as a message that I was on a mission to come back. His responses always filled my sails and I kept going. My progress was a long, slow, steady curve upwards.

Then came my first call for a gig in early spring from saxophonist Rémi Bolduc. He asked me if I would like to play with his quartet for a concert with a virtual audience at the Ottawa Jazz Festival in June. My hometown to boot. I asked Rémi if he could wait a day for my answer. This call had come earlier than I had anticipated. I wasn’t sure I was up for it while being, at the same time, excited about playing my first gig back in over a year. The next morning, I gratefully told Rémi I was in. I was going to be in good company with musicians who were aware of my situation: Marie-Fatima Rudolf on piano, and Jim Doxas on drums. And, being somewhat reckless, I thought that I have nothing to lose and there’s no time like the present. I shed for that gig like crazy.

Truthfully, I feel like I pretty much hung on for dear life that first show back with Rémi and company. Still, it was great to play a show with a band. I had felt pretty nervous, and I had done my best.

That spring, I also started a new band of my own, The Phoenix. The name came during a conversation I had in March with my friend May Cheung with whom I hadn’t spoken in many years. A couple of decades separate us in age, but we’ve gotten along like a house on fire since we met. May listened to my story about my hand and depression. Her first words afterward were, “Fraser, you’re the Phoenix.” The image of that fiery bird burned its way into my brain, and that was that. Thank you May.

Inspired by putting this new group together, with Samuel Blais on saxophones, Steve Amirault on piano, and Rich Irwin on drums, I started writing music again. The 1st gig we played was on July 3rd, 2021, at the Dièse Onze jazz club. Those fellows were a joy to play with. Carlos, my great guitarist friend, was set to take Steve’s place in the band after this first show. I kept writing tunes, booking the band, practicing a lot, and playing with people as much as possible.

I resumed teaching at McGill University in September, where I hadn’t been for a year and a half. Sharing and working on music with young aspiring artists is a gift that goes both ways. I enjoy it and I value my position as an educator very much. 

2022 came, and things with the Phoenix were rewarding. This was the 1st time in my adult life that I had led a band that I was writing for, playing with, and booking regularly. We’ve performed about a dozen shows in the past three years, consisting of music from a book of mostly new tunes. Whatever song I write, Sam, Carlos, and Rich make it sound so much better than I had imagined it at home. I appreciate them enormously.

Another high point musically in 2022 was a week-long tour I booked with my band Treehouse in March. Having Joel Miller, Jon Cowherd, and Brian Blade (saxophone, piano, and drums) together with me, hanging out, driving between shows, sharing stories and laughs, doing clinics, and playing gigs is a time I’ll never forget. It’s so hard to describe with words what it feels like playing with these guys, but I can say that they lift me up and bring out the very best in me.

Still, with all these positive moments I’ve described, there have also been some significant challenges. I’m a perfectionist, although I know that perfection in art is unattainable. And, I am, like many others, my own harshest critic.

One rabbit hole I would fall into was to watch some old YouTube videos of bands I was in where I was happy with my playing, again in order to learn some of my old musical language. The problem was that not only did my current playing not sound as fluid and lyrical, it didn’t look like it either. Perhaps not surprising given that my left thumb and index had about 70% of their former flexibility. Dr. Xu had given me a heads up about this, and I had altered my technique to accommodate the reduced range of motion. I had even changed my fingering system, especially in the low and mid registers (for double bassists 3 now mostly replaced 2; Textbook wrong, but working for me). Still, some nights left me feeling very unsatisfied, and even at times, upset. 

The most profound of these moments happened after a gig last fall. I was at my companion Leonor De Moncada’s place, and I had a long talk with her about my thoughts and feelings. As always, she listened with much patience and compassion. I said that I wouldn’t act on this in the very near future, but… given how much time and effort I had put into getting my playing back together and how I felt that my performance that evening had been sub-standard (and this was not the first occasion), maybe it was time to for me to seriously consider cashing it in and leave my performance life as a bassist behind me. It was painful to entertain this idea, but it was equally if not more painful feeling like I may simply no longer have the capacity and ability to contribute meaningfully in a group of musicians anymore. Quitting while I was still ahead seemed like it could be the wisest and best choice.

Leonor was shocked to hear me say this, but she understood my feelings and advised me not to make a decision without giving it some time. The other important, and very appreciated, conversation I had about this was with Carlos the following evening. He agreed with what Leonor had said, and added that as musicians, we must avoid comparing ourselves to what we were in the past, but instead try to figure out how to get to the music with what we have now. I think that probably every musician at some point in their lives has to deal with and work through some sort of physical injury or challenge. He also reminded me of how much new music I had written since coming back not all that long ago. As improvisers, there’s nothing like composing to develop one’s voice. A wise shift in perspective. Gracias Carlitos.

Well, that was 7 months ago and I’m still in the game. There have been other hurdles along the way, and there will certainly be many more. As cliché as it is, music is a journey, not a destination. I keep working hard at it, especially my weak areas, I keep trying to develop and hone my strong points, I continue writing, and I try doing it all with kindness.

This accident 4 years ago was a wake up call for me. Without it, I wouldn’t be where or who I am today. Of course, when I’ve lived high musical moments (and there have been many), they were tremendous. And, at times, I continue to have them. Truly, I have been blessed with more than my share of good fortune. I’m doing my best these days to be prepared for whatever opportunities the future holds.

If I have one regret, it is any suffering those close to me endured when I went through this, especially when I was hospitalized. I am at peace with what I have lived, and even thankful for it. When times are good, riding the wave is easy. But, working through the hard moments in my life, which have obliged me to dig deep with the support and love of family and friends, are the moments whose eventual lessons and rewards have been profound and meaningful beyond measure. 

As the late great Malcolm John Rebennack, aka Dr. John, once said, “Life… Roll with it, or roll under it”.

I have many people to thank, some of whom are mentioned in this article.

My companion Leonor De Moncada.

My loving family, especially Dad, and Russell.

My father’s spouse Lorraine Soucy.

My best mate Guy Voisin, who is only ever a phone call away.

To François Bourassa for the idea of sharing this story. An idea you gave me 3 years ago.

To Emily Moody for so, so much.

And to my incredible musical community, wherever you live. Having you in my corner means so very much. 

Carlos Jiménez, Samuel Blais, Rich Irwin, Jon Cowherd, Brian Blade, Joel Miller, Roddy Ellias, Kenny Bibace, Rémi Bolduc, Adrian Vedady, Steve Amirault, May Cheung, Christine Jensen, Dave Watts, Anastasia Polito, Jim Doxas, and George Doxas.