The Times Magazine 17Tracy about my hands of straw, from which
I keep trying to extract little bits of reedy
grass. I warn Schuyler – Sky – about a
silverback gorilla lurking in the corner. She
turns to see a rumpled overcoat, draped on a
chair. “It’s a silverback,” I insist. Tracy reacts
to me with empathy. “We don’t see a gorilla
there, honey, but we can understand that you
do, and that must be so scary for you.”
Damn right, the gorilla is scary, and he’s
on the move among the medical staff, who
look like regulars at the Star Wars cantina. My
wife and daughter know that this crazy person
isn’t normal. Tracy, though upset, understands
what is happening, but Sky is disturbed by the
sight of her normally amiable father possessed
by a ranting stranger.
I am feeling much better by day three.
Tracy, Sky and Nina, my assistant, are
with me. Sky tosses her backpack onto the
windowsill. I subtly nod at Tracy, point to it,
and whisper, “Gorilla.” Faces fall and everyone
fixes me with sad stares.
“Just kidding. I know it’s a backpack.”A movie cliché that I always found tedious is
the one in which a patient, convinced there’sin plastic, so I’m free to let the warm, soothing
water run down my back. I reach for the soap
and the nurse hands it to me. I realise in that
moment that she’s my new shower pal.
Short of escape, I test the limits. As with
the shower, I am observed and attended
to almost constantly – but in the rare
unobserved moments, I try to take a few
tentative steps. Like a tightrope walker in army
boots, I stumble forward and then back. I feel
like I’m getting away with something. For the
first time since I moved into the rehab wing,
Dr Theodore stops by for a visit. Word of my
Bambi-ish perambulations has reached him
and he is not pleased. After an inquiry into
how I’m feeling comes a reprimand. “I hear
you’re trying to walk on your own already.”
“Yeah, just checking out the wheels.”
The next word from Dr Theodore is abrupt.
“Stop.” He never raises his voice, but remains
stern. “I can’t overemphasise the delicacy of the
work we’ve done on your spine, the fragility of
it. If you keep screwing around, you’re going
to fall and then I can’t help you. I won’t be
able to fix it. It won’t just be a skinned knee- it may be a reversal of everything that we’ve
GETTY IMAGES done. It may be paralysis.”
nothing wrong with him, attempts to escape
the hospital. He slides into his shoes, slaps a hat
on his head and bolts for the exit. Who does
that? Movie characters. The cranky patient,
who badgers and frustrates the hospital staff.
During the two weeks following surgery,
I am that guy. I am “His Majesty, the Baby”.
Two staffers check me out of the NCCU
and transfer me into a wheelchair. It feels
strange to be out of that bed. Over the past
few days, it has been everything from a life
raft to a flying carpet to a hamster cage. I say
goodbye and apologise to the medical team
in the ward. Rolling away, I look over my
shoulder to be sure the bed isn’t following.
Short of becoming stable, my mission is to
use my acting skills to appear stable. I intend
to recover at a miraculous rate, zip through
treatment, master all the challenges, do a
dance on Dr Theodore’s desk and get the hell
back home. Unfortunately, I just had spinal
surgery and I can’t do any of that.
I ask if I can shower. The nurse sets me up
with a couple of towels and a bath chair, which
she walks me to. I remove my gown as she
turns on the water. It’s the first shower I’ve had
in days. The wound is dressed and safely sealedWith his wife, Tracy Pollan, and children, from left, Schuyler, Aquinnah, Sam and EsméON THE DAY OF MY SURGERY IT HITS ME. IS THIS GOING
TO WORK OR IS MY SPINE ACTUALLY BEYOND REPAIR?