(Making Me Understand is an occasional blog feature where I analyze, in brief or at length, what a particular work of art or an artist means to me right now.)
I’ve been at the periodic scans thing for a while now. This November will mark four years since metastatic melanoma last troubled me. I have developed my rituals for scan days, as many people who have recurrent scans do. I have a preferred scan modality, MRI. You don’t fast for an MRI, and unlike with a CT scan, the MRI contrast coming through the IV doesn’t make you feel suddenly and creepily warm and like you need to pee. I love listening to the patterns of knocks and bangs inside the tube, and I find my breathing is slow and quiet. It’s like a sensory deprivation spa treatment. I am beyond grateful that this, not claustrophobia, is my default response to this particular type of medical enclosure.
After my MRI is over, I return to the comfort of my home to wait for a message on my app. This is an innovation over my NYC protocol, where I had to book it from the MRI facility to my neurosurgeon’s office, and sometimes be in for a long wait because there were never enough exam rooms. (For CT results, I waited a full 48 hours and however long the wait was in the waiting room of Dr P’s office.) The sad part about my new routine is I don’t get to look at cross sections of my brain on a high-res monitor minutes after it was scanned, or watch the doctor flip through to compare the images from that day with the ones from when I thought I was really screwed…
I used to have post-scan meal plans (usually Greek food), but today I really just wanted to get home. I also happen to be on deadline for a pretty big translation job right now. But I’m also in the middle of a 30 day fitness challenge which brings you a fifteen-minute long video to complete every day, and the link to that video actually expires if you don’t use it within 24 hours.
So I came home from my scan and did yesterday’s skipped high intensity workout in my bedroom (a mere 20 minutes before the link expired!)… complete with suicides, Russian something-or-others, burpees, and other things I instantly repressed but will remember when I wake up sore tomorrow. When I collapsed in my desk chair afterwards, I opened a new browser tab to hear the song I always want hear while waiting for results.
People who know my musical tastes (which may include casual but longtime readers of this blog) might raise an eyebrow. This is so mainstream. It’s musical comfort food. And because I can’t have any actual comfort food right now (see above re fitness challenge, plus I recently started a tooth-straightening regimen with Invisalign and can only take the trays out of my mouth for a total of two hours per day for eating), music is everything.
I liked this song long before I ever saw the video for it, but watching the video repeatedly has elevated the track for me. It starts with a flickering title card that looks like something out of a student film, and then the screen shows a moody black-and-white freeze frame of Petty, arm in midair poised to strike his guitar. Then everything turns to color and starts moving. Tom Petty was never one of my pinups — his smoldering looks at the camera in this video don’t do much for me, except maybe unsettle me with the emptiness of his gaze, and remind me of his senseless and untimely death.
I love the awkwardness of 1981 on display here — a space where classic rock encounters new wave and tries to enter into dialogue with it by awkwardly adopting its tropes. It’s a sort of ventriloquist act — these guys in their skinny pants stiffly maneuver around a set that’s meant to suggest something like art school, complete with primary color paint splatters and geometric shapes everywhere. But they’re still playing the straight-up rootsy rock n’ roll Petty made his name with! No synthesizer sounds or drum machines whatsoever.
Lyrically, the song isn’t too germane to my waiting for scan results… until it is. There’s the chorus, most obviously:
The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part
But there’s a little cheerleading section here, too:
Oh, don’t let it kill you baby, don’t let it get to you
Don’t let it kill you baby, don’t let it get to you
I feel like Petty’s on my team, rooting for my scan results to be good. I wish he’d had someone on his team, not just rooting for him, but managing his pain medications so he could have avoided his fatal mistake. Thanks for this song, Tom (and Heartbreakers), and for keeping me company while I wait by the phone for what I hope will be, once again, a thumbs up.