Oberlin Conservatory students have a lot to deal with. Each day our lessons, classes, and rehearsals compete for a bigger slice of our time and attention. My first thought in the morning is usually, “Who will I disappoint today? My conductor? My Composition professor? My Organ teacher?” (It’s usually my Organ teacher.) And it’s never an easy task demanded of us. It’s always “Count this polyrhythm!” or “Defend that phrasing decision!” Last semester, I took French 101 just to talk about my favorite color for a change.
One reliable escape from this musical stress in my life has been running. At least this was the case until last September, when I temporarily lost my ability to run thanks to a literal bump in the road. An errant pothole attacked me mid-stride and sent me flying to the pavement. That night, as I limped down the steps of Severance Hall, I was the slowest walker in the Cleveland Orchestra’s aging audience — a humbling experience to say the least. My friends encouraged me to see a doctor about my ungainly gait, but I am a 21-year-old man, so self-care is optional. I iced the knee once or twice and went about my life, hobbling down the Conservatory halls and sharing smiles with my fellow musicians muscling through. I stopped running, except for when I was really late to an organ lesson. This was, of course, a loss; when I don’t run, my mind does. Little did I know the same injury that took away my key form of therapy would soon offer an entirely new one: an MRI.
A month passed and I was still afraid of stairs, so I finally dragged myself over to Mercy Health – Allen Hospital. The appointment started with an X-ray. When the technician saw me, she squinted for a moment before asking if I was a conductor. I suppose she sees through people for a living, but I wasn’t expecting this.
The doctor used the word “normal” and said we’d need an MRI to find the cause of my pain. This would require a trip to Elyria, so I arranged for my friend Kathy from church to drive me. This plan hit a snag the day before the MRI. Kathy called to say her best friend’s brother died, and the friend asked Kathy to drive with her to Virginia for the funeral. Kathy with her heart of gold couldn’t say no. She told me it was a complete shock — the brother had dropped dead after an MRI. Read the room, Kathy!
With a newfound reason for anxiety, I was perhaps disappointed to learn that I still had a ride to my test: Kathy’s friend Teresa would step in to take me. It was Friday morning, and I was in the waiting room. They’d given me a questionnaire to complete. Included was a list of every possible metal item a person could have in their body — any of which would prohibit me from undergoing the procedure. I suppose Kathy with her heart of gold would be ineligible.
They called my name and brought me to a booth where I was to change into a hospital gown. “I don’t think this look is a keeper,” I told the nurse as I shuffled out to the imaging room. I had to Google which side of the gown was front and which was back, and I was still feeling mighty uneasy about the fit. She remarked that not all was lost. I could at least still wear my Baby Yoda socks.
She opened the door and I saw it: my cocoon for the next 40 minutes. The company name, OASIS, was printed across the top. Beach scenes hung on either side of the machine. They really were leaning into the OASIS branding. The nurse told me to lie down on the bed and asked if I’d like a warm blanket. What a novel offer!
“Sure, I’ll take a warm blanket. I want whatever’s coming to me,” I declared. Then, she asked what kind of music I want — more amenities! Classical was my choice, naturally. She gave me the headphones and a help button and turned to leave. The bed rose, and I slid under the apparatus.
What followed was the most peaceful half-hour since I got my wisdom teeth removed. What a gift, to have a medical need to lie down in the middle of the day! I was following doctor’s orders, so there was no cause for my usual guilt in taking it easy. The machine beeped and buzzed, delighting me at the occasional harmonic agreement with the Pandora classical hits gracing my ears. The Bach Double, Moonlight Sonata, and Waltz of the Flowers all sounded better than ever. There were a few ads, yet they seemed perfectly tailored to the indulgent life appearing as a new possibility before me. There was something about an Ashley Furniture mattress sale, something else about the new Doritos that are just spicy enough. I closed my eyes and did my best to ignore the fluorescent light still filling my oasis. I was at peace. As Mozart’s “Lacrimosa” came on, I was sorry to feel the bed shift and faintly hear the nurse’s voice exclaim, “All done!”
I realize that finding such serenity in an MRI could be indicative of a larger problem. But I’m not the only Conservatory student to experience such relief in the most unexpected places. Conservatory second-year composer Gabe Fulton touts cross country skiing as his new hobby. “You wouldn’t think to go outside,” he said.
For Conservatory second-year violist Derek Hibben, nirvana is watching YouTube while waiting to board a plane. “Unlike a studio class performance, I’m never worried that the plane is going to crash and burn,” he said.
Conservatory first-year recorder player and composer Theoden Brown loves cooking lunch for Keep Co-Op. “All I have to do is just put in some love and make food for everyone,” they said. Finding my journalist groove, I asked them a follow-up question.
“Have you ever once thought, ‘What if I accidentally give someone food poisoning?’” I asked.
“Well, I wouldn’t do that,” they calmly replied.
Fourth-year jazz bassist Will Scheer shared the calmest moment of his last four years. “I was getting my wisdom teeth out,” he said. “I was just lying there, and it was out of my control.” Man after my own heart.
We are all dealing with stress, and Student Health Services just isn’t offering the right solutions. Step aside, therapy dogs. Baby goats, be gone. It’s high time for a Conservatory-wide MRI day!
