"And it’s not a cry that you hear at night
It’s not somebody who’s seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah"
-Jeff Buckley "Hallelujah" (written by Leonard Cohen)
"Quick! Someone call an ambulance!" I could hear the rush of voices around me, see the blur of motion. Vaguely, I think I was aware that some how I was the center of all this attention, but here in my safe, little bubble, all my worries faded away. Actually, everything sort of faded away…..
***
"I think he’s waking up."
"Brian? Can you hear me?" Aw, man, not the real world. Go away. Where are my pills?
"What’s he doing?" a worried voice asked. I awoke suddenly, like someone has dumped a bucket of cold water on me.
"What’s going on? Where am I?" I asked. I struggled to sit up.
"Whoa, take it easy, Mr. Littrell," a voice spoke. It was calm and soothing. It made me feel better.
"Where am I?" I asked again. I think my voice was calmer.
"You’re in a hospital. My name is Dr. Shyalan," the voice said. I focused on the speaker. He was in a white coat, with a stethoscope… Wait a minute. What was this? A bad episode of ER?
"How are you feeling?" he asked gently.
"I think I’d feel a little, no a LOT, better if I knew what the hell was going on." I glanced around the room. Kevin and Nick and AJ and Howie were standing there looking at me, like… I don’t know, like I’d done something horribly wrong? Or maybe something was wrong? I frowned as I felt the panic rising.
I guess the doctor read it in my eyes, because he put his hand on my shoulder.
"Easy, young man, you’re fine. Had a little close call there, but you’re okay." A close call? Like a brush with death?
"Please, what’s going on?" I must have sounded scared, because the atmosphere in the room totally changed. The doctor turned to face the guys.
"Do you mind if I have a few minutes alone with your friend? It’ll be easier to explain." Kevin shrugged.
"You’re the doctor," he muttered. He glanced at me briefly and I could see the concern in his eyes. The others too, and maybe, was that pity in AJ’s eyes? I had to be hallucinating. They filed out and the door clicked softly shut behind them. The doctor pulled a chair alongside my bed.
"How long, Mr. Littrell? How long have you felt like this?" he asked gently. I frowned.
"Like what? I don’t understand." I really didn’t. He sighed.
"Do you have any recollection of what happened today?" I tried to think.
"Um, we were just chilling, relaxing on our day off. Playing basketball…" The memory of that afternoon came back to me slowly.
"I think maybe I fainted? I guess I was more worn out from the tour than I thought." The doctor looked at me carefully, as if he were weighing my words. For some reason I didn’t quite understand, I kept talking, even as the words rang hollow in my ears.
"Um, I haven’t really been eating too well, I haven’t had much of an appetite, not since the surgery and well, the stress of touring and all…" Dr. Shyalan held up his hand and I shut up immediately.
"Mr. Littrell-"
"Can you call me Brian, please? I know you’re going to say something I don’t want to hear, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t sound so, well... professional." He smiled slightly.
"Very well, Brian, you didn’t faint from exhaustion. Not entirely. Actually, your body went into anaphylactic shock."
"Ana- what shock? What’s that?" I asked.
"Anaphylactic shock," he spoke slowly. "It’s something like a severe allergic reaction."
"I’m not, I know I wasn’t exposed to anything I’m allergic to," I interrupted. He waited patiently for me to finish. I was stalling, and he knew it.
"You can also go into anaphylactic shock if you’ve overdosed on any sort of pharmaceutical," he said carefully.
"I’m not a drug addict," I whimpered. Oh, God, why was he bringing this up?
"No one’s saying you are. But many people have… problems that they aren’t aware of."
"I DON’T have a problem," I said, forcefully. "I’m aware of what I’m doing. I am in control."
"It’s easy to think that. And at one point you were, but it’s a fine line and easy to cross." How dare he? If I had a problem, I would know. And I’d do something about it. I glared at him, my jaw clenched. He sighed again.
"Mr. Littrell, Brian, don’t make this any harder on yourself. There’s nothing wrong with you. You lead a very stressful life. You underwent surgery a few years back. It’s hard to cope, believe me, I know."
"What kind of doctor are you exactly?" I asked suspiciously.
"I’m a psychiatrist," he replied.
"So you think I’m some sort of a druggie? You’re going to sit here and psychoanalyze me now? And then what? I undergo some sort of 12 step program to deal with my non-existent problem?" I was yelling, I was angry. But he just let me rant, watching me coolly. It only infuriated me more. Looking around, I grabbed the first thing I could see, a glass of water, and flung it across the room. It struck the wall and shattered. Outside the room, I could hear all sorts of commotion. The door swung open suddenly.
"Cuz? You okay?" It was Kevin, peeking his head in. He looked at the doctor. I flushed and remained silent.
"We’re fine, Mr. Richardson. I was just explaining a few things to Brian and he accidentally knocked his water glass to the floor. If you wouldn’t mind calling a nurse…" Kevin took the hint and closed the door. I looked down at my hands, unwilling to speak. We sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Dr. Shyalan spoke.
"I can’t force you to do anything, but I can make a recommendation. You have a problem, Mr. Littrell, but it’s a fixable one. I suggest two months in a rehab center. You can get some rest, take some stress off and get some help." I couldn’t believe my ears.
"Rehab? REHAB?" I was yelling again. "No fucking way!" The doctor shrugged.
"Like I said, I can’t make you do anything. But keep in mind, it’s my job to get you help."
"Some job," I muttered. "So what, do you get some sort of kickback if I go into this place?"
"No," he replied, unruffled. "Just the satisfaction of knowing I helped another person before it was too late."
"Whatever."
"Brian, every time you sell an album or a ticket to your concert, are you thinking about the royalties you’re getting? Or do you feel a certain joy in knowing that another person out there may feel like you do? That he or she may listen to your music and find something in there to make the day a little brighter, the burden a little lighter?" I didn’t respond. God damn it, I hate psychiatrists. I didn’t like this probing into my mind, into places I didn’t dare venture.
"I know this bothers you, that you know I’m right. And I have to warn you, it won’t get any easier. But believe me, after these two months, you’ll feel so much better, so much freer." I looked at him finally, my frightened blue eyes meeting his warm brown ones.
"I’m scared," I finally whispered. He nodded as though he knew exactly what it cost me to admit that.
"I know," he said softly. He placed his hand on my shoulder again, his touch reassuring. "But that’s what makes it worth it." I drew my knees up to my chest and mulled his thoughts over.
"I don’t know, can I think about it?" I asked.
"Of course. Just give me a call when you’re ready. I’ll have it all set up." He smiled at me one more time, before standing up.
"I hope to see you soon," he said. "You’re free to go now, just head down to the nurses’ station and sign the discharge papers."
"Okay." He walked towards the door. "Dr. Shyalan?" He turned around. "Thank you." He nodded.
"Call me." He opened the door and walked out, closing it softly behind him. I sat for a few minutes, waiting for the knock I knew I’d inevitably hear.
"Come in," I said.
***
They peeked their heads in cautiously, like they were afraid of something.
"Oh, just come in," I said irritated. Like it made it any better, this tiptoeing around the issue. They walked in and closed the door, each taking up a place in the room. Their demeanor and stance spoke volumes about how they felt. Kevin came over and stood beside my bed, looking at me in that thoughtful, concerned fatherly way. AJ lounged against the wall, casually, like this was an every day occurrence. Nick kind of hovered around, unsure of where to place himself, torn between standing with AJ and sitting on the edge of my bed. Howie came right over and sat on the chair Dr. Shyalan had vacated.
"How are you feeling?" Kevin asked cautiously. I rolled my eyes.
"Let’s just get down to it, okay?" I responded. "You want to know what’s going on."
"Well, only if you’re willing to talk about it," Howie ventured.
"Why the hell not?" I asked, filled with some irrational anger that I needed to vent. "That doctor wants me to go into rehab. Some clinic that he knows. I just say the word and the honeymoon suite is all mine for two months." I think they were a little astonished at how matter-of-fact and blase I was.
"Um, okay, Brian, don’t be offended or anything by this," AJ said.
"Too late," I muttered. "If you have to qualify it, I will take offense." He shrugged.
"Well, I’m going to say it anyway. I think you have a problem. I think you need help. This rehab thing can’t hurt." I raised an eyebrow at him.
"Oh, really? You’re hardly one to talk to me about addiction, AJ." He winced. I knew where to aim.
"Brian," Kevin warned.
"What?" I turned to face him. "What words of wisdom do you have to impart?" He glared at me but didn’t speak.
"Brian," Howie said gently. "How do you feel about all this? Ultimately it’s your decision. It doesn’t matter what we say or think." Damn, he sounded like a shrink.
"You and Dr. Shyalan should get together," I said. "You have a lot in common." He just looked at me. I sighed.
"I don’t know, okay?" I suddenly didn’t want to talk about this anymore. Where was my perfect life?
"I don’t understand. What happened, Brian? Why didn’t you come to us? Why did you have to turn to…" Nick finally spoke, and the indignation and betrayal flooded his voice. I shook my head.
"Gee, Nick, you make it sound I did this for the sole purpose of hurting you," I responded.
"I don’t know, Frick. Maybe you did." My temper rose again.
"Look, Nick, a lot of things are really confusing right now, but I can tell you this. You guys had nothing to do with any of this. I wasn’t thinking of you, you didn’t even cross my mind! I’m the one in the freaking hospital bed right now, okay?" No one spoke after my little outburst.
"Now, I’d like to leave, okay? So if you wouldn’t mind, you can all go home, and I’m going to check myself out." That said, I got out of bed and
walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I waited until I heard them all leave, then cautiously opened the door. I walked back into
the room, and sat on the edge of the bed. I’m pretty sure I started crying, or at least, a tear rolled down my cheek, but I wasn’t paying attention. I
just picked up the little slip of paper on the table. Then I picked up the phone.
Links to other sites on the Web
Get your own Free Home Page