I thought I would never play the piano again..

Photo from an article about me in the Southwest Senior High Newspaper

At one point in my life, I thought that I would never play the piano again. Almost 35 years ago, I was hit by a taxi while biking in NYC. I was on my way to play a voice lesson for Judith Blegen and was riding down Columbus Avenue to her apartment on Central Park West. I remember having a weird feeling that I shouldn't go, but I did because a commitment was made. At 91st Street, a cab pulled in front of me to make a quick right hand turn, but had to stop short because there were pedestrians in the street. I couldn't stop or swerve (no time!) and rammed into the car, flying over the cab and landed on my face. I'll never forget the feeling of time stopping- I likened it to the 3rd movement of the Shostakovich Cello Sonata which I had recently played, which in places, is like time stopping. I remember trying to get up, saying that I was going to be late, and people telling me not to move. I remember my cheek on the pavement and the gravel,and feeling that I wanted to get up, but I couldn't.

They took me to the hospital where I waited in the hallway for what seemed like a very long time. I remember the paramedics walking by me and overhearing one of them say, "It's too bad, she was so pretty."I didn't know why they said that. I remember being put in a room with an elderly lady who had heart trouble, and doctors coming in and out- all young white men who it turned out were plastic surgeons. I had no idea why, until they told me that my cheekbone was smashed and I needed surgery to rebuild my face. I knew my collarbones were broken and that my face hurt, but I had no concept that you could break a face.

I was very hungry when they released me from the hospital. The hospital was only 10 blocks away from our apartment, so my roommates came to get me and we walked home. We went to Frank's pizza (our local place) and I remember Frank yelling at Sam "Did you do this to her??!!" I had no idea why he was saying this. I remember that it hurt too much to eat the pizza.

I remember finally looking into the mirror the next day and seeing that the right side of my face was completely flat. I had to wait a week for the swelling to go down before the surgery, and I remember kids pointing at me, scared.

I remember taking a subway downtown to meet a lawyer and almost screaming in pain from the jostling of the subway. They put 5 titanium plates in my face and took cartilage from behind my ears to fill in the gaps.

Up until that point, all I knew was how to be a pianist. I have played the piano since I was 5 years old. It was only thing I ever wanted in my life and I worked ferociously for it. And suddenly it was gone.

After I healed enough that I could play again, I started to practice, and I entered a local competition for motivation. But I hadn't learned my lesson, so almost a year later I got back on the bike.

It was Labor Day and the weather was glorious. One of those clear, all-blue sky days where the weather was mild and the sun didn't burn. I remember walking my bike carefully to the park, and getting on. I did one lap around Central Park and stopped at 72nd street to listen to the jazz guys who always play there. It was crowded- a lot of people on a beautiful day. I got back on the bike to ride away and had barely started to move when I saw a guy on roller blades out of control, heading straight towards me. Again, not enough time to get away, He slammed into me, I went down, and the freshly healed collarbones separated and broke again. Another ambulance ride, this time to Lenox Hill hospital on the East side. They cut my shirt and bra off. I remember begging the "doctor" (it was a resident- none of the specialists work on holidays)- to put me in a butterfly brace, but he ignored me and sent me home in a sling which is why I have a hump today- the bones never healed properly. I didn't have any money or ID with me. They gave me a token at the hospital and I took the bus home wearing a hospital gown and biking shorts. Every bump on that ride back to the west side, excruciating.

After that, it was a progressive descent into a world of pain, which I powered through because I had to work. I went back to work playing rehearsals for Gianni Schicchi at Mannes, playing most of the score with my left hand because my right collarbone still wasn't healed. I played the piano to make a living and dealt with extreme pain. No one prescribed physical therapy and I didn't have insurance.

After a couple of years, I could barely walk without pain so I had to do something. My roommate suggested that I get Rolfed, and I did. After one session, the pain started to subside. I did the ten sessions, then started with a massage therapist, which led me to a specialist who helped me with regression therapy, 5 point therapy, and other techniques.

My body very slowly started to heal, but my brain did not. Until the day of the first accident, I was a pianist. After the 2nd accident, there was no way I could be a concert pianist and I was lost. It took me some time to understand that I was meant to conduct, and I do believe that these very painful incidents were God's way of telling me that I was on the wrong path.

Now here we are, almost 35 years later, and I am playing again. Yes, it still hurts (a lot!) but I am playing now because I want to, because I need to. I still have flashbacks and lots of pain, but I am playing again at a very high level. The concert that I am playing on Saturday night is something that I never thought I would do again- there are two insanely difficult pieces on the program. I never thought that I would play at this level again, but I am. And there is a part of me that grieves and a part of me that rejoices.

If you're in Miami, I hope that you will come to Trinity Cathedral on Saturday night to hear this miraculous music. I am privileged to be playing with my wonderful colleagues from Orchestra Miami, surrounded by friends.

Here's the link: https://www.orchestramiami.org/saturdays-at-trinity

$5 gets you in and a glass of wine. Come and drink with me, and celebrate the fact that I am home again.