In January 2022 I found myself alone with no visitors (pandemic times) in a London hospital, recovering from ankle surgery. I had missed the last step on a stone staircase and did not yet have a crystal ball to see my recovery. I would move past the situation in time, walking unassisted two months later and spending two more years fine-turning my mobility via physical therapy. On this night, I was not really alone but in a ward (one big room) with four other women. How the heck did I get here? I knew the name of the hospital (Chelsea and Westminster), but not much else.
It was a time of pure surrender. I had been tapered off “the good drugs” and was getting a sense of my surroundings. It was evening, maybe 8pm. I was not expecting a middle aged white guy to appear at the foot of my bed and announce that he was the hospital DJ and he was there to take note of my song requests. I kid you not. I was apparently entitled to two songs. I recognized Tim-essence right away. The next thing the stranger said was “You don’t look very happy to see me,” which still makes me laugh. It was definitely Tim.
If I could live that moment over, I would tell Tim-in-disguise exactly how happy I was to see him. But I just blinked at the DJ, thinking “I’ve got three titanium plates and thirteen screws in a leg that was fine two days ago and you appear, escorted by a nurse, asking for my song requests?”
Actually, song requests were something I was quite used to, being prompted for them by Tim throughout my life, sort of a drill for all of us family members and many in Tim’s circles. “You’ve Got a Friend” by Carole King came quickly, as I needed soothing from its opening “when you’re down and troubled and you need some loving care” and the refrain as soulful as any hymn, “Winter, Spring, Summer, or Fall, all you have to do is call/ And I’ll be there, yes I will.”
My second choice was “Hearts and Flowers” by Joan Armatrading, from the 1990 album of the same name. Here the DJ said something like, “Wow, interesting pick.” Tim and I both loved Joan Armatrading, though I was more familiar with her catalog of moody albums and songs. The song is repetitive, rhythmic, synthetic sounding – a techno outpouring of gratitude, repeating “I want to thank you, want to thank you, want to thank you.” The song request must have came from Tim. He was always grateful and I was grateful that night. I learned later that Armatrading plays all the instruments; there is no accompanist on the track.
The DJ left my bedside after demonstrating how to tune into the hospital radio station on a tablet-style technology device. The tablet was hanging in front of me on a crank arm. I snapped a photo of its blinking enticements to watch TV shows, learn about health topics, text your family, or play games, none of which I had the cognitive strength to do. My songs would air sometime later that night. Hours passed. I dozed off. I woke up disappointed, realizing that a staff member had pushed the device away from me, out of my reach, and I had surely slept through my songs anyway.
After more dozing, a far away noise woke me up, like the lovely nostalgic tinny sound of a transistor radio at the beach. Across the room, from a device playing softly at the nurse’s station, I heard the faint, unmistakable voice of Joan Armatrading:
I want to thank you for our rainy days
And I want to thank you for the love you gave
And I want to thank you for the month of May
‘Cause that’s when you came to take my tears away
Thank you for the love
I want to thank you for the hearts and flowers
Keeping Tim Hartnett 