I woke up at 2:00 PM in some hotel, on tour, not just because I had finished eight randomly situated hours of sleep, but because of a light. The curtains were thick, with that ultra-opaque silvery backing, so it wasn't light in the literal sense, but the feeling of light. Not to mention that the phone rang. It was Pron Appleweilder, my old friend from childhood. I knew Pron since I was one and he was zero, and we had seen each other a couple times more recently when the band had passed through his town.

So it's 2:00 PM, lightness is nearby, Pron is on the phone, and my only half awake cognition is that sound check would be 4:30. Pron is a resident now at a hospital, a surgeon, and if I can be there by 2:25, I can go and witness my biggest fear. Ahh . . . yes! I'll do it. Okay, clothing, socks, brush teeth, call cab, quick, grab jacket; hell, this is something I can't even watch on TV-what am I doing? I can be such a hypochondriac, the rest of the band thinks that when my time comes to walk toward the light it will be the result of some ultra-rare disease that no one but me has even heard of.

Okay, cab, rain, traffic, 2:21, 2:22, old main entrance, lobby with ornate woodwork, oh there he is-wow, I never expected him to be a doctor-it's almost as preposterous as me being a rock and roller. It must have been quite a sight, two caricatures walking abruptly down the corridor-one in a real doctor's outfit, looking confident, the other in a black leather jacket and "rock's last shag haircut," hiding terror. There we go-toward the two big doors that normal civilians can't go through unless they're sedated and horizontal or watching ER in the comfort of their living rooms.

Lockers, put on blue smock, a covering for rock's last shag, 2:29, ten or so minutes of Pron Appleweilder scrubbing his hands and arms because of what he might touch, and in that very bright room-a human body-all ready. Gulp. Yeah, don't mind me, people, just doing a little gig in town here. Isn't it possible, even likely, that I would faint and knock over a bunch of those intimidating tubes, wires, and machines? Aren't they worried about that? I think I'll just sit against the wall of this tiny room. No, come stand over here so you can see! That's nice of you, but I think I'll test this fainting theory over here where I would only knock over this one little machine.

Seeing is a big part of this experience. People don't look at that. Should I stand up now so I can squint my eyes and look at it? Seeing is crucial here. And with my job hearing is so significant. My eyes can be closed. But there are blips and calls and suction sounds that weave quite a little tapestry of rhythm here, and with me there are three hundred "cans" of light aiming down, cutting across my own visual mirage, so it's not so cut and dry. Okay-I'll stand, walk over, I'm looking, there it is. Pron is literally holding the woman's stomach in his hand and he says, "So, Mike, what time should I be at the arena to meet you for dinner?" Are you kidding?

And what's most unexpected about Pron doing this is the way he is using his hands. I mean, he obviously had foot control, being a great skier and skateboarder as a kid. But if I could play a bass line with the intricacy, fluency, and speed that his digits are moving right now, I don't know what it would sound like. And, by the way, yes, I do think I feel a little faint. I recognize that queasy, spacey feeling from the only one time in my life that I did faint. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to sit down again for a minute. I mean, what's going on here is pretty deep. It's not just the supreme connotations of seeing, hearing, stitching; damnit, it's a person's life here. What's going on, are we playing God? This is very emotional. Both Pron and I are expected to be fairly cool while doing a job that, emotionally, is very potent. The door we walked in is like the door to life and there is this unused locked door on the back wall, where there is an unknown corridor, and though this is a fairly routine operation, that back door symbolizes the eternal for me. One of the assistants even mentions St. Peter in passing; I mean how can you talk about that? And there I was, yesterday, all worried about a bass line sounding wrong, I mean, I'm alive-a real, breathing person-I must be thankful. I'm in the operating room right now; where are my loved ones?

But it's not some perfect world in the OR, as it isn't on ER. It's very meticulous, very careful, very intelligent, and very sterile, but not perfect. It's just business as usual, another day at work, banter, shuffling, passing. There's some sort of laser beam, but that's just using organized light photons like a carpenter might use a jigsaw. It's all part of the game. It's a serious, conscientious game, but in the end all you can do is what you can do. What's the big appeal here? To save-altruism? Power? Recognition? He could ask me these same questions about my job. Well, let's see: when it's good, it's just being part of a groove, I guess, and the other things are perks. The groove here is outlined by a heartbeat, slowing, speeding, pausing, but always a meditation, a continuum.

Just when I'm feeling comfortable in my own continuum, it's time to stand up and watch the scarier part of the operation-a trachiostemy, to help the patient breathe. Again, I can't believe I'm here. And sound check is in twenty-five minutes. What I really can't believe is that Pron's job is a common job and what I do is a rare tale for reunion parties. Bloody gauze strips are used, lifted, counted, sifted, I don't know why, and more and more stitching-his hand is like a sewing machine. I'm definitely going running tomorrow, and I won't eat any french fries. Okay, now I really better go.

Bye, walk alone now, locker room, stuff, corridor, rain, cab, waiting in rain. It's much darker out here than in that very bright room, with the thing in it that people don't see. But there is sky, and there is still, especially now, a feeling of light. I feel so real. I am late, arena, stage, plugs, knobs, jamming, empty seats. Oh, yes, I am so comfortable, this is what I do, I can do this, it sounds good, I am alive.

Before dinner I'm in the band's locker room bathroom, alone, looking into a big mirror. Now I notice something I didn't realize before. It's that light, I finally see where it's coming from, and it's coming from inside me.