Byron Gold

As musical director of my choir, the Stratford East Singers, Byron has shown me the healing power of music.

When my phone rang while I was in intensive care the evening after my amputation, I was confused. My family had gone home, leaving me alone in a morphine-fuelled haze, my thoughts jumbled and torturing me. I lay there, struggling to form the distinction between hallucination and reality as my phone vibrated against my chest. Eventually, with shaking hands, I answered it. ‘Ella, hey, it’s Byron.’ Byron is the musical director of the choir I’ve been a part of for around four years. Since being admitted to hospital, I’d received many messages, but not a call out of the blue. While I saw Byron every Wednesday, we’d never chatted outside of the choir sessions. Of all the people who could have phoned me at that moment, I would never have predicted it would be him.

I don’t remember exactly what we spoke about. The chat wasn’t long; I didn’t have the energy. But what I do recall is the feeling that came over me afterwards: the overwhelming gratitude that he’d found the time and the courage to pick up the phone, not knowing what state I’d be in or how I’d react. It was a sign of true compassion.

Singing became a crucial part of my recovery; a way of releasing all the negative energy. Every week while

I was at the amputee rehabilitation centre, I’d look forward to my evenings at choir. I would always feel happier after singing my heart out.

At the choir’s annual concert eight months after the accident, Byron asked if I could introduce one of the songs by telling my story on stage. The song was Something Inside So Strong. He could see there was something strong inside me. Byron has helped me all the way through my journey; starting that night when I was in intensive care. In the midst of fear, unexpected friendship brings hope.

I felt gratitude that he’d found time and courage to pick up the phone