My Love Story Read online

  After Erwin’s physical exam, the doctors confirmed what I had known for years—he was in fabulous shape. In fact, he was so healthy that they rated his biological age as lower than his actual age (which, in my mind, still didn’t make him younger than me because he still had the same habit of turning off the lights and closing the doors at night, just like an old man!). I joked that with Erwin’s kidney in my body, I’d be able to run a marathon.

  The medical tests the doctors gave us were extensive. Erwin and I have the same blood type—type A—so that was a good start. But there were other considerations. I’m making the process sound way too simple, but we were tested for tissue typing, which indicates how many antigens the donor shares with the recipient, and cross-matching, which predicts how the recipient will react to the new kidney. A positive cross match is actually bad news because it means the recipient’s body would attack the new organ, and a transplant would not be possible. We passed the tests, so we had a strong foundation for a successful transplant.

  Meanwhile, Erwin and I had to stay healthy. All I could hear was the clock ticking. I couldn’t afford to lose a bit of my strength, energy, or courage. Of course, I worried that there would be another delay or, God forbid, another problem, and I wasn’t getting any younger. We were relieved to receive the news that we could move forward. I was so ready, I literally started counting the days.

  We traveled back and forth to Basel, which is about two hours from Zurich by car, to meet with the transplant team. Basel is one of the largest cities in Switzerland, and it’s located on the Rhine, one of the major rivers in Europe. I’m fascinated by the sight of water, which is ironic because I can’t swim. My appreciation is purely aesthetic. When I’m home, I love looking at Lake Zurich: experiencing the different colors; seeing that it sometimes goes this way or that way, or is perfectly still; watching the reflection of the sky.

  I felt the same way about watching the currents of the Rhine during our visits to Basel. There are days when the river is lazy and flows slowly through the city, and other days when the water rages, wild and dangerous. But mostly I loved watching the Rhine because it reminded me of our happy days in Cologne, where the river is an important part of life. The time Erwin and I shared there was a new beginning for us, not only as a couple, but for me personally, because I was free and truly in love for the first time. Being on its banks always gave me a sense of well-being. I saw young people everywhere, bathing and having fun. Life in all its glory! I hoped the Rhine once again represented a new beginning for me, as it had in the past.

  In Basel, Erwin planned our arrival so we could slip in and out of the hospital without being recognized, just as he did at the dialysis clinic in Zurich. He parked in the underground garage and took me by the hand to the tunnel that led to the main building. The tunnel was long—about two hundred meters—and it formed a sort of boundary between the world outside the hospital and the world in it. To me, it was symbolic, just like the River Styx, the river between the worlds of life and death in Dante’s Inferno. I felt uneasy the whole time we were in it, and I eagerly watched for landmarks that indicated we were nearing the exit. First, we passed the Coca-Cola machine, then the red walls that gradually turned gray, and finally we arrived at the elevator that carried us up into the main lobby of the hospital—there was no back entrance. We moved swiftly and silently, and I usually wore a hood. Somehow, we managed to walk past hundreds of people without ever being stopped for a selfie. Only in Switzerland!

  Once more, Professor Doctor Steiger carefully explained everything we needed to know about the transplantation process. And once again, I found that I was the “cat with nine (maybe ten) lives.” I was already a high-risk patient because of my recent cancer, but the risk escalated when tests showed that my heart had been damaged by so many years of high blood pressure: the muscle was enlarged and the vessels calcified. There was some question as to whether or not a weak heart could withstand the stress of surgery. The news was troubling, but I was getting used to setbacks, and I refused to let this one dim my enthusiasm.

  Professor Doctor Steiger saw that I was strong and strong-willed. Ultimately, he decided that my heart was up to the job, so he green-lighted the transplant, scheduling our big day for April 7, 2017. Our doctors were amazed by how relaxed and open-minded Erwin was as we got closer to the surgery. Most donors get really nervous, sometimes to the point where they’re more frightened than the person receiving the organ. Not Erwin. He was upbeat and unflappable every step of the way. I can’t say the same about me. My body had been through so much physical and emotional stress that my moods were unpredictable. I sometimes felt depressed, which made me feel guilty, because I knew I should be counting my blessings.

  A tremendous amount of planning was necessary to set up the two procedures. Two operating theaters are required—one for the donor and one for the recipient—two surgical teams, two of everything. Erwin’s operation would take place first. For the past few years, our fears and hopes had centered around my condition—my stroke, my high blood pressure, my cancer. While I was understandably anxious about the transplant, I was far more concerned about my Erwin, who was about to have a kidney cut out of his body . . . for me. I could barely listen to the description of the “retroperitoneoscopic nephrectomy,” as his procedure was called. The kidney, which is covered in a layer of protective, fatty tissue, is exposed, the renal artery, the renal vein, and the ureter are clipped, and the kidney is removed, flushed with a cold special liquid, placed on ice in a dish, and rushed to the recipient for transplantation.

  I didn’t want to think about any of these gory details when Erwin was wheeled into his operating room. After about an hour, the surgeon signaled that preparation of the recipient could begin, and suddenly it was my turn. I was given some medication to calm me, then the nurses lifted me from my bed up onto the operating table. The room was bright and busy with activity. People kept asking me my name and why I was there, to make sure they had the right patient for the right surgery. Then, a young man attached electrodes to my chest and hooked up an access device to my vein. The ventilator pumped, the anesthesia started to flow, my eyelids fluttered and closed, and I was out.

  The next thing I knew, the nurses were calling my name, trying to wake me up. I seemed to be lying in the same position as when I’d closed my eyes, but hours had passed. I was told that the surgery was over and the doctors were happy. I was so groggy that everything—lights, sounds, smatterings of conversation, visits from doctors and nurses—felt dreamlike. It took me a while to understand that I was in Intensive Care, surrounded by what seemed like a hundred machines, starting my new life as a woman with a healthy kidney.

  I was more coherent when I woke up the next day. I was so excited that the operation was over, and after a few tentative stretches of my fingers and toes, I realized that I felt fine. The best moment was when Erwin, the most beautiful sight, came rolling into my room in his wheelchair. He somehow managed to look good, even handsome, as he greeted me with an energetic “Hi, darling!” I was so emotional—happy, overwhelmed, and relieved that we had come through it alive.

  With the surgery safely behind us, I was ready to hear all about it. The doctors told me that Erwin was stretched out on his side the whole time, while I was on my back. From start to finish, it took about two and a half hours, although the critical part of the procedure, the actual transplant, was accomplished in a matter of minutes. I found it interesting that my useless kidneys had been left in place, which is standard practice. Now I had three kidneys! I got chills as they described the dramatic moment when my blood started flowing through Erwin’s kidney and my new organ lit up bright red with signs of life. It was like magic.

  Erwin and I enjoyed a flawless recovery. His room was right next to mine, and we brought a lot of light and laughter to that hospital, especially when Erwin wheeled himself over to my room and held court. The staff was used to caring for people who were old and sick. But Erwin, this vibrant, younger man giving
his older wife a kidney, was so full of life and charm that he was a welcome diversion. It amused Professor Doctor Steiger that my husband surrounded himself with stacks of car magazines, which he read obsessively. Clearly, Erwin was already planning his next road trip.

  Professor Doctor Gürke, my surgeon, was pretty impressed with my recovery. I was able to be discharged after only seven days because I was strong and my doctors didn’t foresee any problems. Erwin’s recovery was even faster. He snapped right back to his old self, and within a few weeks was enjoying his first glass of wine. He’s been full speed ahead ever since then.

  When I say full speed, I mean full speed. Six months after his surgery, he jumped on his Harley-Davidson and set off on a road tour of America with his biker friends. Subsequently, we went back to the hospital in Basel for a checkup, and Erwin complained that his neck was bothering him. “Yes, Mr. Bach,” the doctor said. “But that’s not related to surgery, or age, or anything like that, that’s related to your Harley!”

  I, on the other hand, have experienced ups and downs. My body keeps trying to reject the new kidney, which is not uncommon after a transplant. It means I have to take strong doses of immunosuppressants to weaken my antibodies and prevent them from attacking an organ they don’t recognize. Sometimes, the treatment involves spending more time in the hospital, and it comes with some unpleasant side effects, including dizziness, forgetfulness, anxiety, and the occasional bout of insane diarrhea. Ironically, when I feel dizzy it is because of low blood pressure, which is an entirely new sensation. I have to take a lot of pills—at one point, I was taking as many as twenty a day—and I do it very carefully, knowing that I can’t make any mistakes.

  In 2017, as the holidays approached, I started feeling more energetic. I was looking forward to my birthday on November 26, which we planned to celebrate with our closest friends at our country house. I always enjoy getting birthday cards, notes, and now emails commemorating the occasion, but this year was particularly meaningful to me because Erwin and I had come through so much. I’m not trying to tempt fate—I know that my medical adventure is far from over. After a transplant, it seems that there’s always another doctor’s appointment, test, or biopsy on the schedule. But I’m still here—we’re still here, closer than we ever imagined—and that’s cause for celebration.

  Erwin knew that the old Tina (or maybe I was the new-and-improved Tina) was back when I got excited about ordering new end tables for the living room. Then, I pulled out the ornaments and transformed our home into a Christmas wonderland. For me, the urge to decorate is a sure sign of life.

  After so many years of being sick, frightened, desperate, resigned, I felt the joy of the holiday, the joy of living.

  12

  * * *

  “PARADISE IS HERE”

  “The future is this moment, not some place out there”

  While I was battling my various illnesses, Erwin surprised me by announcing that we were expecting visitors. He had invited nine, maybe ten, people to come to the Château Algonquin that very night to talk to me about developing Tina: The Tina Turner Musical, a stage show based on the story of my life. I wanted to say, “No! No! No! I did it, I did it, I did it—I’ve done it.” I had no interest in revisiting the past, let alone hearing people sing about it. But it was too late. The meeting was set and the people had traveled a long way to see me, so I had to be polite and listen to them.

  I was from the world of rock ’n’ roll, so musical theater was a bit of a mystery to me. Trying to make conversation, I asked Joop van den Ende, one of the producers, “What’s the difference between a musical and a great rock concert?” When he told me that a musical is a story told through songs, I saw the similarities between the two. I knew Tina: The Tina Turner Musical was destined to happen, because my life is quite a story, a story with songs. Ultimately, the idea started to make sense to me. I believed that the people involved in the musical, including award-winning director Phyllida Lloyd, who staged the musical Mamma Mia!, and writer Katori Hall (who, like me, is from Tennessee), would do a good job.

  I gave Tina: The Tina Turner Musical my blessing and put one foot in first, then the other. I sat with producer Tali Pelman and became actively involved in the process to get the story right; not necessarily the facts—how and when something actually happened—but the feelings. When a biography is adapted for the stage, especially as a musical where characters sometimes sing instead of speaking, things are compressed and shuffled around; that’s dramatic license. But I didn’t care as long as the emotions were true. It was extremely important to me that the musical capture my authentic spirit, through good times and bad, and celebrate my lifelong relationship with my music and my audience. I didn’t want the show to be about a woman who becomes a star. That’s a small subject. My biography is life, the life of a woman who started as a little girl from Nutbush, who, as I’ve said many times, had strong winds against her, yet she stepped out into the big world with nothing but her voice, her optimism, and her will to survive.

  Of course, the big question was, who would play Tina? After a search, a wonderful young actress named Adrienne Warren was cast in the role. She had to learn her songs, master her gestures and steps, find the right facial expressions, and develop the character—all in the shadow of the real Tina. I didn’t want to make Adrienne nervous, but I did want to guide her.

  Becoming Tina involves more than putting on a wig, a short skirt, and high heels, although the right costumes help. “First of all,” I told her, “you have to realize that everyone will be a bit picky about you being Tina. You can’t worry about what people think in terms of that. You’re not Tina. My fans sat there at every tour, every show, and they know every move I ever made as well as I do. So don’t just mimic me. Learn, but you have to be a little bit yourself, and then step into the shoes and become it totally.” Adrienne had to find her “inner Tina.”

  I could tell her what I was feeling at different moments in my life, give her tips about phrasing and hitting the right notes, show her how to shake her hips from side to side instead of front to back, and demonstrate the intricacies of the Pony. But the most important lesson I could teach her was to always think about her audience—to concentrate on what they’re feeling. “When you look out, and see that the audience is really into you, that they’re having a good time, you have to hold on to that feeling and let it motivate you to be as good as Tina ever was.” I told her she had to take their enthusiasm and give it right back to them, like a gift. My longest love affair has been with my audience.

  If I thought for one second that, after my transplant, finally I’d earned the right to lounge in one of my beautifully upholstered antique chairs and eat Swiss chocolates, I discovered that Erwin had other ideas about how I should spend my time. After so much planning, the moment had come to officially announce Tina: The Tina Turner Musical and to get the show ready for its opening, and he expected me to be with it every step of the way. As if that wasn’t enough, Erwin was also encouraging me to write this memoir and to be the subject of a documentary.

  I’ve been blessed with a wonderful career, and when I decided to retire, it was because I was truly ready to leave public life. I didn’t need a musical (or a book, or a documentary). However, what made me think twice was that I get so many cards and letters from people who tell me how much my story means to them. I feel that my story is my legacy, and I have to pass it on. It also occurred to me that there were things left unsaid in the past, and I should finally say them in my own voice.

  I wanted to relax and truly enjoy my recovery and my retirement. But, as much as I kicked and screamed (well, maybe I never screamed), I understood what my husband was up to and I loved him for it. As he’d expected, when I was sick and fighting despair, thinking about the musical helped me stay focused and gave me something to look forward to. And after my surgery, working on the book gave me a chance to relive my memories—both good and bad—and to articulate some of the insights that came to me while I
was thinking about my life. Basically, Erwin kept me busy so that I would keep going, and his plan worked.

  My goal was to be in great shape by October 18, 2017, when we would announce the show and present Adrienne Warren to the media for the first time, and to be in even better shape for the official opening on April 17, 2018. This was an ambitious undertaking considering that I’d had major transplant surgery only six months earlier.

  Honestly, I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to do it. My face was swollen from taking cortisone. The drugs made me feel foggy. Sometimes it was hard to remember things. My energy level was up and down. My emotions were unpredictable. Then, when my body threatened to reject Erwin’s kidney, and I found myself going back and forth to Basel for more rounds of tests and hospital visits to prevent that, I doubted that I would be ready to appear in front of cameras and a crowd of journalists at the October launch.

  What if I had to be in a wheelchair? How could I face my fans? Would they accept me this way? I was worried.

  Even though my recovery was slow, somehow, I pulled myself together. Dressed in a trim black Armani jacket, a bright red shirt, and black pants, I stood beside Adrienne and, together, we performed the opening of “Proud Mary.” While she remained onstage to finish the song, I moved to the side to sit and watch. I was so pleased by her performance that I danced (and sang) along with her. I had good feelings about the musical and my first public appearance.

  The official opening of Tina: The Tina Turner Musical six months later was at the Aldwych, one of London’s oldest theaters. I wasn’t seeing the show for the first time that night, but there would be critics in the audience, and it was impossible not to be a little nervous because I knew they would be watching me, trying to gauge my reaction. I dressed carefully, choosing a black Armani tuxedo. I wear classic clothes in my real life, and I wanted my outfit to be understated. For a touch of drama, I added an elegant pair of black Armani demi-gloves.