The Free Spirit

The Birth of a Revolution, 1964 (Part Three)

"There's a time to every purpose, under heaven... A time of love, a time of hate, a time of war, a time of peace..."

Don was in and out of the hospital with me even as I regained sensibility, to which he knew I would resume being angry with him. I was given the triple treatment for tuberculosis, which was basically three treatments of antibiotics, and started feeling better relatively quickly. Well, feeling better in regards to my overall health. During late 1964, I experienced my fifth pregnancy, and received yet another healthy dose of hyperemesis gravidarum. The condition was so rare, and yet, I seemed to be five for five in having it. "There's some new medication they're tryin' out back home, maybe we should get ya there so you can get it," Don told me.

"You just want me to be home with the children," I replied to him.

"Catherine, right now, I'm just worried about you gettin' better," Don said calmly, knowing I was still pissed at him.

"What are you doing here anyway? I thought you had tours."

"I did, but you're more important to me than a tour."

"Then I guess our anniversary wasn't important enough to you, but that's perfectly all right."

"Catherine, that's different."

"How is it different?"

"I got a call sayin' you was dyin' and I needed to come here. If other people respected the fact that it was our anniversary, that woulda been a different story, but they don't care, and I ain't in the position right now to say no to somethin'."

"You made a promise and you didn't stick to it. That's perfectly all right, but it just goes to show that if promises aren't all that important to you, then why should they be to me?"

"Catherine, I am not arguin' with you right now. Now, I'm havin' ya discharged and we're goin' home, and I ain't listenin' to any protests you got right now."

"As usual, no care for what I want." He simply rolled his eyes at me and carried on. I was discharged and brought back to America, where I was put on an anti-nausea medication called metoclopramide, also called Primperan. The medication was as new as thalidomide had once been and didn't have the same effects as thalidomide had once had, but it did the trick. I still spent time at home recovering from the illness and Don made sure I stayed home. I was still so agitated at him to the point where no amount of reasoning could settle my mind. Margaret made sure I knew about her disapproval of my pursuing a music career, claiming I was 'selfishly trying to take away attention from her sons'. I paid her no heed, as she had no knowledge of anything related to my career.

Don and Phil started recording their next album in early October, and in late October, my first album, self-titled 'Catherine Cromwell' was released. The album was short and had eight songs on it, as I fell ill and there was no time to record more songs. It was quite successful and the press loved it, but Don seemed quite unimpressed. Seeing as I had been forced to live with him again, I began to hope we could patch things up again, but hearing his rather uncaring response to my new album told me that I might as well not even bother trying. In November, Don was downstairs helping Elton with homework one Saturday morning when I came downstairs and put my coat on. "Where are you goin'?" Don asked me.

"Why's it matter? You don't care about anything else I do," I said to him.

"Not this again... Catherine, just tell me where you're goin'. You've been sick," Don said again.

"Out," I replied. Elton was watching us and broke the tension.

"When will you be back, Mummy?" he asked sweetly.