Open Heart Bypass Surgery Recovery: Why I’m Making Music Like My Life Depends On It
Open Heart Bypass Surgery Recovery: Why I'm Making Music Like My Life Depends On It
(Personal experience, not medical advice.)
The Ultimate Test of My Own Message
My body felt surprisingly steady, despite the scars on my arms and chest that still itch and burn, despite the awareness of my breastbone where they opened me up.
As Bobby Makes Music, my mission is to communicate with busy parents: “Don't postpone your creativity. You can balance family, work, and art. Keep that creative flame alive.”
Then life handed me the ultimate test of my own philosophy.
When the Music Almost Stopped
For years, I've been that guy, the full-time venue manager who comes home to produce music after tucking his daughter into bed.
The father who squeezes music making sessions in among work life, daddy duties, and date night. The living proof that parents don't have to abandon their creative dreams.
My mission is simple and pure: communicate with parents that creativity isn't a luxury you sacrifice for responsibility. It's a legacy you build because of it.
Then on Saturday, June 14, I checked into Emergency at The Alfred Hospital with chest pain that had started the night before.
What followed would amplify everything I believed about not postponing life:
◉ Wednesday, June 18: An angiogram revealed four blocked arteries. The irony wasn't lost on me. My heart muscle was strong, the doctors said. I was fit from years of sports and martial arts. But you can't out-train genetics or an imperfect diet (and perhaps some questionable lifestyle and recreational choices when I was younger). Four blocked arteries, just like my dad had faced before me.
◉ Friday, June 20: Quadruple bypass (CABG), a coronary artery bypass graft surgery that creates a new path for blood and restores blood flow to the heart.
◉ Wednesday, June 25: Discharged from hospital.
My surgeon and healthcare team were clear: my heart muscle was strong, but family-line coronary artery disease had caught up with me.
High cholesterol runs through both sides of my family tree. My mother passed from a heart attack in this same ward I was being operated in. My father survived the same surgery. And here I was, continuing the pattern, but I'm a different beast, and I don't go down without a fight. In my heart of hearts, there was no way I wasn't going home to my family.
Creating Through the Fear
Between the angiogram and surgery, sleep became impossible. The hospital symphony played endlessly… beeping monitors, announcements, hospital intensive care unit alarms, nurses doing their rounds.
But I had my MacBook with me, and in those sleepless hours, something profound happened.
I made music like a man possessed.
While lying in a cardiac ward with four blocked arteries, I opened my DAW and channelled everything into a frantic, modern metal track that captured all that pre-surgery anxiety. Because if I could sit up, I could create. If I could create, I was still alive. I was still me.
Small Sessions, Profound Shifts
After surgery, once the medication fog lifted, I rebuilt my creative practice the only way I know how, in 10-20 minute increments (as you know I love to preach about the power of 10 minute activities).
Sitting up in bed with my MacBook. Then moving to the couch. And finally back at the table. My lean setup (just a MacBook and headphones) means I can work anywhere, anytime. There is no friction when creativity happens, or reliance on gear when I want to work. I just work.
Short bursts fit the recovery process while my body did the slow work to heal.
These weren't just recovery sessions. They were war cries: I'm still here. I'm still creating. I'm still that father who shows his daughter that you can honour both your family and your art.
I kept physical activity gentle, monitored my heart and energy, and respected recovery time more than adrenaline.
Each tiny session carried new weight.
My existing mission, encouraging parents to maintain their creativity, wasn't just theoretical anymore.
It was literally life or death. What if I had postponed that track or any music? What if I had waited until “someday” to start building my musical legacy?
The Money Fear Nobody Talks About
Here's what they don't tell you about major surgery: sometimes the biggest fear isn't medical.
With limited leave, no income protection, and no access to super, I was terrified about providing for my family.
Very graciously, my generous employers and I worked something out, giving us peace of mind. And for that, my family and I are extremely grateful.
Held by Community
While I was in hospital, my friends became my family’s support network.
School runs, play dates, check-ins on my wife, walks when I got home, and gentle reminders to rest when I tried to push too hard.
They held us when I couldn't. I can't thank them enough.
If any of my lads are reading this, thank you, I love and appreciate you more than I can express.
Return to Everything
I've never been good at sitting on the sidelines. As soon as I could, I started moving.
Things like doing housework, caring for my daughter through school holidays and taking her to the park to play.
Then going for incrementally longer walks, doing basic grocery shopping, it wasn't always easy, but it was surgery recovery in motion.
My cardiac rehabilitation team cleared me to return to work after bypass surgery with extreme caution; the formal cardiac rehabilitation program starts August 15.
Outside of heavy training and BJJ sparring (for now), I'm not postponing anything. I'm coaching kids' BJJ, helping with my daughter's basketball team, working, making music, heck, even just driving my car.
There's magic in doing what you love, and I feel it more sharply than ever.
People often hear “six to 12 weeks” before full duties, but this is my path, cleared for light work at week five.
But please, if you are in recovery from anything, be sure to follow the advice of your medical team.
Why This Changes Everything and Nothing
This experience didn't create my mission, but it intensified it.
My message of “make time for creativity” now bears a different weight. Every beat and every song I produce carries the urgency of someone who almost ran out of time.
I'm creating a different legacy than the one genetics handed me. Yes, heart disease runs in my family. But so does music. So does the message that you can be a dedicated parent or busy professional, and still be a passionate creator.
So I will prove that when life tries to block your flow, you find a way to clear the channels (it doesn't have to be as dramatic an event as having open-heart surgery, okay).
My daughter will have more than medical history to inherit. She'll have songs I created that tell her: embrace your creative fire, chase your dreams, be a rebel.
She'll have tangible proof that her dad didn't just preach about balancing creativity and responsibility, he lived it, even from a hospital bed.
If You're a Parent Who's Been Waiting
If you're reading this thinking, “someday I'll get back to my art,” let me be clear: I almost didn't get a someday.
Start now. Ten minutes counts. That project you've been postponing? The instrument doing nothing in the corner? The beat you've been cooking that's gathering digital dust. The creative dream you've shelved for “when the kids are older”?
Your children need to see you creating, not despite being a parent, but because you are one. They need to inherit more than your genetics—they need your passion, your persistence, your proof that a full life includes art.
A Note to My Daughter
You gave me strength to be brave when fear felt bigger than my chest could hold.
In the scariest moment of my life, thoughts of you turned anxiety into determination.
Thank you. I love you.
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