These fragments have I shorn up against my ruin

Today the reality of what is about to happen sunk in: a call from Cindy, the Transplant Coordinator, informing me that I am scheduled on the 25th to have the central line (venous catheter) installed. That’s when the clock on my transplant starts.

Not only is this a milestone on this, my second transplant, but also it is the beginning of the process I hate the most, the loss of the illusion of control I have over my destiny.

Once I’m tethered to an infusion pump, once I’m in hospital, the doctors and nurses will be doing their level best to get me through it. But that’s not my fight. It’s hard for me to even know how that fight is going. I have quite a lot of knowledge of a very narrow bit of medicine, Multiple Myeloma. But the transplant really has nothing to do with myeloma. In a transplant, the doctors are concerned with the many possible complications, from acute mucositis to failed kidneys, opportunistic infections, hydration and feeding, and so on. I know nothing about these things.

My fight is to try to hold on to my sense of self and, especially, my sense of humor. Reduced to a set of lab tests tethered to a tree of infusion pumps, how can I continue to be me?

The last time, I failed almost completely. After about a week, I could do very little except suffer and beg for Ativan.

This time, instead of trying to understand what was happening to me, I’m taking a different tack. Greene Music, the local Steinway dealer from whom I bought my concert grand, has donated a Yamaha Clavinova for my use for the duration. Although electronic, the piano is playable, so I’ll be able, on good days, to practice. Maybe, with my earphones, I can shut out the blare of pumps and the hepa filter (which is bigger than a washing machine and louder than a jet). If I can lose myself in the music, perhaps the great ones will visit me, like they do when I’m home and tuned in to their wavelengths. By losing myself in music, perhaps I can hold on to myself.

There is a very good grand piano in the lobby of the hospital that is played by local artists every Wednesday after lunch. The rest of the time, it beckons to me. When strong enough, I enjoy playing for the passers-by. Last time, I wasn't strong enough often enough. The Clavinova is a godsend.

I’ll have broadband, too. The hospital recently installed a wireless system, although it does come with a warning to minimize its use. As if! So I’ll also have broadband through a wireless modem from my cell phone company. That’s two ways I can at least stay connected to the world I normally live in despite being in solitary confinement.

Once the broadband is working, I can access a thing called a Slingbox installed on my TiVo digital video recorder. Normally, hospital TV is a small wasteland consisting of CNN, QVC, and fuzzy versions of standard-definition network channels. But I have hundreds of channels at home and am a devotee of every damned one of them! Slingbox, through the broadband link, will let me watch what is recorded on my TiVo from anywhere in the world, including the hospital fifteen miles from my house.

Last time, I never quite succeeded in getting my beloved New York Times delivered to my room. Usually, I begin my day with a couple of hours of reading followed up by the legendary Times’ crossword puzzle. If the hospital delivery system can’t figure it out this time either, I’ll have a portable printer that will let me at least print out the key articles and my beloved crossword puzzles.

And I intend to keep up this blog not just to record the events for posterity, but to stay as close as I can to my friends who may be too distant to visit me.

You will be able to judge whether or not I succeed at being me despite the pressure to dissolve into oblivion.