I have become comfortably numb

My subconscious has been playing tricks on me.

Recently I have taken to listening to one of my favourite albums over and over, Pink Floyd's The Wall. It never occurred to me until I stumbled across a documentary about the album, and subsequent stage show and film, that some of the themes of the album are actually terribly familiar.

The notion of building a wall around yourself as a protective measure against what the world has to disappoint you with is something I can definitely relate to and the catharsis of tearing down that wall can be tremendous. More of which later.

The reason I chose the lyric I did for this post isn't just because it comes from one of my favourite songs but because it too reflects how I feel about my current situation. I have been medicated heavily for over seven years now and I wonder sometimes whether that as much as my own celebrated stoicism is responsible for my (mostly) tremendous outlook on my condition.

I have often made a joke about how marijuana is a gateway drug only in that it is a gateway to Pink Floyd and The Doors. I hold that to be a truism but in my current medicated state I have become the butt of my own joke in that I am finding meaning in the album that maybe the teenage occasional dabbler in drugs never even saw. It's also got some really, really good fucking guitar on it for what it's worth.

Anyway, the previous post to this was all about my search for help and it has been forthcoming on a few fronts. I will soon be seeing a transplant psychologist but I feel that the situation I found myself in when looking for such help has eased off incredibly since admitting I needed help in the first place. My friends and family have been utterly tremendous and they deserve the utmost credit in hearing me out whilst venting my spleen (not really but I like a bit of hyperbole) about how I was feeling. I talked before about the conversational clichés of my chats with friends especially; how I would always try and say when they asked about the wait for transplant that 'You never know, they could call tonight'. I've now added to that the, perhaps much more startling revelation to many of them, that I could also get a bug of some sort that would not only rule me out of transplant for the moment but rule me out for good if it damages my lungs too much. I have, for reasons that aren't really clear right now, kept back from them for a very long time that my condition is progressive and that every tiny little infection that hits me does a little bit more damage to my already bedraggled lungs and one day there may well be a tipping point where an infection kills me. 

I was so confident with the bone marrow transplant that I would get through it relatively unscathed because I was 23 and in very good physical condition, cancer notwithstanding, and also because it took 3 months to go from diagnosis to cure. I didn't have time for my disease to weaken me before the heavy treatment. This week marks 7 years since the fungal pneumonia that triggered the final decline of my breathing gear and I can see a gradual but definite decline in my ability to do things. Having said that the last few months I have been out and done so much more than I had been able to do before and I put that down to the decision to just go out and try and if I feel shattered the next day then so be it. That attitude, in concert with some cunning little physiotherapy, has left me feeling much stronger in some ways. Everyone I see says that I'm looking stronger and I can't tell them they're wrong. Superficially I am looking stronger although a lot of that is down to weight gain (I now look like my dad which is a shock to the system I can tell you). The comparison between someone 10 stone 8 pounds to someone that was once 6 stone 6 pounds is a stark reminder just how close I came to dying before really.

So where are we?

My friends are now much more keenly aware that I could die waiting for matching lungs and that is the weight off my back; the catharsis; the tearing down of a wall that I spoke of at the start of this post. They all seem thankful that I've told them too as it only occurred to a few of them off their own backs. There's been the odd tears and snotters session but everyone has the right to react in their own way. I would never deign to tell someone they can't cry over the notion of them losing someone they love.

I remain resolute in the position that I have always taken - that I am actually a very lucky person. Yes, this has been a rather untrod path that my life has taken but I have never found it to be a solitary walk and I feel overpoweringly humble about that.

Like corporation buses this post will be followed late on Wednesday night with another showing the results of the tattoo project, complete with photographs of the whole procedure from beginning to end. It has been interesting to say the least.