Dol

I learned about the Dol scale, which measures pain, when I was at work on "Weights and Measures." The official name is the Dolorimeter, and it came into use in the 1940s. I spent much of the last week in the hospital, where I went through a series of tests, and was asked to rate my level of pain on a scale of one to ten every time I was given pain medication.

Armed with a diagnosis, a treatment plan, and some pain medication, I was able to leave the hospital on Saturday in the later afternoon.

It turns out that I have a highly treatable form of multiple myeloma, for which I began radiation treatments yesterday. I have eight to go, and then will start chemotherapy. I have great doctors, and I have great support from family, friends, and musical colleagues. I have every reason to be hopeful and grateful. 

This thing is literally a pain in the butt, since the tumor has taken residence where I sit and where I lie down. It is rapidly being destroyed, and as it becomes smaller, so will the pain.

Now that you know the background story, I can let you know how Haydn helped me survive.

During my first ninety-minute-long MRI, I was able to listen to the Haydn Quartets Opus 76 no. 6, no. 5, and no. 1 (in that order). Since I know these pieces so intimately, having played them all recently, I was able to stay completely still and follow the lines of the music through the bangs, squaks, bumps, and thuds of the MRI. It gave me such a sense of purpose to make it my business find my way through all the noise, and hear the music.

I was actually looking forward to my second MRI because I could listen to Opus 76 no. 2, no. 3, and no. 4. I recommend Haydn quartets as companions in such circumstances. My radiologist told me that they got really good images from the MRIs. I thank Haydn for that.

While I was in the hospital my pain level never went above eight, but before I entered the hospital (before I had adequate pain medication), Michael got to witness what level ten can do to a person. The only relief I could get (while waiting for the NSAID and muscle relaxer a critical care doctor perscribed for me over a holiday weekend) was having Michael sit next to me on the bed and play "Lotus Blossom" on his guitar. 

My first radiation treatment was yesterday. I didn't have any problems with the hour-long ride up, or during the procedure. But on the ride home I realized far too late that I should have brought along some muscle relaxer. 

My pain level reached level ten when we were about thirty minutes from home. Michael suggested that I might want to listen to some Haydn, so I found the Cleveland Quartet's recording of the Quinten (Opus 76, no 2) Quartet. Singing and crying along with it saved my sanity. My sciatica-like pain was so great that my leg actually went numb, but thanks to Mr. Haydn and the members of the Cleveland Quartet I was able to find considerable joy through the pain.

Michael didn't particularly like driving twenty miles over the speed limit on an empty rural road, with the person he loves writhing in serious pain next to him. He was not particularly keen on driving with intense music (all those melodic fifths create an amazing amount of tension) in the minor mode playing loudly over the car speakers, but he was a hero and pressed onward, getting us home safely. He found the second movement to be charming, and appreciated the canon in the minuet. We didn't get all the way through the last movement because we arrived it home in record time. 

I went straight for my muscle relaxer, jumped into bed, put on my headphones, and listened to Opus 76, no. 4 (the Sunrise). And after that I was OK.