By the end of the week, things had settled into an uneasy rhythm.  One of the kids or a friend would come late each morning to spend time with Kurt, convincing Blaine to go into work for a few hours, confident that Kurt would not be alone.  Blaine spent about two out of every three nights at the hospital, with one of Kurt's many visitors volunteering to spend a night every so often so that he could go home, although he would rather have stayed with Kurt.  Someone made sure he ate every day.  If he spent the night at home, he got up early to go in and see Kurt before going to work. 

Whatever infection Kurt had had was finally beginning to get better, and his nausea was under control, so he didn't feel quite as bad.  However, he still had no appetite.  The army of friends Ben had organized brought food to him as well as Blaine, everyone who knew him knowing that if he ate at all, it was not likely to be hospital food.  His blood counts were dropping, but that was to be expected.  No one who was ill was permitted to visit, as his immune system was failing; he was very tired, and was bruising and bleeding even more easily than before.  However, none of this worried the doctors, as it was normal given the intense chemotherapy.  So annoying as Kurt found his gums bleeding when he brushed his teeth, he did take a bit of comfort when the medical staff's response was basically, “Yeah, sucks, doesn't it?”  He also railed against the pain pump, which permitted him to determine when he needed pain medication and have it delivered at the touch of a button, but was set so he could not overdose.  Kurt hated the pain medication; he felt that if he was really in enough pain to resort to it, it didn't do enough, and the rest of the time he hated the way it made him feel:  fuzzy and muddled – he wanted to be able to think and communicate clearly, and the medication interfered with both.  However, the staff insisted he needed it to deal with the pain caused by the leukemia, the infections, the tests, and the side effects of the chemotherapy; it would become standard with each of his hospital stays, no matter how much he hated it, sometimes being set to deliver medication automatically, since Kurt usually refused to use the on-demand feature.   The high points of each day were Blaine's return, and Mary Beth's visits to continue their game, with whomever happened to come into the room as a subject.  By Friday, Kurt felt well enough for boredom to become an issue, and he called Jenna and demanded she bring work. 

Saturday evening, Blaine and Adam were debating details of the new show while Kurt sketched, working on the spring/summer collection for next year.  Kurt was having trouble focusing, and began to feel as though he couldn't catch his breath.  “Blaine?”  He began, “Having trouble . . . .”  Blaine looked up to see Kurt's lips looking slightly blue, at the same time that an alarm began to scream.  A nurse ran in, checking the monitor and turning off the alarm.  He placed a mask over Kurt's face.  A doctor came in and began issuing orders for tests and medications. 

Once Kurt was breathing better, the doctor pulled Blaine aside.  “His oxygen saturation was too low.  We'll have to wait for the results of the blood tests to know for certain, but I think that this is basically the result of your husband's blood count dropping.  He probably doesn't have enough red cells to carry sufficient oxygen to his body, so if the tests confirm that, we'll give him a transfusion of red cells.  That should help.  I'm also ordering him moved to intensive care until we get him truly stabilized.”  That frightened Blaine.  Intensive care was bad.  The medical staff seemed to think it was routine, but in his mind it was a whole order of magnitude worse.

As he was being prepared for the move, which entailed a change back to the hated hospital gown, monitors and machines being switched to battery power and unplugged, and a small army of staff to move all the equipment, poles, and medication that went with him, Kurt reached out and grabbed Blaine's hand.  “Blaine?  I'm scared.”

Blinking away tears, Blaine answered, “I know, Baby.  I am too.”

­­­­­Kurt was moved to intensive care, where he was placed in a small glass enclosed room.  As this area was reserved for the most critical patients, visiting hours were unrestricted, but those permitted to visit were much more limited.  Blaine refused to leave Kurt's side except when absolutely necessary, specifically, to attend to the call of nature, or when medical procedures required that he step out. 

Kurt's condition rapidly deteriorated, his fever returning and spiking with a vengeance, and his breathing becoming more labored.  He was placed on a respirator to assist his breathing and make sure he got enough oxygen, and he was sedated to help deal with the discomfort of the respirator.  Tests showed that not only had his blood counts fallen to critical levels, he had developed pneumonia.  Fortunately, the pneumonia was a type that responded well to certain antibiotics.  A combination of new antibiotics, transfusions of red cells and platelets, and medication to encourage the production of healthy white cells stabilized his condition within a few days.  By Monday evening, his sedation was stopped and the respirator was removed.  Tuesday morning Kurt finished his round of chemotherapy, although most of his other medications remained.  Blaine breathed a giant sigh of relief when the doctors told him Tuesday evening that if he remained stable overnight, Kurt would be transferred back to the main cancer ward.

Wednesday morning found Kurt being moved back to the main cancer floor.  Although it was by no means guaranteed he would always get the same room, this time the room was available and so he was back in the same place he had started his hospital stay.  Miranda was back on duty, and helped him to change back into his pajamas.  Blaine helped get his things put in their place, discreetly placing the pictures he had packed the previous week.  Shortly before lunch time, Blaine's phone rang.  Smiling, he answered, “Hi, Santana.”

“Hey, Hobbit, is your play producing itself now?”

“No, but Adam's got things under control,” he told her.

“Are you sure?”  She asked with a tone that suggested she knew something he didn't.  That worried him.  “Look, I'm going to be there in a few.  I would have come before but Brit's had a cold and I didn't want to come when I might be getting sick and make Kurt worse.  Go to work.  He can be alone for a couple of minutes.”

“Thank you,” he breathed.  Turning to Kurt, he said, “Something may be up at work.  Santana's on her way.  Do you mind if I go ahead and leave?”

“Mmm, go ahead,” Kurt muttered, not looking up from his computer screen.  Ellie had seen to having it backed up and brought it to him the day before.  He was checking news and fashion sites to see if Blaine's press release had been effective; so far, it appeared that it had – most were now reporting his illness accurately as leukemia, and a few had issued apologies for the previous reports, pledging to verify before reporting in the future.  Right.  Shouldn't they have been doing that all along?  He thought. 

Blaine told him goodbye and left, running into Santana at the elevators.  He pointed out Kurt's room at the end of the hallway.  As they looked down the hall, they both saw an almost child-sized figure with flaming hair dressed in scrubs enter Kurt's room.

“Do I need to wait?”  She asked.

“Nah.  That's just Mary Beth,” he told her.  She raised her eyebrows.  “She's a surgeon.  She put in Kurt's central line and did his spinal tap when he first got here, and they've become friends.  She visits almost every day.  Apparently they play some kind of game.”

“What sort of game?”

“I'm not really sure,” he replied, “Whenever the subject comes up they just look at each other and giggle.”

Santana took off toward the room at a run.

“Where are you going?”  Blaine called.

“This sounds like a game I need to get in on!”  She called over her shoulder with a smile.  

Santana entered Kurt's room, calling out, “Hey, Porcelain!  You better be decent!”  Approaching the bed with crossed arms, she smiled a devious smile, saying, “So, I hear there's a game I should know about.”

After being briefed on the rules, Santana was in.  “Hell, yeah, I'm playing.  I don't know why I didn't think this up years ago.”  Kurt's lunch was delivered while he was picking at the lunch Santana had brought for him, which he was much more likely to eat.  Oblivious to the proceedings, the young man delivering the lunch turned and left.

After hearing Santana's commentary, Mary Beth was astounded.  “And I thought Kurt was hard!”  She exclaimed.

Santana looked at her and smiled, offering, “I could rate others.”

“Down Santana,” Kurt told her, turning to Mary Beth.  “She's a lesbian.  She just wants to look at your ass.” 

“Well, she's going to get the chance, because I have to go back to work,” Mary Beth laughed, getting up to leave.

“Mmmm,” purred Santana as she exited.

“Forget it.  She's straight and you're taken,” Kurt told her.

“Married, not dead.  Oh, God, I'm sorry,” she said.

“Don't be.  I – I'm really not sure where this is going to lead.  Don't tell Blaine, but I'm not sure I'm getting through this.  That being said, I love the fact that you talk to me just like you always have.  You aren't trying to tiptoe around making sure you don't say the wrong thing.  Right now I find that, abrasive as it may be at times, a lot less offensive than when people stop and edit everything they say before they say it so they don't mention death or cancer or anything else that might upset me.  Just talk to me.  I'm still me.  I won't break if you say the wrong thing.  Get mad, maybe.  Cut you down to size, definitely.  But at least give me the benefit of what you honestly think,” Kurt replied.

“Fine.  Done.  Right now I want to know when we get to keep playing the game.  Hers is definitely a nine point five, by the way.”

“As soon as someone else comes in.  And I'll be sure to give her your rating next time she drops by.”  Kurt said drily. 

Santana spent most of the afternoon with Kurt, gleefully handing out ratings that ranged from snarky to downright vicious.  Late in the afternoon, a tall blonde man entered, introducing himself as Dr. Jason Fisch.  “I'm a hematologist.  I work with Dr. Miles.  I'll be following your blood counts pretty closely, and working with Dr. Miles on supporting your blood counts.  Hopefully we won't have a repeat of the weekend.”  He then spent a few minutes discussing what they would do to deal with the falling blood counts.

As he left, Santana let out a low whistle.  “Okay.  My gay-dar says straight.  We need to look into whether or not he's attached.  If not, we need to get him together with Mary Beth.  His score matches hers.”  Chuckling, Kurt agreed to assist, dubbing it Operation Date. 

Shortly afterward, Santana excused herself to go to work.  “I've got a new manager at one of the clubs.  I can generally pick ‘em pretty well, but this one is taking a long time to get up to speed.  I may just have to chalk this one up to being too preoccupied by her looks and admit defeat and fire her, but until I decide to do that or she gets her act together, I've got to babysit her, which is not doing anything good for my love life with Brit, since she's on days,” Santana told Kurt, simultaneously explaining the problem while grousing that her career as a club owner constantly put her on an opposite schedule from Brittany, who was a dance instructor.

* * *

After leaving the hospital, Blaine rushed to the rehearsal space, intent on finding out exactly what was going on.  He had been preoccupied the last several days with Kurt in intensive care, so as much as he hated to admit it, it was possible something big was up without him knowing about it.  Seeking out Adam, he demanded to know what was going on.

He was greeted with a puzzled expression.  “I'm not sure what you're talking about, Blaine.  If anything was wrong I would have let you know.  You know that.”

“But, Santana said . . . .”  Blaine trailed off, looking into Adam's face, which was looking increasingly amused.

“And you believed her?”  Adam inquired incredulously.

A light bulb suddenly went off in Blaine's mind.  “She was just trying to get me out of the hospital and focused on something else, wasn't she?”

“Yes, I believe that was her intent.”  Adam confirmed, smiling as Blaine started to laugh.

Blaine spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on developments, discussing a few minor matters with Adam, and watching the leads run lines.

* * *

Late that evening, Blaine made it back to the hospital, feeling only mildly guilty about the fact that Kurt was probably alone.  Kurt had been engrossed with work and catching up on the news, at least as it pertained to him, during the time he was there, and had therefore barely noticed him.  He had picked up take-out from Kurt's favorite Greek restaurant on the way as a peace offering in case Kurt was annoyed, so he was laden down with a bag containing avgolemono, hummus, tzaziki, pita, Greek salad, and gyros with both rice pilaf for Kurt and Greek potatoes for himself.  He was not prepared for the site that greeted him as he pushed his way into Kurt's room.

Kurt was sitting up in bed, tears streaking his face.  A song floated softly from the speakers on the iPod dock:

Will I lose my dignity?

Will someone care?

Will I wake tomorrow

From this nightmare?[1]

Blaine was shocked; Kurt had been in much better spirits the last couple of days, and he had no idea what had happened to cause this sudden change of mood.  “Sweetheart, what's wrong?”  He inquired, rushing over and cupping Kurt's chin, tilting his face to look up at him.

“This song was written about AIDS, but as it turns out it's very apropos to cancer as well,” Kurt told him.

Blaine was confused.  Was the song what was upsetting him?  It didn't seem likely, but Kurt didn't seem inclined to explain further.  Blaine pulled Kurt close and rocked him like a child.  “What are you talking about, Baby?”

“Loss of dignity.”

“You'll never lose your dignity.  You are, without a doubt, the most dignified person I know.  And if you're worried about someone caring, you know I'll always care, always love you so, so much, and the kids will, and the rest of our families, and our friends.  We've had to take measures just to deal with everyone who's concerned about you so that I'm not too snowed under talking to them to be with you.  None of that will ever happen to you,” Blaine promised.

“But it already has,” Kurt insisted, “I'm losing my hair.”

“What?”  Blaine asked.

“After Santana left, I realized that it was probably messy, because I'd spent a lot of time lying down this afternoon, so I went to fix it and when I ran the brush through it, it started falling out.  I ran my hands through it and it just came out in clumps.  I couldn't even feel it.”  Kurt's tears, which had temporarily stopped when Blaine came in, started falling again.

Carefully, gently, Blaine ran his hands over Kurt's hair, as though he were trying to quiet a skittish animal.  “Kurt, Baby, I know you love your hair.  I love it too.  But we knew this would probably happen.  I'm in love with you, not your hair.  With or without your hair, you're still you.  You're still the man I love, will love for the rest of my life.  And your hair is not the same as your dignity; it's just hair, it'll grow back.  And with it or without it, you're still the most dignified person I know.  And remember:  hats.  Thanks to you, this will turn into the year of the hat.  And you love hats.  Don't deny it.”

The attempt at levity did nothing to pacify Kurt.  “That's not all.  Someone in this God-forsaken place knows everything about me.  Every bodily function is monitored, measured.  They know more about how my body is functioning than you, my husband, ever have.  They know more about it than I do.  I don't have even a shred of dignity left at this point.  Nothing is private.  Nothing!”

Suddenly, Blaine understood.  The hair was both the tip of the iceberg and the last straw.  To someone as intensely private as Kurt, just knowing how much someone else knew about him, when the information was not disclosed by choice, was pure torture.  “I'm so sorry, Sweetheart.  Just focus on the fact that this is all temporary.  You're going to beat this thing.  And when you do, and you come home, no one has to know anything that you don't want them to.  And remember, you still have your dignity; I look at you and you are no less dignified than you ever have been.  And a lot more dignified than you have been at times.  Do I need to catalog the times when you've been less dignified?  I can think of a number of times involving the children . . . .”  Kurt's sobs slowed as he shook his head.  For several minutes they sat that way, Kurt safely wrapped in Blaine's arms.  “Kurt, my love, will you please try to eat a little bit for me?”  Blaine asked. 

Kurt nodded, and Blaine set out the food.  “It may not be really hot anymore.  I can try to find a microwave and heat it up . . . .”

Kurt shook his head, “It's fine.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes.  Kurt stopped eating after a few bites, but allowed Blaine to feed him a bit more off and on as Blaine continued to eat.  As they finished, Kurt spoke up in a hesitant voice, “Blaine?”

“Yeah, Baby?”

“Will you do me a favor?”

“Of course.  Anything.  What do you want?”

“Will you . . . will you shave my head?”  He asked.  As Blaine gaped at him, he said in a rush, “I just don't want it to look all patchy or thin.  I . . . I think I'd rather just have it all gone than look like that.  And I don't think I can do it myself, because I've never done something like this before and I can't see what I'm doing.  Please?”

“Are you sure you don't want me to bring someone in?  I'm sure your hairdresser would come in if I explained . . . “

“No,” Kurt said.  “I don't want anyone else to see.  I'm not sure, emotionally, how I'm going to react.  I just want you.  No one else.  Please?”

“Of course, Baby.  I've never done anything like this either.  I don't know how it will turn out.  Let me talk to Ben.  He can tell me what to do.  He's been shaving his head for years.”

“Thank you,” Kurt murmured. 

Blaine cleared away the remains of their dinner, then lay down in the bed with Kurt.  He drew Kurt into his arms, careful not to hurt him or dislodge the many lines and tubes that tethered Kurt.  He held Kurt until he felt his breathing even out with sleep, seemingly a more peaceful sleep than he had had since he had entered the hospital.  Then Blaine gave way to his own tears, crying himself to sleep.

* * *

As promised, the next day, Blaine called Ben, then went out and purchased clippers.  He brought in several large towels, instructing Kurt to sit on one of them, facing away from him.  The others he wrapped around Kurt's shoulders.  Turning on the clippers, he shaved Kurt's head, glad Kurt couldn't see his silent tears.  Kurt's own shoulders shook, his sobs soft but audible.  After he was done, Blaine shook all the hair onto the towel Kurt was sitting on, instructing him to stand so he could move the towel.  Taking it to the corner of the room, he shook the last of Kurt's beautiful chestnut hair into the waste basket.  Returning to the bed, he pulled Kurt into an embrace.  Kurt curled against him, laying his head against Blaine's chest.

 “Blaine?”

 Sniffing, Blaine replied, “Mmmm?”

 “This is real, isn't it?  It's not a nightmare, and I'm not going to wake up to find it was just a dream, am I?”

 “Yeah, Baby.  It's real.  I'm so sorry.  I wish it was just a dream, but it's not.  You don't get to wake up tomorrow and find out that everything is like it was.  This is our reality now.”

 “Blaine?  I'm cold.  Can I have my blanket now?  The one from home?”

“Yeah, Baby.”

* * *

 The next three weeks were hard.  Not only did the chemo affect the cancer cells, it affected other tissues as well.  In addition to losing his hair, the chemo caused sores in his mouth and disruptions throughout Kurt's digestive tract.  For close to two weeks, he was unable to tolerate food of any kind, relying solely on IV nutrition and hydration.  His blood counts continued to fall, and he required repeated transfusions of platelets and red blood cells.  His falling white cell counts made him vulnerable to infection, and he contracted several infections despite being on antibiotics constantly.  He was transferred to the ICU and back twice.  They were told that Kurt's blood counts would begin to recover two to three weeks after the end of chemotherapy.  Blaine was counting the days.

 * * *

After the psychological trauma of losing his hair, Kurt finally seemed to accept what was happening.  He was somewhat more cooperative, although being Kurt, he was never truly comfortable with the lack of privacy.  On good days, when he felt a little better, he worked, joked with the staff, and looked forward to getting better.  He also relentlessly worked on his project with Santana:  getting Mary Beth and Dr. Fisch together.  On bad days, he grew surly, depressed, uncooperative, and uncommunicative; on his really dark days, he talked of his own death as though it was imminent.

Friends continued to make sure Blaine left on occasion, ate, bathed and attended to other basic needs.  They also made certain he worked some, just to draw his focus away for a few hours.  They kept Kurt company.  Amazingly, a number of their friends, including many from the Warblers and New Directions whom they saw only once or twice a year, and spoke to maybe three or four times a year on the phone, found themselves in New York on business or on oddly timed vacations.  Of course, since they were in New York, they had to go by to see Kurt and Blaine.  Magically, someone was always there for them, yet never so many that they were overwhelmed.  Blaine thought, on more than one occasion, that someone was pulling the strings for this particular puppet show, but never learned the identity of the benevolent puppeteer.

* * *

 Finally, a little over four weeks after entering the hospital, Kurt's blood counts began to show signs of improvement.  However, there were a disturbing number of immature and abnormal cells as well, and they were also increasing.  Another bone marrow biopsy was performed, and it confirmed that despite the punishing regimen of chemotherapy he had endured, Kurt was not in remission.  He spent another two weeks in the hospital waiting for his blood counts to recover enough to go home, so that he could rest at home for a couple of weeks and try to gain the strength necessary to undergo a second round of induction chemo.

Finally, it was time to go home.  It felt odd to both Kurt and Blaine to be packing up Kurt's things to go home.  As much as they hated to admit it, the hospital had become his home away from home.  Kurt was excited and anxious to go home, even with the restrictions he was under:  his immune system was still compromised, so while he could go home, he had to stay there; he couldn't go out to work, shop, eat, or anything else.  He was really glad they had a balcony.  That would be his outside for now.  Blaine, on the other hand, was worried Kurt would become ill.  As much as he wanted Kurt home, he was terrified about his ability to care for Kurt adequately, and about whether or not he could get him to the hospital in time if a crisis arose.  But he buried his fear and helped Kurt get ready.

Kurt lost his battle to have his central line removed, so he and Blaine both learned to clean it and care for it.  Blaine learned how to help Kurt bathe so that the line would not become dislodged or infected.  The line was left in place so it would not have to be reinserted when Kurt began his next round of chemo, and would be there in the event of a sudden hospitalization which necessitated IV medication.  Although some cancer patients went home with IV medication, Kurt had proven his ability to eat, drink, and swallow the pills necessary for him to go home with solely oral medication.  He decided to take this small victory and celebrate.  If this ordeal had taught him anything, it was that any victory was a victory, no matter how miniscule, and worth celebrating. 

The morning was spent going over discharge orders and saying goodbye to the various staff members Kurt and Blaine had come to know well.  When an orderly appeared with a wheelchair, Kurt didn't argue.  He was still too weak and became too winded too easily to fool himself into thinking he could make it downstairs by himself.  As he settled into the wheelchair for the ride down to the car, Blaine said, “Oh, wait, I nearly forgot.  I got you a coming-home present.”  He placed a large box in Kurt's lap, laughing at Kurt's expression – his eyebrows would have been up to his hairline if both hadn't completely fallen out.  “Open it.  It's still cold out.  This might help.”  Although it was nearly mid-March, it had been a brutal winter, and the cold had yet to relinquish its grip on the city, and under the best of circumstances Kurt did not do well in the cold; both the leukemia and the chemo had made him even less tolerant of it.  Kurt removed the ribbon and opened the box.  Inside were four items, all knitted from a soft, slightly fuzzy grey-brown yarn:  a close fitting hat, similar to those skiers wear; a cardigan; a pullover sweater, and a blanket, bigger than the average afghan, but smaller than a full size blanket.  “They're qiviut.  It's not dyed, and it's really soft, so it shouldn't irritate your skin.  It's also a lot warmer than wool – about six or eight times as warm for the weight.”

 “Thank you,” Kurt said, reaching up to squeeze Blaine's hand.  Blaine helped him put on the pullover.  Then Kurt put on the hat, and they were ready to go.  The orderly pushed the wheelchair, taking him downstairs to finally go home.

* * *

Although their friends and family wanted to be there when they arrived home, Blaine had asked that they be left alone that day.  Kurt tired so easily, and Blaine didn't want him to feel that he had to play the part of host.  Blaine was also afraid of having too many people close to Kurt, people who might make him sick.  Therefore, when Carolyn dropped them off at the door to their building, they made their way up to what they expected to be an empty apartment.  Zane, the daytime doorman, told Blaine he would have Kurt's things sent up in a few minutes, as it was clear that Kurt, having absolutely refused to take a wheelchair home, needed Blaine's help to make it upstairs.  Blaine supported Kurt with one arm while unlocking the door with the other hand.  As the door swung open, they were greeted by the sight and scent of Kurt's favorite flowers decorating every flat surface.  Defying Gravity, Kurt's all-time favorite song, floated from the apartment's sound system.  Kurt turned to Blaine with wide eyes.

 “I had no idea.  I'm as surprised as you are,” Blaine told him.  He got Kurt settled on the couch and told him he was going to get him some water.  Entering the kitchen, Blaine felt a sense of dread.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd shopped for groceries.  God only knew what sort of shape what little food was left was in.  He didn't want to leave Kurt, but he would have to; Kurt had to eat, and what he could tolerate was pretty specific right now.  As he opened the refrigerator he prayed that there would at least be a bottle of water – Kurt preferred it to tap water.  The sight that met his eyes caused him to break out in a grin:  the refrigerator was fully stocked, all the food fresh, and clearly tailored to both his limited cooking skills and Kurt's self-imposed dietary restrictions.  The pantry was in a similar condition.  Grabbing a bottle of water for Kurt, he returned to the living room.  “In case you were unaware, our friends are wonderful.  And crazy.  But mostly wonderful.”

 After permitting Kurt to soak in the fact that he was home for a brief time, Blaine heated some soup for him (their own personal little elves having apparently visited one of Kurt's favorite restaurants and gotten take-out) and then insisted that he take a nap.

* * *

After getting him settled in bed, Blaine called downstairs to thank Zane for helping with the bags and with the deliveries that friends had clearly made.  With a smile Blaine could hear over the phone, Zane denied any knowledge of anyone going to the apartment, as did both the other doormen later.  So in a building in which every entry whether resident, guest, worker or delivery person was logged, and security cameras were everywhere in the public areas, somehow food and flowers magically appeared without any trace of where they came from.  He made a mental note to make sure the doormen's Christmas presents were even more generous than usual this year.

Over the next two weeks, meals, groceries and flowers arrived with regularity via an assortment of family and friends.  As in the hospital, there were never enough people to make them feel overwhelmed, but enough that Blaine felt he could leave for a few hours each day.  And no one ever admitted that there was any orchestration or anyone behind the rather obvious system. 

Kurt's appetite remained nonexistent, but Blaine was able to keep him eating just enough to maintain his current weight, low as it was, and drinking enough to avoid dehydration.  The fact that he had appointments every few days with Dr. Miles to check his progress and make sure he didn't need to return to the hospital or restart IV nutrition and hydration definitely helped.  He knew if he didn't eat or drink enough, he would be unable to hide it, and it would result in consequences he was decidedly unwilling to live with.  Blaine was uncertain that Kurt was really getting any stronger, but he was resting better at home, in much better spirits, and was at least not getting any worse.

The day before he was due to return to the hospital he had another appointment with Dr. Miles, at which he was due to have yet another bone marrow biopsy.  For the first time since he came home, he balked.  “Why do I have to do this?  They can wait until the hospital to do the biopsy.  Why should I be sore my last night at home?  Let's just skip it.”

Blaine sighed.  At least Kurt was acknowledging the need to go to the hospital, so he didn't have to fight that battle.  And he couldn't argue with Kurt about how the biopsy would feel; he'd never had one, and Kurt had been through several by this time.  “So that there's one less test that they have to do tomorrow.  And she said there was something she wanted to talk about; I'm not sure what.”

“Can't she tell us over the phone?  Other people deal with business over the phone, why can't doctors?” 

“Because it's usually better to deliver the kind of news doctors have to give in person.  Come on.”  Blaine was patiently getting Kurt ready while he debated the matter with him, slowly but surely moving him out the door.

Once they arrived at Dr. Miles' office, Dr. Miles had Blaine wait in her private office while she performed the biopsy.  As usual, it was done fairly quickly.  Kurt was gone less than half an hour from the time the nurse ushered him into the procedure room until he joined Blaine in Dr. Miles' office, moving stiffly and limping a little. 

Dr. Miles entered and sat down across the desk from them.  “I have some bad news,” she began.  Blaine felt his heart sink.  “The lab has finished testing your sample and your children's samples, as well as a number of other people, both friends and family I think, who volunteered to donate marrow to Kurt.  Some of the results came from other labs across the country.  Unfortunately, Kurt, your tissue type is pretty rare, and no one who directly volunteered to donate to you is a match.  We have placed you on the transplant list, and entered your data into the national database, but there's no one in the database who is a match right now.  I don't want you to give up hope.  New people are entered into the database all the time; we could find a match for you any day.  And we have to get a handle on the leukemia before we can even consider a transplant anyway.”  She went on to discuss Kurt's upcoming round of chemotherapy, which would be much the same as the previous one.  He would be started on stronger anti-nausea drugs, and they would be started earlier; she gave him a prescription to fill that day so that he could start an oral version of them that night.  The same went for the antibiotics, although since he was not ill at the moment he was starting in a better place than the last round from that perspective.

Blaine took notes that seemed to go from his ears directly to his hands, without penetrating to his brain, which was fully preoccupied with the news that there was no tissue match for Kurt.  Everything he had read, everything Dr. Miles and the other medical personnel had told him, not to mention the discussions he had had with Carole, told him Kurt's best chance for survival was a bone marrow transplant.  And now she was saying he wouldn't get one.  There was no match.  Blaine felt like she had just told him Kurt was going to die, and he couldn't get it out of his mind.

Kurt couldn't go to the place Blaine was.  If he did, he wouldn't be able to go on, wouldn't be able to withstand the upcoming treatment.  He was not generally the most positive of people, but right now he had to be.  So he focused on the fact that he felt less sick going into treatment than last time, and he would have more drugs earlier to help deal with the side effects so they wouldn't be as bad.  He would get a transplant if it turned out that he really needed one; it would happen eventually, when someone who was a match entered the database.  He just had to make it that long, and he was going to do that.  He had plans.  He was going to see Mary Beth get married, which could take some time, since he had yet to successfully engineer a date with Dr. Fisch or anyone else.  He just had too much to do to give up, so he wasn't.

 Maybe it was Kurt's attitude going into the hospitalization, maybe it was luck, but this time his stay in the hospital was smoother.  He still got a little nauseous, but nothing like the last time.  He was able to eat more, for longer, and tried harder to do so, although he still had a period of a couple of weeks during which he couldn't eat or drink anything and had to rely on IV nutrition and hydration.  He caught several infections, but they were minor compared to the previous time, and he spent the entire time on the cancer floor, with no trips to the ICU.  His blood counts fell right on cue, but transfusions and medication kept the effects under control.  And his counts recovered faster, so instead of six weeks, he stayed only a little over five weeks in the hospital this time.

Unfortunately, they soon learned that smoother didn't necessarily translate into the desired results.  Again, Kurt's abnormal blood cell levels rose along with the normal ones, and another bone marrow biopsy confirmed that he was still not in remission.  He had fewer cancer cells in his bone marrow this time than last time, and fewer last time than when he started, but the war was not yet won.  He would have to undergo a third round of induction chemo.

After another two weeks at home, he returned to the hospital.  He was tired.  Although his anti-nausea drugs and antibiotics were again started early, neither seemed to work.  Within hours of starting chemo, he was throwing up.  It took two days of trying different drugs to get the nausea and vomiting under control, and he still had episodes of queasiness.  He steadfastly refused to eat or drink anything, afraid that it would cause the nausea to return if he did, and the mouth sores and effects on his digestive tract were worse than the two previous times.  He began running a fever almost immediately, and was diagnosed with a severe blood infection.  He was transferred to the ICU, where he stayed for over a week, during which time he developed multiple secondary infections, and Blaine was told on three separate occasions to be prepared to lose him at any moment.  The remainder of his stay continued in this manner, with several infections threatening his life and requiring multiple stays in the ICU.  He needed more frequent transfusions and more of the drugs to encourage growth of white blood cells.  Once his blood counts went into freefall they took forever to recover.  It was almost eight weeks from the time he entered the hospital until his blood counts had recovered enough for him to safely go home.  But it was all worth it, because he survived, and near the end of his stay, Dr. Miles performed another biopsy, and the next day, she entered his room smiling, and uttered the magic word Kurt and Blaine had been hoping for:  remission.  Kurt was finally in remission.

* * *

Remission, unfortunately, did not mean Kurt's ordeal was over.  Consolidation chemotherapy was necessary to catch any lingering leukemia cells that remained in his blood and prevent a relapse.  Each cycle was shorter than his induction chemo, but had similar side effects.  Each time, Kurt would enter the hospital for five days of intensive chemotherapy.  He would remain in the hospital until his blood counts recovered, his digestive tract began functioning normally, and he was strong enough to go home, about four weeks after he entered the hospital.  He would spend a couple of weeks at home before returning to begin the next round.  After the last, near-fatal round of induction chemotherapy, Kurt was given more powerful anti-nausea drugs and antibiotics, and they were started several days before he began each cycle.  Although he never felt well while enduring the chemo and necessary hospitalization, and always had to battle at least some nausea and a few infections, he did not experience anything as bad as his last round of induction therapy.  After four rounds of consolidation therapy, during which bone marrow biopsies and blood tests continued to show no cancer cells or abnormal blood cells, Kurt was done.  He would continue to be monitored, but no more chemotherapy was planned, just periodic blood tests and bone marrow biopsies, which would decrease in frequency as time went on if he remained cancer free.

[1][1] Will I from Rent.