Celebrity

U2’s Music Shaped My Life. Then It Helped Save It.

The Radiation Oncology Department in the basement of New York’s Mount Sinai Hospital is anything but a rock and roll home. But for almost seven weeks this year, every working day, U2 turned on the speakers at my request.

I became a fan in the late 1980s, attended nine of the band’s concerts, and probably never became a super fan. Impressed by the music embedded in U2’s carefully crafted anthems and lyrics that explore heavy and personal themes such as love and religion, he released “The Joshua Tree” album as a preteen on static clock radio. I remember listening to the song In the 1990s, I watched an enchanting zoo TV tour in pouring rain from my nose-bleeding seat in old Giants Stadium in New Jersey. My wife Amy and I danced to “In a Little While” at our wedding. In many ways, this group has provided the soundtrack to my life.

Its significance took on a new dimension in the summer of 2022 when I was diagnosed with a benign lime-sized tumor near my pituitary gland. I had surgery to remove it, but developed a rare bleeding complication and spent about a week in intensive care. I needed emergency transport and 5 units of blood to survive.

My complications are (thankfully) healing, but I still have a little bit of tumor left. ‘s medical drama all led to dozens of trips to Mount Sinai.

Patients undergoing regular treatments, such as radiation therapy, may be able to choose music that helps them relax and stay still. Meditation music and classical music are popular choices, according to radiologists at Mount Sinai. My choice was a little different.

U2 served two purposes. Some, of course, were escapes. For each treatment, I spent weeks changing into a gown, lying on a table, and having a suffocating mesh plastic mask attached to my head to keep me from moving or cramping. More complete stillness was required.

Listening to U2 was especially helpful in the later stages of radiotherapy when life became unbearable. Bono’s philosophical words, Adam Clayton’s steady bass, Larry Mullen Jr.’s crisp drums, and edgy, ringing guitars—that was my focus. U2’s songs often brought up memories far from the treatment room. High school trip (“I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For”), college breakup (“One”), time spent in another city (“Good Day”).

Music also served a practical purpose. U2 songs are typically around four minutes long. That knowledge allowed me to estimate how much treatment was left. Radiation typically took about 20 minutes, or five of his songs from U2’s four. The MRI lasted about 8 songs.

For the first MRI that started my medical journey, I had no idea music was an option. As I stood still, the MRI seemed to take decades to complete. The second scan asked about possible audiobooks or music. Yes, they had Spotify, said the tech. My U2 treatment plan was born.

During my many trips to Mount Sinai, I’ve listened to music out of order from the band’s 50-year catalog. Sometimes I reframed the song in light of my situation. Reading Stories for Boys (1980) made me think of my six-year-old son. “Ultraviolet (Light My Way)” (1991) and “Kite” (2000) brought the thoughts of my 11-year-old daughter. “Every Breaking Wave” (2014) took me to a sunny beach. “With or Without You” (1987) came up most often and made me feel like my best friend had just walked into the room.

Sometimes Spotify sent me songs I had never heard before. Often it’s her B-sides or obscure dance versions of songs (how many times has the band re-arranged “Mysterious Ways”?). On my fifth MRI of him, a technician accidentally put him on karaoke his version of the U2 album without saying a word. Luckily, these songs were fairly close facsimiles of the real thing, but no better than the real thing.

What song induced the most catharsis during therapy? “Where the Streets Have No Name.” It’s basically the opposite of lying in a hospital bed.

Life-saving graces come in many sizes, but the little ones often accumulate and are surprised by their size when you least expect it. I think of the villages of people who have helped me during this health crisis. Doctors, nurses, support staff, family, friends and colleagues. Especially my wife Amy. Count U2 in it.

Theodore Kim is the career program director for The New York Times.

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