Last week, I played a concerto with an orchestra for the first time in 17 years: Haydn no. 11 in D, to be precise. It was immense fun – the orchestra is one that meets at my old school purely for the purposes of enjoyment. There are no public performances, and as a result the atmosphere is as relaxed as you might expect.

Apart from a very brief doodle on an upright piano, playing Cage’s In a Landscape to an audience that wasn’t at all prepared for it (although they did seem to enjoy it), that was my first “serious” performance on piano for at least five years, probably longer. And despite the fact that there wasn’t an audience, it was, I think, the first performance I had worked for since my university days.

Whilst being very enjoyable it made me reflect on a few things.

Going back to the piano after an absence of some years was one of the things that really helped my recovery from the depths of mental illness in 2007. At that point I was extremely rusty, yet for the first time in a very long time I was making music for the right reason – purely for the sake of enjoying the music itself.

So why had I neglected the piano so badly for all that time? I think my journeys down other musical blind alleyways – particularly my dalliance with folk music – came about due to a lack of confidence that manifested itself as a need to make a musical name for myself. Part of what brought me down was the realisation that I’d done exactly that – albeit in a pretty small way – and it didn’t mean anything to me. Hollow fame indeed.

So, returning to the piano really became a way of rebalancing my relationship with music itself. And it’s worked. I’m simply ecstatic to be playing music that I love. And I’m playing exactly what I want to, with no consideration for a potential audience. To quote the title of the much-misunderstood Milton Babbitt essay: “who cares if you listen?” I don’t. And not in an antagonistic, punk-rock way. I’d love to be able to persuade an audience that Feldman’s Palais de Mari is the best thing since sliced bread, but if I can’t, I won’t lose any sleep over it. I’ll play it anyway.

I’d just started tackling the first two Chopin Études from op.10 when I had surgery for a serious infection caused by a cat bite to my right index finger last February. The errant feline’s teeth punctured the flexor sheath, leaving my finger paralysed and allowing the infection to spread the length of the digit down into the hand. The surgery was successful, and I got to keep the finger, and the hand. Apparently the loss of a finger or the hand itself is not at all unheard-of in such circumstances.

After the surgery, it was by no means certain that I would get full function back. I had some very black moments in hospital – I was there for nearly a week – which I tried to dispel by researching left-hand-only repertoire. In fact, I haven’t actually regained full function, due to some tendon thickening that makes the finger feel slightly “woody”. There is noticeable nerve damage, too. Importantly, that damage doesn’t affect the fingertip, and the loss of function only really impairs my ability to curl the finger under into a fist. No great loss there.

It turned out that recovery was massively assisted by the piano – Claire the hand therapist told me to get back on the piano as soon as possible. The initial creakiness of the affected finger was heartbreaking. It was so stiff that something as physically undemanding as Pärt’s Für Alina was an enormous struggle. I don’t mind admitting that I cried with relief at the fact that I could play anything at all.

But I made damn sure it got moving, and went back to the Chopin op. 10 no. 1 Étude with a vengeance. Very slowly, and painfully, at first, of course. In the five weeks I was signed off work for recovery, very little seemed to matter apart from being able to play the piano again. I’m still tremendously grateful to the good people of the burns unit in Selly Oak hospital for the fact that I can.

You’ll excuse me, then, if I feel rather proud of last Wednesday’s excursion with the orchestra. I’ve got to the point where – possibly for the first time in my life – I’m actually rather happy with my playing; goodness knows there’s lots to work on – but work I shall. I’ve got the prospect of more concertos and a solo recital to look forward to.

Onwards!