Saturday, August 09, 2014
June 23 I started radiation and chemotherapy for my brain tumor. My GBM. Mine. I own it and it does not own me. I have Doctors and tools to fight it. I have sheer will power. All it has is a blood source. My blood. My traitorous blood.
We have had many a good long talk my blood and I. In the dark of night, the radiation therapy room, in the car on long drives, we talk anywhere I can sit eyes closed and my vision turned inward. With my whole heart I have a confidence, a belief, that the marvels of medicine, the power of prayer chains and our talks have turned the tide.
Our talks have helped me find the power that is my core. I am not afraid to be alone. am not afraid to be strapped into a machine aiming radiation at my brain. I am not afraid to swallow a pill of poison. I've done this day after day, night after night, for six weeks. I'll do it again. I need to. I love doing something that kills that cancer that remained in me. Vengeful much? You bet. That evil thing is fighting for me in a struggle to the death. I know that life is the superior weapon. Stupid cancer if it wins it also loses.
Monday I completed my six week armed warfare against my cancer and I used my blood as the weapon. I feel a void from the routine, from the time strapped into the machine, from the talks with my blood. I've been adrift this week filling this void with noise. Tonight I realize that my blood and I can still have our talks. We need to keep a focus on this task called living.
I need to follow the path of bliss that I drove, floated, and soared through during the six weeks. Eyes closed and strapped in I fought to be calm. I fought to breathe in with my "soft"and out with my "belly." As much as I wanted to block out the machine whir and ka chunk and thud thud through the dance that was my program I also needed to know we were in a routine.
When the routine was off in some way I had to work that much harder to focus. Temperature made a difference. Feeling hurried. Being thirsty. Having a sore head. Losing my hair. These became barriers to the moment of bliss. They made a difficult task that much more difficult. "It is all about me," I joked one day. Funny but true. All that was there for me. It was all focused for 20 minutes a day for six weeks to provide the tool and pathway for that radiation and that chemo to work with MY blood against that cancer that wants us dead.
I thought the focus of going to and taking was the doing thing that I needed. It was what I mourned. The passing of a process. Today I embrace the experience for being a lesson. It stunk keeping that schedule and feeling that messed up tired way. I am glad that is over. I'll pick up the discarded lesson and continue the focus. My talks with my blood about how we will overcome this stupid cancer. I will walk that oath of peace in my mind. It is well worn. It is comfortable and it is all about ME doing something.