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.