Unveiled Thoughts:

Truth.  The brain tumor is my wake-up call to seize my life at a new level.

I begin to possess the brain tumor.  I symbolically see the location of the tumor.  It is near my “third eye”, an area of truth seeking.  I am committed to unveil myself and self evaluate.  I explore alternative means to healing in parallel to my team of western medical doctors.

Each doctor who speaks with me about my brain tumor is certain that it is “low grade”.  They say that there is no urgency to remove it, but it should probably be removed.  I am fortunate; some are inoperable, some grow too quickly that there is nothing to be done.  I have a sense that I should have the surgery now.

My partner must return to Paris where we were living and she will return to be with me right before the surgery date.  Life becomes surreal while she is away. I concentrate on the preparation for surgery.  I see it is a ritual, not an invasion.  I practice mediation and prayer, knowing that I am strong and will handle all that crosses my path.

After the surgery, I wait seven hours in post-op until a bed is available in ICU.  I am very tired and am constantly awakened.   I could sleep forever.  There is so much noise and my head hurts.  The painkillers that I am given numb my body, but do nothing for the throbbing pain in my head.  I feel as though I lay beneath a shroud.  I wonder if I am dead.  The pain reminds me that I am very much alive and I become aware of my thoughts.  I become grateful for the discomfort.  The surgery is finished.

At six o’clock the following morning, I am transported from ICU to have an MRI.  The MRI machine is located in a temporary location and I am wheeled outside to get there.  The cool morning November air hits my face.  The air is sweet and for those brief moments, I am free.

“No earplugs because of the bandage on your head,” says the technician.  I think he must be joking as my head is throbbing.  Surely, he knows I had brain surgery yesterday. He was not joking.  I am not given earplugs.

I close my eyes and think of dancing angels with bare feet.  I drift.

I am certain I am dreaming until the loud beats of the MRI encircle my head and seem to amplify the pain.  There is rhythm to the sound of the MRI and it becomes percussion.  I decide that the invasive sounds are to be my chosen healing drumming circle.  I am cold and my body starts to shake.  I ask for another blanket.  I breathe in time with the percussion.

They wrap me in a heated blanket and I drift again.

I am alone in ICU, I let my eyes tear and concentrate on the vast Pacific Ocean and its life-affirming beautiful blue.

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