This Time It's Personal

Aside from surprise - not shock, but surprise - one of my main reactions to a brain tumor is that "it's personal." I've had a couple of kinds of cancer where a key treatment was to remove parts - breasts, ovaries, fallopian tubes, uterus, omentum, part of my colon. When pressed, I'll say just get rid of them - I don't really need them. Who even knew I had an omentum?

Often ovarian cancer spreads to the appendix and spleen (I met a woman who's free of both of those now, and have read about several others in the same situation; some of them have also lost most of their colon). So I had already contemplated having them out too.

When I had breast cancer 12 years ago, a recurring analogy about the surgery was like a ship in a storm offloading cargo to stay afloat. Would you rather keep everything on board? Yes, of course. But if it could save the ship? That's what you'd have to do. So you check as best you can to make sure it's needed.

But they can't take out my brain, and much as you might sometimes wish it, I can't get a transplant (that's a little joke). Of course, we're hoping they can take out the whole brain tumor, and that will be the end of that.

This feels closer to home.

When I do a conventional search for my body, sometimes I cut off my arms and my legs and feel that the "essentials" are really my torso and head. Invariably I see that scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail of the 2 knights fighting in the woods. Even after one of them has had both legs and both arms hacked off, he's yelling to his opponent to come back and fight: I'm not done with you!

In terms of a fight, this does take it up notch - my brain!

Thankfully the ultimate nature of my both is emptiness. I am going to try to realize that, and in the meantime to try not to grasp to strongly at any parts of it. It's just a collection of parts, labeled as body by my mind - thank goodness my mind and my brain are not the same thing. Dharma can be such a comfort.