My treatment this time – the experience was vastly different than for peritoneal treatment.
It felt as if I lost my mind overnight, though my “trail” indicated it was coming for a while and had been coming quickly. Thank God, once again, for Gene. We had a new location quickly spreading in my brain – same cancer. It was immediate and petrifying.
I had no idea what would come next as I was quickly losing grasp of where I was in the present. Gene had been handling my doctors and now he added another one. I am so fortunate. Still, it is terrifying and terrible. I am trying to do better at recording feelings and images to relate back to anyone who is interested. I feel that it is important.
Immediately following the five straight days of direct pinpoint high level radiation to two inoperable tumors in the middle of my brain and three lesions, at this point, there is no evidence of disease and me being alive is a good sign.
Five weeks later, my speech is slowly returning, thanks to the “box of words” stuff to get started with, left for us by some salty old author soul for sure after this last session with Tammy at the opening of our access cave. What a gift!
Last week I sat on the embankment of the underground pool living through my third eye, readying myself for Boo’s session with Tammy. I watched as my brave little dog – still “six months” seven years later – though oh – no longer young – enter into the darkness alone, me, unable to join her, me, hearing voices to hold her back – a piece of me still not believing – trusting – I was doing the right thing, that I was being fair to her. I closed my eyes and prayed and put my full trust into the process and released her – though the reality was she released me.
This was her journey to make before I could begin mine again. I needed her to do this and she did without hesitation. Boo gazed at me with those soft, full brown eyes then turned forward fully into the darkness that was endless and so very deep. I couldn’t look away from where she entered the blue-black pit.
I was totally and completely alone in the stillness of my third world.
I shivered and pulled my Sadie Blanket up around my chin and waited. I was weak and sweaty and smelly and so, so, so sick. The moss on the log was soft and warm and welcoming – I dug my fingers into its richness and held on.
Our third world plunged into blackness – a total and utter silence void of all light, sound and energy for what seemed like a lifetime. I lost my spot in my physical world and became afraid to move – I didn’t want to risk losing my place and sliding off to wherever that ends up down there. I stared and shivered uncontrollably in spurts until I saw her again, moving through a palisade type maze of blues, grays and blacks, opaque and white, stepping softly and with the confidence of a queen. And I was worried it was going to be too much for her. She returned carrying thousands of years of wisdom she reclaimed, shedding scars, pain and confusion.
Boo is exquisite, sparkling, walking lightly, head turning in each direction. I stay quiet and wait for her to return to me which she did tenderly with the grace of a much older dog. She nuzzled softly, turned her back into me and helped me up from the moss-log, winding her tail around my legs to keep track of where I was. I reached down and tapped her back indicating I was ready to go forward in this world and the world out there.
Smiling up at me over her back, Boo lifted her front legs in a little prance. “Let’s go get well,” her clear bell-like voice curled up to me as her bright eyes smiled, “even if it’s just for a little while and have some fun. It’s Fall, Momma!”