I decided today to start Temodar, the chemo pill that I’ve done before, and that the Mayo Clinic oncologist recommended for me now. I also decided not to do the more intensive kind of chemo that my primary neuro-oncologist recommended. There are some clinical trials in other locations that I also decided not to pursue right now.
In the absence of medical consensus or a standard practice for my situation, it felt like more of a heart and Spirit decision.
Sometimes in this decision making process the reality of love as the foundation was so clear and immediate. Other times it felt like I was spinning and disoriented, unsure of the reality or accessibility of that foundational love. Sometimes, I couldn’t tell the difference between magical, delusional thinking, and a healing act of faith. I need many reminders and re-orientations back to the foundation. This weekend I sat in silence at different times with Christopher, Bruce, Nancy, Beth, Jenny, and Isaiah, and each time I felt that re-orienting. My friend, Wendy, left a beautiful comment on my last post here, about the shift she experienced from tears about what my family is carrying to a tender smile about the ways we are “abiding in a field of great love.”
When I was more grounded in that field of great love, it was clear that the decision of which chemo I do isn’t the most important question facing me. At one point it was very obvious how closely great love was working in partnership with my friend/doctor, Peter, and how fully I could trust and surrender to that. Not that it is all up to Peter, but it is all up to great love and Peter is one beautiful vehicle for that.
I usually need to stay focused on listening for and taking the one next step toward healing and love. If I try to see too far, I usually stumble. I know in chess and many other places, it is quite beneficial to plan several moves in advance. In matters of the Spirit, I don’t have this gift. I trust there is a larger force of cohesion weaving the steps toward love together.
Last Friday, when my neuro-oncologist asked me, in a pointed way, which chemo I wanted to do, so we could get started on it the following week (now this week), my response was “I want talk to Peter.” That wasn’t answering the question he asked me, but I knew it was the next step. Then after talking with Peter, I knew I needed to spend a lot of the weekend sitting at the river. At the river, I realized I needed to write my neuro-oncologist another letter, about how difficult the meeting with him on Friday was for me, and the kind of partnership I was asking for with him moving forward. I empathize with him for having to deal with my repeated, emotional letters. Then yesterday, the next step was meeting with another neuro-oncologist at the U of MN to talk through the options with her. She and I talked through multiple possible steps, and I started feeling lost and overwhelmed again. She’s wonderful, and my confusion in that meeting helped me return to the one next, simple step, which Peter had already affirmed. I’ll start the chemo pill with my current neuro-oncologist, and adjust as we go. It is less toxic than the other treatment options that we’ve considered, and has the most research behind it, even though it doesn’t promise long-term impact.
The field of great love, that all of you help cultivate, is what is most important to me, both in seeking physical healing, and in healing while dying.
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