Oracle ✥ Artist ✥ Author ✥ Time Traveler

Brain Surgery: An Initiation

This is my brain on magic, thanks to the initiation.

This is my brain on magic, thanks to the initiation.

Hello loves, first I want to say how much it means to me every time someone donates to our fundraiser. It gives me hope. I feel less alone. Cancer and poverty are each horribly isolating. My beloved and I have dealt with both for three years now. I don’t just buy something if I want it — I no longer allow myself to want things, even little things like a pen. So when someone gives to us, it’s like they’re saying we’ve got this, we can do it, keep going. Plus, obviously, the money lets us buy badly needed treatments that we could not otherwise afford. I don’t mean to be dramatic, but donations literally help me live longer. I’m deeply grateful for every single one.

A week and two days ago I let someone open up my head and remove something from my brain that didn’t belong there. That, right there, is such a surreal statement! What intimacy, to surrender my life into someone else’s hands like that. I know we chose well. My neurosurgeon rocks.

But I can’t escape the sense that things happened to me while I was “out”. Things I didn’t know about or consent to. Maybe this is a common feeling for people undergoing surgery (but I never had it after earlier surgeries). Maybe it’s because they mucked about in my brain (as opposed to, say, my foot). Maybe it’s because of the seizure I had, my first ever and I hope last. I highly doubt anything untoward happened to me in surgery, yet I can’t shake the sense that something did.

Pretty sure that’s the trauma my beloved mentioned in his post the other day. Don’t worry — I’m in good hands. He has a method (Paradox Cure) to help me process it when it’s time. Paradox Cure has already changed my life in many good ways. I’m definitely a better and happier woman because of it.

I thought there would be more pain. I’m already done with pain meds. After-effects of the seizure hurt far more than my 11-inch head incision does. I must have been one giant contraction in that seizure, because the back of my body from my sacrum on down still hurts. It’s still hard to walk. Today I’m going to google “psoas release techniques” and see if I can get traction on this (uhhh, a quick google reveals pretty much just NOPE and HAHA SUCKER). Maybe some yoga too. I have a new respect and super empathy for people who experience seizures on the regular.

I suspect my biggest “problem” now is that I’ve pretended to myself that this whole craniotomy thing is basically no big deal and therefore I really have nothing to complain about. I have a lifelong pattern of minimizing and dismissing stuff like that so this is no surprise.

It is a big deal. A fucking big deal. So fuck that.

I’m still scraping blood out of my hair. And they put some goopy stuff in my hair that so far I’ve been unsuccessful in removing despite multiple attempts. But hey! At least I have basically all my hair still. They only shaved a thin strip along the incision line, and once all the staples are out I bet it’ll all blend in just fine. Maybe this isn’t my biggest issue now when I’ve still got ~80 staples in my head but I welcome the distraction.

I’m not depressed anymore. That was probably surgery drugs. Nor am I wondering who I am. What I am is determined to get through this cancer thing.

This brain surgery was a spiritual initiation. I’m convinced of that. I feel deep gratitude that I am still here, still alive, surrounded by big love, and with what feels to me like an opportunity to finally live life the way I always dreamed. I am a lucky one. Wait. I worked hard for this, and my beloved has worked hard for this, and you’ve all been sending love for months and years, so actually it’s not luck at all. It’s fucking hard work to get through terminal cancer, and I absolutely deserve good things now, dammit. So there.


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