The Forbidden

In which our Heroine solves a Great Mystery. 

I have a confession.  Sometimes I dream about green tea.  I have vivid dreams.  In my midnight delusions I can see its lovely green color.  The tea’s smell permeates every whiff of air I take into my lungs.  It’s delicious aroma tickles the inside of my nostrils and moves up into the sense area in curling puffs of tempting flavor.  I know, of all things to dream about, why this?  Well, a little background info first:

Mormons (ahem—members of the LDS church) don’t drink coffee or tea—at least, they shouldn’t if they plan on following all the Prophet’s advise, which is what we strive to do.  When my doctors heard that I didn’t drink either of these, they were relieved.  I took it to mean that daily doses of caffeine are bad for the health (especially the brain).  This is something I understood as true before, but it was interesting to see men and women who probably drink the stuff every morning agree with me. 

And then I started reading up on foods that are supposed to help against cancer.  One of the most potent sources of anti-cancer activity in the edible universe is green tea.  Of course, green tea is high in caffeine.  It is not one of your average, lightweight, herbal teas because it possesses powerful reactors against cancerous activity called catechins.  These little guys have “antifungal and antibacterial properties that allow the plant to successfully resist invasion by a large number of pathogens.” (Foods to Fight Cancer, Beliveau and Gingras, 112) And what enables plants to fight their pests, will also help humans to fight theirs.  Green tea prevents angiogenesis: the swelling in the body that allows cancer cells to reproduce.  Said wonderful tea may be one of the chief reasons why certain cancers that plague the West are nearly absent in the East. 

Once, while still living in Provo, Utah and attending the LDS University there (BYU) my husband and I ate at an excellent restaurant called Touch of Seoul.  Our young waitress clearly didn’t know English.  She had to demonstrate a few things with her hands for us and whenever we asked a question, she would answer in the affirmative with polite nods: “Yes, yes.”  After the meal was over, she brought us two cups of a mystery drink.  We guessed it was a tea and asked if it was herbal.  Guess what she said?  I know we should have known better, but we drank it down anyway. 

What followed was the best date night ever.  I remember feeling better than I had in a long time—maybe years.  (At this point, 5 or so years ago, I was already suffering from a loss of vitality.  There’s a good chance my tumor was already manifesting itself).  I felt so alive that night.  And I don’t think it was just the caffeine.  We ended up at Barnes and Noble later, and the books fairly danced before my eyes.  For once, it took so little effort to read.  And I felt really, really happy—like all the cares of the world had just dropped out of my life.  (Have I mentioned yet that my tumor was located in the personality inhabiting part of my mind?)

It may be that I will never taste anything so delicious ever again.  Once I’d begun read about it in my cancer books, I began to suspect that the mysterious substance was green tea.  And yes, I had a few dreams about it—dreams filled with longing and desire of the forbidden.  Then on Saturday I visited a local tea shop here in Anchorage with a friend to buy some herbal tea.  Picturesque canisters line one whole wall of the shop.  I was busy sniffing herbal teas and asking about specific ingredients when the woman who was helping us picked up a nearby green canister and held it out to me.  “Oh, yeees!”  I said in ecstasies, “This is what I want…”  A truly devastating thought bumped its way meanly into my head, “Wait—it’s not herbal, is it?”  Of course not.  But the great mystery is solved.  Yes, Mystery Drink No. 1 was definitely green tea.   

Enduring to the End

In which our Lady endures. 

Late Tuesday night I made a grave mistake.  I popped in the CD containing my MRI images.  I was curious to see the latest news.  Unfortunately, I don’t know how to decipher the scans.  I was hoping to see a nice big black hole where my tumor had been and nothing more.  Much to my despair, I instead found cloudy white stuff all over the area.  Here are the images from my last two MRI’s: The first shows how ravaged my skull and how swollen my brain were right after the surgery, the second show Tuesday’s results: 

In my small experience, the lighter stuff usually either indicates bones or cancer, while the grey is my normal beautiful brain.  I know nothing for certain, but I have a lot of anxiety.  I hope it is useless anxiety, but I won’t be sure for another week.  Unfortunately, I have been experiencing a feeling of increased pressure and the occasional headache more often the past few weeks.  Is this from stress, or from cancer?  Whatever the case, it is easy to believe the worst.  With all of this uncertainty I find that all I can do is hope and then put into practice a particular kind of endurance. 

I begin to hate the phrase enduring to the end.  In LDS church and culture, it is used all the time.  It is this notion of fighting the ‘good fight’ until its all completely over and you’ve gained your heavenly reward.  It has a sense of heroism and nobility about it, though it is often used casually.  While growing up, I would envision the Mormon pioneers slowing making their way west in wagon trains, enduring as they walked and walked and walked all the way to the Great Salt Lake.  Of course, back then I idealistically believed that when they reached Utah the endurance was over and they found good times all around.  Never mind the years of hunger and toil that awaited them there. 

So here’s my thing.  This last week I’ve thought a lot about my current struggles—and they are just that—current.  I’m so tired of it NOT ending.  I never was one for distance running.  I much prefer dashing through the race in 100 meters.  Even before the MRI on Tuesday, I have had this sinking feeling that I’m not quite done yet with this cancer thing.  In fact, I look back on earlier blog posts and on the improbable optimism of the last few months and the terminology that comes to mind is “naively jubilant.” It all started with the revelation through my patriarchal blessing that I would “live a long and prosperous life.”  I do not doubt that this will be true.  But the naivety with which I assumed easier, even golden, times ahead (and ones that would soon cease) makes me cringe.  That is not what was promised in those few words. 

I face a new ME right now—one who is being changed, probably for the better, but not with my own volition.  I am losing aspects of myself that I prize due to the cancer and the surgery: my excellent short term memory, my quickness in conversation, my ability to throw things together successfully via energy, charisma, vitality, and a certain bit of good fortune.  In place I am getting other things, and they are good—but sometimes surprising.  For instance, some of these aspects may be increased spirituality, wisdom, or the dreaded ability to endure to the end.  Don’t get me wrong—these are good gifts.  I just didn’t understand that I would have to trade in some of the other good things to get the better.  I loved my ability to learn easily and quickly—it made things very easy for me.  To lose this gift of knowledge in order to gain the gift of wisdom is hard. 

And it is very clear to me that I do have some things to learn that will (hopefully) teach me wisdom.  For three days straight I thought non-stop about the concept of Good, Better, Best.  Basically, that there are a lot of things to do with your time, but some are better than others, and others are the Best.  These I should choose to do first every day, every time, if possible.  One of the things I need to work on is reading my Book of Mormon a lot more.  In fact, I had the strongest impression one day that although all of the organic research and eating was a very good thing to do, it would not lead me out of this illness.  Rather, it is reading the scriptures and attending the temple that will do so.  These are the things that are BEST.  

I’m learning that enduring to the end means not just getting to the end of an event, or even just lasting through it well.  It also means that I’ll have to change throughout the process.  It’s not where you end up, but who you are when you get there. 

Recollections: Providence Hospital

IN WHICH OUR LADY OF THE BRAIN TUMOR WAKES AND DISCOVERS THAT SHE IS MUCH-LOVED

7 hours of brain surgery. In the waiting room: my husband, mother- and father-in-law, sister-in-law, my daughter, even my stake president. Then it was to ACC, Adult Critical Care (not my favorite place) and later, to my original room in the Neuro-unit. There were many gorgeous flower bouquets waiting for me there, cards, balloons, and even a giant goodies basket. A lovely detail: all my flowers seemed to match: bright purples, oranges, yellows. But maybe this was my altered state of mind. And of course, eventually there were well-wishers. I knew before I went in that I would have as many as 3 wards fasting for me, and it helped to know that. I have an amazing support system that continues on—and who read my blog—to you I pay verbal tribute.

Providence hospital is a Catholic institution. It has statues of Mary and the Crucifix placed throughout. At the beginning and end of each day, a prayer is said over the intercom. It is a good place, and I loved the prayers. Also, I spent a lot of time studying Catholic art while in college, and found those statues of Mary and the cross to be quite comforting. There is a medieval work called the Isenheim Altarpiece that shows a dreadful crucifix. It is the single most gruesome piece of religious artwork I know. Christ’s body is pocked, scarred, wasted, broken, bruised, diseased. It is absolutely abhorrent, but it was painted originally to remind the patients of Isenheim Hospital that Christ had already suffered all their afflictions, a message of hope, healing, and courage. Having now gone through a bit of my own Gethsemane, I appreciate more Isenheim’s message, and the faith it represents for the down-trodden, weary, and bleaguered.

I am not Catholic, but am LDS and very religious, so all the religious intonations were wonderful to me, and I believe, important for my speedy recovery.