My head is not exactly pounding. It's more like a dull roar of general hurt. It makes thinking difficult, but sleeping even more impossible.
I woke from a dream just now. I could rightly call it a nightmare. For the first time I have dreamt directly of the tumour. I could see straight into my own brain cavity. I don't want to describe what I saw.
Perhaps I am coming to grips with reality for the first time. It's hard to say, but it's a lonely experience. You don't want to go there. Me neither, but somehow I did.
I want to say things. They come clearly to mind but then swirl away like a sandbank crumbling into the sea. They'll come back, but only when I'm lying there drifting off to sleep again. A couple of nights ago I could retain no thoughts in my brain for more than a few seconds. That would have been a frightening thought had I been able to hold on to it.
A ray is caught in a bowl,
And the cat licks it, thinking that it's milk;
Another threads its way through tree branches,
And the elephant thinks he has found a Lotus-stalk
Half asleep, a girl reaches out
And tries to rearrange the moonbeams on the bed
To share the warmth.
It is the moon that is drunk with its own light,
But the world that is confused.*
Maybe not the entire world this time. It's just me.
The clamping seizures on the right arm return every time I move for the first time after waking. They're starting to come back now. Sometimes I'm wakened by one. It's best not to think of them, because it invites them into consciousness and before long, fingers and thumb start to burn and twitch.
I can hear the cock crowing across the railway line, up the hill to our south. It's often my signal to go to sleep. I guess it must be the alarm call for some, though it's surprising what you can get used to.
He leaves the nest;
And flaps his wings;
And stops, and struts;
And bit by bit;
He makes his way
To top of tree:
His neck up,
His tail up,
His foot up,
His comb up,
The cock lifts
His voice up,
C r o w s.*
But now it's very quiet for a few moments. I hear a neighbour's alarm go off. The world around me will turn on its engines, little by little.
The MRI-like images of the devastation in my brain fade as first light makes way for dawn.
I'm pretty sure I'll sleep now.
*G Brough [tr.] Poems from the Sanskrit (3rd Cent. CE)
Gawd Denis. What can I say? Except 'thank you' for sharing such beautiful thoughts - drawn from such depths - on moonbeams and roosters.ReplyDelete
Whut he sed... following you is a moving and enlightening experience Denis. Sending good thoughts - what else can I do?ReplyDelete
Wonderful writing, and it must be so difficult to share such an experience. Thank you. Sending good thoughts too. Anne PReplyDelete
Wow!! Thank you for sharing your life with us.. My husband was diagnosed with a grade 4 brain tumour 7yrs ago. He is now having horrible seizures for the past 18 months. They think it's from scare tissue.ReplyDelete
We are both very thankful every day that we have with each other. Thank you again xx
You write so beautifully about what must be an incredibly difficult topic. I have a close family member who has just been diagnosed with cancer, and I find your words to be very enlightening and comforting. Thank you.ReplyDelete
What Bob said and more of the same in triplicate.ReplyDelete
Wow that girl rearranging the moonbeams, the cat licking the ray. Such innocence is timeless. Perhaps you are reflecting on experiences that will be timeless for humanity.ReplyDelete
After coming across your blog and knowing what you are going through do surly gives me reality check that my burdens in this lifetime being actually nothing, you and also many good people like you have been given far greater challenges in this your lifetime divine than myself. Know this Denis Wright, your life experiences, that you do openly share with many others who have happen chance upon your blog, has actual meaning and purpose its in many ways, be for many people and also ultimately our HUMANITY..ReplyDelete
I do thank you for sharing your thoughts that being of this your own lifetime JOURNEY..
You are a wonderful writer, Denis. It's an honor to read your work. Plus, what Zoe and Bob said, in double-triplcate.ReplyDelete
...exactly a year ago my mom had lost the ability to talk to us, she sank into mixed words & confused senses... glioblastoma did it... before she left us completely I asked myself what if she didn't loose her mind?.. would it be better for her to KNOW what was happening to her? or she DID but couldn't tell us... I missed her so much though she was still next to us. Today I've found your blog...I have a strange feeling now- as if you are her tongue & she is back talking to us, saying the things she couldn't that time... It's a miracle. You do it! Thank you!.. & you are so strong, so touching, I admire you!..ReplyDelete
Denis, you gave me a lot of strength, i am returning as a vibes- i wish you to live as long as you can,as you would need, it is a powerful energy that you are able to send to others.ReplyDelete
Not only is it a pleasure, and privilege, to be privvy to what is happening inside your body, inside your mind, along with being exposed to the exquisite sanskrit poetry I would not otherwise have ever known about, but also to be a part of the heartfelt responses here to your writing. Moved to tears. xxReplyDelete