Growing Tumor, Tumor Humor
Dear Ones,
I sit now at my home in San Francisco. Bean, a dear friend/student/companion arrived yesterday from up north to spend over a week with Chester. This is her second visit, as she spent a week with Chester before the breath class in January. After getting her settled in, I climbed on the BART, crossed the Bay and arrived home. All of a sudden, I find myself alone - my vigilance begins to drop, I weep for hours, cook a huge chicken roast dinner for two and relax. At midnight, my roomate (quietly) places a dish in the sink and the noise has me awake and out of bed --what happened, what needs to be done, is Chester ok-- and it takes me a few minutes to realize where i am and that i have nothing to do but get back in bed and breathe myself to sleep.
The past ten days were quite a journey with Chester. Long days spent packing his apartment, touching each of his belongings with care and curiosity. Gathering his heavy collections- crystals, stones, bones, books, photos, teachings, dishes, goblets, tools, baubles, sarongs, saris and scrolls -emptying his home into the car and delivering loads of his life to Chester. Stacking things neatly in the companion bedroom so as to keep the path clear for Chester to weave through the space, his body and mind dedicated to the task of sorting, revisiting, reuniting and recycling. Emotions are running fiercely together through the space- each object bringing a quiver or quake of energy with it into the apartment. Chester watches me engaged in the labor of love and wants to help me carry the heavy boxes. Instead, I open a box onto the massage table and he begins sifting through it, delivering objects into bags marked "Friends" "Thrift" and "Trash", and a box to "KEEP".
I bring the shredder and filing cabinets down the hill. On my next trip up, Chester builds a box. He discovered that he needed a box to hold the shredded paper, and finds a flattened box outside. He becomes determined to build the damn box, and when I come home there is a huge DELL box, thoroughly taped together with packing tape (a long horizontal row of ragged, teeth-marked strips of tape, but sturdy!), half full of white and yellow shards of paper, his taxes from 1992 and hundreds of other pages. He has a charge from the accomplishment, and a fatigue from the shredding, shredding, shredding. At the end of the day, we both rest in the afterglow of a productive day and weary determination of the task at hand.
We keep ourselves laughing and communicating clearly, refining the art of Tumor Humor- as embodied in this image of Chester, wearing a hat that was within a big bin of some of Chester's most treasured temple objects- wood smoothed by hundreds of butt massages, cloth saturated in magic, the tools of his rituals over the many years-
The week was made all the richer by a wonderful candlelight sushi feast with Annie Sprinkle. She is busy with her triumphant revival after a nine month breast cancer ballet. She and her lover Beth Stephens have been very busy living, creating, and performing art together (check out www.loveartlab.com), so it was a treasured gift to get her over for an intimate dinner date. Here are pictures from Chester and Annie together- bald and radiant in the mid-cancer October sushi dinner, and again this past Monday.
The week ended with a visit to Dr. Tang, the neurosurgeon who has been our primary "head doctor". He read the MRI report, looked at the new films and compared them with those of December, and told us in no uncertain terms that there is new tumor growth at the site of the primary tumor, and that it is "about 10-20%" regrowth. He then proceeded to launch into the myriad of treatment options that Chester can now choose from, recommending medical intervention "soon". These treatment options are both surgical or non-surgical. The surgical options include things like opening Chester's head back up, removing whatever tumor growth is apparent, and laying down chemotherapy "wafers" or inserting a "balloon" that is filled with radiation therapy, making Chester "radioactive" for a three to five day hospital stay. The non- surgical options include an intense radiation treatment where they zap a trench around the tumor site, or trying to switch chemotherapy treatments in the hopes that a new kind of chemo will halt the growth. Dr. Tang said there were "up to 30 treatment options to choose from, and there are 30 because there are no clear winners". He guessed that any one of the options would hold a possible "10-20% efficacy rate" or "no effect at all". Dr. Tang is a gentle and kind man, and a straight-shooter. I sense that it is this combination that allows him to meet with people every day who have endangering growth or injury in the brain, and to do so with a peacefullness and assuring presence. He gave us a sketch of three treatment options he would recommend (the balloon, new chemo, or the intense radiation) and recommended that we talk to Dr.Chang, the brain tumor expert at UCSF. Jaime was making that appointment yesterday afternoon immediately after we returned home. We will discuss the treatment she recommends, do lots of our own research and discerning and witnessing, and Chester will be making some huge decisions about the potential medical interventions that are available to him. We left the appointment, both sobered and moved by the information we had just received. I grabbed a sprig of jasmine from the plant draped over the fence, and as we drove to the Alta Bates thrift store (benefiting the hospital where Chester has been receiving treament) to drop off a load of Chester's belongings, we talked about the additional medical intervention option that Dr. Tang hadn't mentioned- none. We talked about carefully weighing potential benefits and risks of any surgery or treatment- would undergoing a resection risk all of the mobility and speech that he has been regaining? (Dr Tang: "potentially"). Would a new chemo agent make him naseuous and dizzy? We drove in quiet conversation, and I assured him that I would support him through this, no matter what we face. An image from his tarot reading with Annie returned- that of surfing, of "riding the waves", which we will continue to do with our surfing mates: Grace and Flo, Prudence and Joy.
After dropping off the boxes of thrift items (though only after rescuing the bag of stuffed animals- a gorilla, three frogs, a raccoon hand puppet. . .) we decided that intervention certainly shall include frequent sushi-treatment, beginning immediately. So I ran into the fish market for half a pound of ahi tuna, red and quivering with brain food goodness and tender pleasures.
I sit now at my home in San Francisco. Bean, a dear friend/student/companion arrived yesterday from up north to spend over a week with Chester. This is her second visit, as she spent a week with Chester before the breath class in January. After getting her settled in, I climbed on the BART, crossed the Bay and arrived home. All of a sudden, I find myself alone - my vigilance begins to drop, I weep for hours, cook a huge chicken roast dinner for two and relax. At midnight, my roomate (quietly) places a dish in the sink and the noise has me awake and out of bed --what happened, what needs to be done, is Chester ok-- and it takes me a few minutes to realize where i am and that i have nothing to do but get back in bed and breathe myself to sleep.
The past ten days were quite a journey with Chester. Long days spent packing his apartment, touching each of his belongings with care and curiosity. Gathering his heavy collections- crystals, stones, bones, books, photos, teachings, dishes, goblets, tools, baubles, sarongs, saris and scrolls -emptying his home into the car and delivering loads of his life to Chester. Stacking things neatly in the companion bedroom so as to keep the path clear for Chester to weave through the space, his body and mind dedicated to the task of sorting, revisiting, reuniting and recycling. Emotions are running fiercely together through the space- each object bringing a quiver or quake of energy with it into the apartment. Chester watches me engaged in the labor of love and wants to help me carry the heavy boxes. Instead, I open a box onto the massage table and he begins sifting through it, delivering objects into bags marked "Friends" "Thrift" and "Trash", and a box to "KEEP".
I bring the shredder and filing cabinets down the hill. On my next trip up, Chester builds a box. He discovered that he needed a box to hold the shredded paper, and finds a flattened box outside. He becomes determined to build the damn box, and when I come home there is a huge DELL box, thoroughly taped together with packing tape (a long horizontal row of ragged, teeth-marked strips of tape, but sturdy!), half full of white and yellow shards of paper, his taxes from 1992 and hundreds of other pages. He has a charge from the accomplishment, and a fatigue from the shredding, shredding, shredding. At the end of the day, we both rest in the afterglow of a productive day and weary determination of the task at hand.
We keep ourselves laughing and communicating clearly, refining the art of Tumor Humor- as embodied in this image of Chester, wearing a hat that was within a big bin of some of Chester's most treasured temple objects- wood smoothed by hundreds of butt massages, cloth saturated in magic, the tools of his rituals over the many years-
The week was made all the richer by a wonderful candlelight sushi feast with Annie Sprinkle. She is busy with her triumphant revival after a nine month breast cancer ballet. She and her lover Beth Stephens have been very busy living, creating, and performing art together (check out www.loveartlab.com), so it was a treasured gift to get her over for an intimate dinner date. Here are pictures from Chester and Annie together- bald and radiant in the mid-cancer October sushi dinner, and again this past Monday.
The week ended with a visit to Dr. Tang, the neurosurgeon who has been our primary "head doctor". He read the MRI report, looked at the new films and compared them with those of December, and told us in no uncertain terms that there is new tumor growth at the site of the primary tumor, and that it is "about 10-20%" regrowth. He then proceeded to launch into the myriad of treatment options that Chester can now choose from, recommending medical intervention "soon". These treatment options are both surgical or non-surgical. The surgical options include things like opening Chester's head back up, removing whatever tumor growth is apparent, and laying down chemotherapy "wafers" or inserting a "balloon" that is filled with radiation therapy, making Chester "radioactive" for a three to five day hospital stay. The non- surgical options include an intense radiation treatment where they zap a trench around the tumor site, or trying to switch chemotherapy treatments in the hopes that a new kind of chemo will halt the growth. Dr. Tang said there were "up to 30 treatment options to choose from, and there are 30 because there are no clear winners". He guessed that any one of the options would hold a possible "10-20% efficacy rate" or "no effect at all". Dr. Tang is a gentle and kind man, and a straight-shooter. I sense that it is this combination that allows him to meet with people every day who have endangering growth or injury in the brain, and to do so with a peacefullness and assuring presence. He gave us a sketch of three treatment options he would recommend (the balloon, new chemo, or the intense radiation) and recommended that we talk to Dr.Chang, the brain tumor expert at UCSF. Jaime was making that appointment yesterday afternoon immediately after we returned home. We will discuss the treatment she recommends, do lots of our own research and discerning and witnessing, and Chester will be making some huge decisions about the potential medical interventions that are available to him. We left the appointment, both sobered and moved by the information we had just received. I grabbed a sprig of jasmine from the plant draped over the fence, and as we drove to the Alta Bates thrift store (benefiting the hospital where Chester has been receiving treament) to drop off a load of Chester's belongings, we talked about the additional medical intervention option that Dr. Tang hadn't mentioned- none. We talked about carefully weighing potential benefits and risks of any surgery or treatment- would undergoing a resection risk all of the mobility and speech that he has been regaining? (Dr Tang: "potentially"). Would a new chemo agent make him naseuous and dizzy? We drove in quiet conversation, and I assured him that I would support him through this, no matter what we face. An image from his tarot reading with Annie returned- that of surfing, of "riding the waves", which we will continue to do with our surfing mates: Grace and Flo, Prudence and Joy.
After dropping off the boxes of thrift items (though only after rescuing the bag of stuffed animals- a gorilla, three frogs, a raccoon hand puppet. . .) we decided that intervention certainly shall include frequent sushi-treatment, beginning immediately. So I ran into the fish market for half a pound of ahi tuna, red and quivering with brain food goodness and tender pleasures.
posted by Chrys Curtis-Fawley at 9:49 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home