Something shifted in my perception as I absorbed the words on the MRI report that day. As if a well worn cog suddenly slipped out of it’s groove and no longer fit in the machinery it was created for. I know how Dorothy must have felt as she peaked behind the Wizard’s curtain in the land of Oz, then awoke in her own bed as if it had all been a dream.
My jolt was sudden, permanent, and without my permission. For days, into weeks, nothing seemed real or important. I wasn’t even sure if there was a point to getting out of bed, eating, or attempting to converse. I felt uncaring, selfish, and detached from even those I loved most. I wanted to shout at everyone I encountered who asked politely and without any true concern, “How are you today?” (i.e. the grocer clerk), “I have a f*ing BRAIN TUMOR! How are you?” so I worked hard to (usually) keep my mouth shut and just nod semi-politely.
All at once, I could see the entire planet as if I were standing on the moon with a giant telescope, AND only the very center of my brain as if looking at it through a powerful microscope. Disorienting. A little bit.
The extremely self-centered portion of my ego believes that nothing outside of my brain, particularly my brain stem upon which Bob has made himself at home, matters at all; while the portion of out-of-body me up on the moon, sees the giant sparkly web (of course it’s sparkly, it’s still MY perception) connecting every being, every breath, every thought since Creation began.
I am in free-fall, alternately reaching out to cling to everything I knew and letting go with faith that all is as it should be.
I know that I am not alone in having an unexpected and sudden life-changing event. Writing it down may help me to process and integrate this shift.
As always, thank you for reading and being a part of my journey.
More will be revealed, it constantly is.
Love and gratitude, Dawn