ON LIVING WITH A BRAIN TUMOR: Purging My Way to Peace

Untitled digital watercolor
by
Judy Westergard
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My husband and I recently attended a party to celebrate his sister and brother-in-law's 45th anniversary, and, as usually happens after the general congratulatory toasts are made, the food is eaten, and things settle down to quieter conversations, folks catch up with one another. My catch-up consisted mostly of updating relatives who asked with great concern how I was holding up with the brain tumor. I was surprised because, quite frankly, I don't give it much thought. (Refer to my 9/30/2010 blog, "This Story's Done!") True, "The Little Bastard" is still there, but equally true is my conviction that my next MRI will confirm the January MRI -- that TLB (see above) is still dying. The process could take a few more years, but I've been assured that things are moving in the right direction. Still, answering questions about TLB had me pondering a question I addressed here not too long ago -- specifically, whether this experience has changed me. I've already talked here about no longer tolerating thoughtless people. (The latest boorish comment was about my eye glasses: "Kind of freaky looking, doncha think?" Suffice it to say that my response did not put him at ease.)
Added to my new-found ability to deal with confrontation is my new-found need to purge. (Not that kind of purging; I'm talking about stuff here.) I'm surprised at this because I've never been a hoarder to begin with. Not many clothes in my closet, not much in the way of knickknacks on my shelves. Nevertheless, ever since September’s radiation, I find myself urging my husband to help me rid ourselves of things we don't need, don't use, don't want.

The obvious up-side to this is a cleaner, neater house. The surprise, though, is my cleaner, neater thought process. This new lack of visual clutter has led to a mental calm that has allowed me (finally!) to finish projects before taking on new ones. My life-long pattern has been to bounce from one thing to another -- not an ADD issue but rather a joy in multi-tasking. Generally not a problem, but often I'd prematurely abandon a good idea while I moved on to something else. But my brain tumor experience has left me with a much greater appreciation for the sanctity of the here and now. "Live for the moment." "Appreciate the present." I used to hate cliches; now I see them as truisms. It's unfortunate that I had to experience the fear of a brain tumor in order to understand, but I'm so very glad that I still have a good 20 to 30 years of a life to live with that understanding.

ONE HUNDRED NAMES FOR LOVE by Diane Ackerman

The Reader
by Judy Westergard
oil on canvas

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Among my top 10 favorite books of all time: "One Hundred Names for Love" by Diane Ackerman. This is a funny, poignant, insightful, well researched memoir of her life with her author-husband following his massive stroke that left him aphasic. Despite his doctors' predictions that he'd never be able to speak nor understand again, Diane, along with a charming, funny day-nurse, worked non-stop to immerse Paul with language: puns, memories, questions, tormentingly slow conversations in which they would patiently give Paul all the time he needed to respond...sometimes as long as seven minutes. The result (and I'm not giving anything away here; she lets you know from the get-go that he eventually publishes again) is an almost-fluent post-stroke aphasic. This one's a must-read on so many levels: being a care giver, how we acquire language, strokes, overcoming adversity, and just plain elegant writing.

CONTEMPLATING STUFF THAT MATTERS

"Artichoke"
graphite on paper
$75
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I continue to think about a question that was tossed out at me not too long ago. "Has your experience with your brain tumor changed your life in any way?" she asked. I answered (and wrote on this blog) that except for no longer abiding the vapid and/or the inane, I'd not noticed much difference. But it's been a few weeks since that conversation; I'm rethinking what I told her, and I think it's due to the botanical drawing classes I'm taking, the focus of which is...well...focus! Instructor Marilyn Garber has us looking very closely at the minutiae that make up our subject matter, subjects that have included a seed pod, a persimmon, mushrooms, an avocado, and now a dieffenbachia. This kind of calm, slow, exacting work is a zen-like experience, and I find myself in awe of the beauty of of what I'm drawing. I know, I know...centuries of artists have written about this, painted it, and created some of the world's greatest music as the result of having been inspired by the natural world. Like them, I've always appreciated nature...but now I see it as a metaphor for something much bigger. I haven't figured all this out yet but I know that somehow it's connected with my brush with my eventual demise. And if I ever do figure it all out, you'll be the first to know! Thanks for reading.

ON LIVING A POST-BRAIN TUMOR LIFE

An acquaintance asked me a question a few days ago. "Was your experience with your brain tumor a life changing event?" I've been thinking about that question a lot. Short answer: No. After all, there was never a question of malignancy, and the "surgery" was by gamma knife...no real knives involved, so I can’t say that the past six months have been the cause of in any major changes in my life. However, I am aware of some changes in perspective, one of which involves time. I've spent many hours thinking about how I've had the rare (to me) opportunity to look through the looking glass. What I saw was the reality of how relatively little time I have left on this planet. Don't get me wrong--"relatively" is the key word here. I'm not being maudlin, merely realistic. But I'm in my mid-60's. It’s a good guess that two-thirds of my life are behind me. So...just what did my Great Brain Zap teach me about time? Nothing that all philosophers, novelists, and poets haven't already said: We don't live forever. Use time wisely. But it took the Great Brain Zap to get me beyond a superficial awareness of that philosophy and into living it. Here’s an example: I no longer feel guilty about putting a wanna-do before a gotta-do. Six months ago I never would have read a novel at 10:00 in the morning. Start a painting at 4:00 in the afternoon? Certainly not! That's supper-cookin' time. I learned my mother’s lessons were well...but they no longer fit my life. Supper doesn't always have to be ready by 5:00, nor do I have to be the person in charge of its preparation. Another example: I'm no longer willing to suffer fools gladly. No longer am I willing to spend time with the casual acquaintance whose main topic of conversation is him/herself. You know the kind of person I'm speaking of: "Enough about me; let's talk about you. What do you think of me?" This last one really surprises me: Six months ago I never would have excused myself from tedious conversations with people I hardly know. In fact, I never would have had the gumption to be so honest as to write those lines. No...no earth-shattering changes. But I now know in ways I didn't know before the truth of a favorite quote by Anna Quindlan: "The time we are afforded to find happiness and satisfaction cannot be spared or wasted...whenever possible, dreams must be pursued, not deferred."

ON LIVING WITH A BRAIN TUMOR: Day 14, The Crash

"Namaste"
by Judy Westergard
pastel on paper
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I experienced my first major emotional crash yesterday. Even though I expected it, it came as a surprise. A sense of overwhelming sadness. Inertia. I spent most of the day doing nothing other than stare into space and play endless games of Solitaire, all the while thinking that I should/could be painting, gardening, knitting, hiking...any number of things that seven years of retirement have let me do whenever I wanted. But no, there I sat, alternately staring at the cards and into space.
But then yesterday was the first day I’ve experienced symptoms beyond a few minutes. I've alluded in previous entries to my ability to disavow all that this lump in my head might imply. Cheerful denial is easy for me when there's nothing going on to remind one of reality. What was so puzzling about all of this is that I was fully aware that I was acquiescing to this mood (which, by the way, happily broke with my husband’s magic words, "Let's eat out"). So today I went back to one of the three books I'm reading. From Seeking Peace by Mary Pipher: "All of our lives, we must keep appointments we did not make.... (Yet) we can choose the way we deal with our fate." Perhaps I should write those words down on multiple Post-It Notes and place them around the house. I sure could have used them yesterday.

On Being a Woman With a Brain Tumor

A Question of Control
by Judy Westergard
oil on canvas
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It has been a little over 24 hours since I received the phone call that confirmed the MRI results. I have a brain tumor. According to the radiologist it is most likely benign. My neuro-ophthalmologist explained why that was so and said lots of other reassuring things but to go into all of that isn't my purpose here. Rather, I'm changing the focus of my blog from musings about art, books, and recipes to how art, books, and recipes affect my take on being A Woman With a Brain Tumor. Conversely, I hope I can gain some insight into how being A.W.W.B.T. affects my art, my reading, and yes, even my cooking. Who knows? Maybe I'll be able to get a few more restaurant meals out of all of this! Of course my main goal is to make some sense out of this major life-changing event and deal with it with grace, humility, and good humor. (Please Lord...help me avoid turning into a Poor Pitiful Pearl!) I’ve given a lot of thought about whether to "go public" with this. I've already informed all the folks in my life who should know, so why a public blog? As usual, my favorite sounding board (AKA my husband) clarified my thoughts for me: "You're more likely to keep writing if you believe there's someone out there who wants to share your experiences. And you've already discovered that you won't keep up a private journal. So go for it!" Wise man, that husband. So here I go, mapless, off on the kind of journey I never thought I’d take. But lack of a map didn't stop Lewis and Clark and by golly, it’s not going to stop me.