Chapter 12: A monk, an amulet, and a treadmill
I started writing an adult fiction novel around six months ago as a hobby. I felt lacking in some sort of creative outlet and a friend suggested I try writing. Hmm. This was a new idea to me. Growing up, I used to write poetry. Nothing very good and nothing I had ever shared. Outlining a novel, however, seemed fresh and exciting. I remember spending copious hours at my neighborhood café over the past six months on weekends and days off, trying to outline, plan, design, write, and re-write chapters that perhaps someday, someone would be interested in reading.
As I mentioned in a previous blog entry, quite ironically, the plot of my novel was based on the life of a young woman who is essentially “trapped” in her own mind. The life she is living is not as it seems. Her mind plays tricks on her. Perhaps I had been reading too much “Gone Girl” type-fiction, or perhaps a brain tumor is an oddly inspiring writing buddy, but regardless, this strange random inspiration I had to write a book about the tricks a mind can play on itself is somewhat eerie, don’t you think?
I hope to finish my book someday. But, today, now 6 days out from brain surgery, I think blogging is as much plot design as my mind can handle. I have received an overwhelming, incredibly positive response to this blog from friends, family, colleagues, and acquaintances at this point. I want to sincerely thank every single person who has taken a minute of their day to read the words I’m writing. I’m not sure if my thoughts are adding or subtracting from your overall knowledge, but thanks anyways.
I went to Thailand thinking, “maybe I’ll find some good inspiration for my novel here.” Well, friends, I think I got a little more inspiration than I planned for. But hell, if you ask and the universe delivers, don’t you dare complain about it.
Today I feel inspired to write about three things: a monk, an amulet, and a treadmill. Hold on to your seats people, if I can pull it off this chapter could be a good one.
Friday, January 31st, 2020: Chiang Mai University Hospital, Thailand
Today, I wake up as a patient in a large, breezy hospital room in Chiang Mai. Two days ago, I was admitted to this hospital with a new diagnosis of a brain tumor. One week ago, I was working as a physician in this same hospital on the oncology and palliative care services discussing the prognosis and treatment plans of my own patients’ cancer diagnoses. The world is mysterious.
Yesterday was a whirlwind. Most of the day was spent lying around, making sure my new medications prevented another seizure so that I can safely fly back home to Minnesota tomorrow. Fortunately, no repeat seizures so far. Our story’s initial hero, S, was still working furiously all day coordinating efforts with the fabulous internal medicine and global health team back home in Minnesota to make sure I had a seat on a flight back to America, a hospital bed in Minnesota waiting, and a medical escort for my journey home. While doing this, S was also making sure the hospital room never, and I mean never, ran out of Pad Thai, dim sum, or chestnut lattés (the greatest creation on earth). Thank you, S.
Throughout all of this, I was mesmerized by a small gecko who decided to live in the hospital bathroom. He was black and kind of cute. He liked to sleep under the sink and didn’t move much, but his presence was strangely appreciated. S assures me this was not a steroid-induced hallucination and I do have photos of said gecko to prove it.
Due to my recent work within the palliative care department at this hospital, I was very fortunate to have a number of visitors who are absolute experts in tough conversations, supportive relationships, and empathy. These women helped me through some very tough initial moments in the hospital. They laughed with me, cried with me, ate food with me, and most importantly, listened to me.
Prior to my hospitalization, one of the things I was most looking forward to in Thailand was the ability to have a "monk chat." Many temples around Thailand advertise times when monks are available for free, informal chats for interested people. These chats offer a dedicated, safe space for people to ask a monk literally anything they feel could be helpful. I had “monk chat” written down on my calendar literally once per week since I had arrived in Thailand; however, unfortunately, I kept missing these times due to having so many other fun adventures. I told myself, no matter what, before leaving Thailand I would make it to a monk chat and I would ask the monk the following questions, which I jotted down over time as they came to me:
“What is the one thing worth giving up or letting go to relive yourself from suffering?”
“What is the key to being at peace with yourself?”
“How do you forgive yourself for hurting someone?”
“How do you make peace with the decisions you have made, especially those that have hurt others?”
“What makes you happy?” “Do you find there are similar things that make everyone happy?”
Unfortunately, I don’t have any answers to these questions for you all because I never made it to the monk chat in the traditional sense.
On this fateful day, however, when the palliative care team came to visit me in the hospital I asked them for one favor. I asked to speak with a monk in the hospital before leaving Thailand. This team of heroes stepped out of my room, went to a nearby temple (where monks are often requested to visit hospitalized patients from), and told a monk about my story. I got a text that a monk would be stopping by my room the next morning.
On Friday morning, a friendly, smiling monk in a bright orange robe walked into my hospital room at 9:00 am. He was accompanied by two of my palliative nurse friends who helped interpret. The monk spoke some English but was not fluent. I spoke with the monk for around 20 minutes. He presented me with an amulet and we prayed over it together. During this 20 minutes, I experienced every emotion: happiness, sadness, fear, joy, gratitude, panic. The strongest emotion I experienced, however, was absolute peace. I don’t think I can adequately put into words all of the incredible lessons this monk taught me, but I will summarize for you what I typed down shortly after the monk left my room so that I could never forget it.
“Be happy.”
“This happened for a reason.” “ Smile. Do not cry.” “ Find happiness and spread this to your family and others.”
“ Find time to calm the mind. Find happiness.”
“Do not worry about your illness. Illness and death are a natural part of life.”
“ Your family will be ok. If you find happiness and share it with them you can take away their sadness.”
These messages spoke to me so profoundly. As a physician who has seen illness and death in more ways that I could have ever imaged, predicted, or described (especially within only the first few years of my career), I can 100%, without a doubt tell you that only one thing is medically guaranteed in this life, and that is death. Not one of you will get out alive, no matter what our brilliant science and medicine can come up with. Yet, people rarely want to discuss death. Why? It’s sad, sure. It’s messy, sure. But it is literally the only thing we know for sure will happen to us all and we avoid talking about it like the plague. Wouldn’t life, and death be so much calmer, so much simpler, if we just admitted that they always go together? Avoiding the death bit won’t make the life bit shorter, or scarier, or worse, will it?
Tuesday, February 11, 2020: Lifetime Fitness, Saint Paul, Minnesota
For those of you now extremely bored with my medical and spiritual musings of the day, let’s jump into the second story I want to share.
Today, I am 6 days post-brain surgery. Today, I went to the gym. It took me over 45 minutes to change into my workout clothes, tie my shoes without falling over, fill my water bottle, and get on the damn treadmill. My friend, K, accompanied me and cheered me on the whole time. She is a superstar.
I walked on a treadmill today at 2 mph for 45 minutes and lifted 4 pound weights for a very small number of reps. I have never, ever in my entire life been more proud of anything I have ever done. I am just gonna say it people, I crushed that fucking workout. So then, I bought myself a post-workout smoothie.
Fondly,
Courtney
© CB2020