Chapter 13: The Net of Gems
I meant to get chapter thirteen out yesterday, however, at one-week out post-brain surgery my day of recovery was filled with nonstop adventures. Luckily, it is now 4:00am on Thursday, February 13th and my steroids have led not only to crippling insomnia and heartburn, but also a very intense need to eat a large bowl of cereal, so here we are with ample time to write.
I have a few thoughts to share with you all today. First, I invite you to read a thrilling and adventurous tale of what I will call my “snail successes” from Wednesday, February 12th. Second, I previously promised another glimpse back into my hero His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama’s brilliant insights in “The Universe in a Single Atom.” For those interested, let’s dive into my favorite bit of this book. Finally, drum roll please…. Some biopsy results. Some of you are so nosy, let’s be real. I’ll give you a little update but don’t expect too much yet.
Wednesday, February 12th, 2020: A snail’s successful day of adventuring
1) Sleep: Insomnia held off until the beautiful hour of 5:00 am. As I am still not supposed to be fully on my own at night, I have had a fabulous team of superwomen providing constant slumber party fun and snuggles. My superstar and also insanely brilliant resident physician friend Stephanie made sure I survived the night and woke up with me for a delectable breakfast with loads of coffee.
2) Sunrise: Did you see the sunrise today? I don’t remember the last time I really “watched” the sunrise but today I did and my God, it was beautiful.
3) Package delivery: What was once a very routine part of my day has become quite the adventure. When a package was delivered, I had an exciting journey to go on. I got myself ready for a walk down to my apartment lobby, very slowly walked down the hallway to the package room, found my package (<10 lbs, I can do this) and carried it back to my apartment. Have you ever thought about how amazing your body is, that you can do this day in and day out without any real significant effort? I hadn’t. Now I always will.
4) Reading: After a successful package run, I needed to rest. I read one chapter of a book without falling asleep or getting an instant headache, woo hoo!
5) Grocery time: Thankfully, I live in an apartment above a grocery store. This was a coincidental genius planning move on my brain’s part when I recently moved out of my former husband’s home. Good job, brain. When your weight limit is <10 lbs, grocery shopping is in interesting mind game. What to get? I chose around 8 pounds of cheese, pesto, and pasta with the remaining 2 pounds saved for fruit. I will call this an extreme success.
6) Gym time: Back at it again. Today, my lifelong friend and hero Marisa accompanied me to the gym. I not only did a very slow treadmill walk, but also made it back onto my personal choice in gym torture, the Stairmaster. Clearly, I did at least two workouts today, so I bought myself two post-workout smoothies. Only kidding a little.
7) Dinner and Puppy snuggles: Marisa and I cooked a delicious dinner and I spent the evening snuggling with my fur baby Ridley. Thanks for bringing her over, J.
Tuesday, January 15th, 2020: The Net of Gems, Chiang Mai, Thailand
Today, I had a fascinating first day of work in Thailand. I started my rotation on the oncology service in a busy clinic located within the central Chiang Mai Hospital. This morning, I was able to sit and observe a brilliant attending oncologist as he met with an insanely long list of patients and crafted rapid, eloquent plans for them all in record time. I mostly just sat in a little chair next to his desk and smiled, pretty useless in this scenario given my lack of Thai language speaking ability. The oncologist somehow interpreted everything for me in real time despite the craziness of his day. For patient confidentiality, I can’t dive into too many details here, but I do want to mention a few cases I saw that really stuck with me.
I met a 60-year old woman with newly diagnosed acute myeloid leukemia. She walked into clinic smiling. She brought the oncologist and me a bag of cookies (it is not uncommon to receive small gifts from patients in Thailand). Somehow, this woman had seen that her oncologist had a visiting physician sitting by him and she had taken the time to buy a second bag of cookies before she entered what was likely one of the most stressful clinic appointments of her life. This was astounding to me.
Next, I met a very young patient with a new diagnosis of diffuse large B-cell lymphoma. This patient was 30 years old and recently married. I could tell he was trying to hold back tears throughout the clinic visit as his wife smiled and took notes regarding the oncologist’s recommendation to start chemotherapy urgently. I ended up seeing this patient on hospital rounds the following day. He and his wife recognized me immediately and gave me the hugest smile. Why? I have no idea. I guess familiarity is comforting in these type of situations.
I met a 50-year old female nurse with newly diagnosed, late-stage chronic myeloid leukemia. She also brought me cookies.
After a fascinating morning in clinic, I was given the afternoon off to explore and settle in. I walked back to my apartment and spent a little time reading “The Universe in a Single Atom.” I underlined a giant passage during that reading session and, for those interested, I will share it with you now:
“In the Buddhist world, there is an acknowledgement of the practical impossibility of gaining total knowledge of the origin of the universe. A Mahayana text entitled The Flower Ornament Scripture contains a lengthy discussion of infinite world systems and the limits of human knowledge. A section called “The Incalculable” provides a string of calculations of extremely high numbers, culminating in terms such as “the incalculable,” “the measureless,” “the boundless,” and “the incomparable.” The highest number is the “square untold,” which is said to be the function of the “unspeakable” multiplied by itself! (As an aside, I am a total math nerd and loved this weird passage). A friend told me that this number can be written as 10^59. The Flower Ornament goes on to apply these mind-boggling numbers to the universe systems; it suggests that if “untold” worlds are reduced to atoms and each atom contains “untold” worlds, still the numbers of world systems will not be exhausted.
WOW. What?! This blows my mind. Have you ever thought about the endlessness of our universe? How far does it go? How small, how insignificant are we tiny humans in the grand scheme of this giant, boundless, measureless universe? It puts things into perspective, huh?
Ok, so I may be losing some of you here. I’m almost to the point, I promise.
The Dalai Lama then goes on to say, “Similarly, in beautiful poetic verses, the text compares the intricate and profoundly interconnected reality of the world to an infinite net of gems called “Indra’s jeweled net,” which reaches out to infinite space. At each knot on the net is a crystal gem, which is connected to all the other gems and reflects in itself all the others. On such a net, no jewel is in the center or at the edge. Each and every jewel is at the center in that if reflects all the other jewels on the net. At the same time, it is at the edge in that it is itself reflected in all the other jewels.”
Let’s think about this. If the universe if one big net of gems with no center and no edge, then every gem reflects back onto every other gem forever, in all directions. Holy fucking shit. Yes. I love this idea.
I made S read this passage and spent the next many days in Thailand referring to everything I could as the “net of gems.” When something was surprising, interesting, amazing, etc I made a stupid “net of gems” joke.
When I was diagnosed with a brain tumor, I wondered- “Did the stupid net finally break?”
At this point, I think not. The net is intact. I am a gem on the net. You are a gem on the net. My brain tumor is a gem, or so it thinks. Everything about you and everything about this universe is a gem. The net will never break.
Thursday, February 13th, 2020: So, do I have cancer?
Alright, if you’re still reading, you probably want some information from my recent brain biopsy results. I have received some initial results from my surgery. I am currently processing these results from both the perspective of a patient and a physician. I am not ready to share intricate details of my pathology reports, treatment plan, or prognosis with the world yet in a medically detailed way. Plus, why would anyone keep reading if I spoil the full surprise now? Here is a little taste to keep you on the edge of your seats.
Do I have brain cancer? Yes.
Is my tumor benign? No. Fortunately, I was never under the impression that it was.
How long do I have to live? Haha! If I could answer that about anyone, I’d be a rich lady. Let’s say somewhere between 1 day and 40 years.
Will I need treatment? Perhaps. Stay tuned.
What type of cancer do I have? My brain tumor is called a glioma. Don’t even bother trying to decipher that further for now. There are about a billion types of gliomas, treatment plans, and prognoses.
For now, here is what I’m calling my pathology report:
Glioma: An evil, scheming neighbor who steals my Amazon Prime packages but isn’t quite smart enough to figure out my full social security number. Tumor won’t kill me today, bitches.
Fondly,
Courtney
© CB2020