Chapter 23: Brain cancer is no excuse to slack
Sorry lovely readers for my delay in posting a new blog. Many of you have asked if I have blog posts pre-written and ready to go for future use. Nope, I do not. Each time I post a blog, I have written it the day I post it. I usually sit down at my computer in the morning if I wake up inspired to write, type as fast as my hands will let me, and post the blog about 30 minutes later. I do not plan these blog topics in advance and usually surprise myself at what I end up saying. Ha! Our brains are funny.
This blog post was written today, but I want to take you on a journey back through the last two days because….drumroll….I went back to work this week!
Monday, March 2nd, 2020:
Somehow, it is now March. I am still alive. You are still alive. We should celebrate this! I celebrated this by going back to work today. I should clarify here- the residency program did not force me to go back to work. They have been nothing but supportive of me during my recovery. I chose to go back to work today because 1) I love what I do and 2) It turns out I am terrible at relaxing.
I have never been more excited to go to work on a Monday morning than I was today.
On my way to the parking garage, I heard three different people complain about “Monday morning.” Prior to all this cancer stuff, I would have been right there with them. Now, all I could think was:
“What is there to complain about? It’s a beautiful, sunny Monday morning. We are walking to our nice cars in our heated parking garage in our fancy apartment complex to drive to our paying jobs. We are healthy enough to work. We are not stuck in bed today. There is nothing to complain about.”
This was the first (and likely only) Monday morning I have ever thought about how much time I usually spend complaining about Monday mornings.
I smiled, sipped my fancy Nespresso coffee, carried my bags (>10 pounds, woohoo!) to my car, and went to work. I told myself that I would not, could not, complain about this or any other morning with the knowledge that in 2-3 weeks, my mornings will consist of recovering from a second craniotomy.
These future mornings will involve me sitting in a dark room in bed, unable to stand for more than 15 seconds at a time, unable to walk more than a snail’s pace, unable to have the television or music or lights on (noise and sound are amplified roughly 10000000x after brain surgery), unable to hold a conversation for more than 15 minutes before I have to nap. Yuck. Makes your morning sound a little better, am I right?
I hope next Monday, even if for just a minute, we can stop whining and start smiling a little more.
After this long, probably very annoying rant about Monday mornings, I’ll fill you in on how work was.
I worked in a primary care clinic today. I was scheduled to see patients in the morning but had the afternoon off to rest. At first, I thought, “Why would I need the afternoon off? I’m feeling good and ready to go!”
Thank you, thank you wise clinic team for giving me the afternoon off.
I had a successful morning. I met wonderful new patients and felt like I was back in my element. Work was a success. By noon, however, I felt like I had run a marathon.
I took a short nap. When I woke up from my nap, I felt every emotion. I was proud of myself for going back to work only 3 weeks post brain surgery. I was happy I hadn’t lost any knowledge and was still able to successfully help patients with a variety of concerns. But I was also sad, profoundly sad. I think the best way to explain this sadness is simply to say that it was emotionally draining to feel both “in my element” and to feel that “nothing will ever be the same again” simultaneously.
Multiple patients came in to clinic to discuss new aches and pains. Pain in his back, pain in her knee, etc. After some reassurance, two of my patients made comments along the lines of “Well, thank God it’s not cancer. That would be so much worse.” I smiled and nodded, glad they felt better after our discussion.
After work, I sulked a little. I picked up a recent book I had read called “The 10 Rules of Happiness” by Mridula Agarwal and found a quote, “Gloomy thoughts find it difficult to stay in an active mind and an active mind too likes to live in an active body.” So, I got off my ass and went to the gym. This helped a little.
When I came home, I again picked up this book and kept reading. The next section stated “Always know that life is beautiful and you have only one life to live. You also know that there is no reality, only perception and it is up to you to perceive things the way you want to. You live what you think and feel all day and it is in your very own hands to make your little heaven on this earth. Life is beautiful; do not complicate it.” This helped a lot.
Tuesday, March 3rd, 2020:
First, stop reading this and go vote! Ok, now read this.
I woke up this morning and “meditated” by reading a book called “How to Expand Love” written by none other than His Holiness the Dalai Lama. In this book, a wise piece of advice resonated with me:
“The sky was there before the clouds gathered, and it will be after they have gone. It is also present when the clouds seem to cover every inch of the sky we can see.”
I let this sink in. I thought: Today, and every day, my mind can be that sky. My mind is present and clear and peaceful, even when clouds or sadness temporarily cover it. Today, my mind will be a clear sky.
I took this advice and I used it. I worked a full day in clinic today people! I worked from 8am-4pm. I saw multiple patients with multiple concerns. I had a fantastic day.
By letting my mind be clear, by reminding myself that it is OK to have a “cloudy day” every once in a while, I let my feelings of sadness pass and let my mind be a clear, happier sky.
Today, I was in my element. I still felt like “nothing will ever be the same again” but I felt this in a positive light. Everything will be different, but different can be beautiful.
Today, I thank the universe that my brain tumor is not in a location that affects my thinking, my function, or my ability to practice medicine. I thank the universe that I am part of an incredible internal medicine residency program that supports me through this crazy time. I thank the universe that I can continue to work at a job that I love and help patients feel better, each and every day.
Also, I thank the universe that I scored a last-minute reservation for Demi tomorrow night. Miracles do happen!
Fondly,
Courtney
© CB2020