Ten day wake up call? Keith was present with me last night. First time he sat with me and just listened.
He’s a slow learner but he’s actually learning.
He’s currently out on an adventure to the Chinese Herb store, I made a list in Chinese for herbs I need to fight this cancer. My weight is now 109lbs and the skin is stretched tight around my organs revealing the masses. There’s no denying now that this is cancer, even though the insurance refused to do the PET scan over a year ago when I knew it was there.
Keith has taken over the fight with insurance to get me the scans, but I didn’t wait. I started my journey learning to take control of my organs and heal them, before the cancer would clog them up or disable them.
My qi essence is so low my liver is starting to struggle. It has a tumor. I just discovered it today. I’m brewing Chai, to increase my Qi essence so that I can keep up the fight. Keith has realized how long I’ve been fighting this. The preparation, the nesting behavior, the intense study of herbs and how to support the organs, the Meridian work I have done on myself alone.
We are not sure yet if the debris is just plaque on my brain, or something that is actively growing. My left eye and ear ooze stuff everyday now. I am talking again. My brain is recovering. I can see blue, and tolerate light. But my energy levels crash so fast.
I do believe Keith is a vulnerable narcissist. But that is not something I have accused him of or attacked him with. He woke up recently that I have some special kind of skill he cannot imagine. Partly because a woman’s intuition is from her different biology, and partly because I’m able to explain it.
“The truth is” I told him. “That it’s as if I am speaking to someone who is deaf” he cannot hear me as though I am just a talking head with my mouth moving and he reacts in deafness assuming my mannerism is an attack on him. He is deaf in ways that is hard for me to live with, especially as he deafness is not through his ears, but to his own body. He cannot sense what I see in him, so I told him. I showed him there was a disease in his body that has been growing because he is deaf to it.
He didn’t know how to take it in, until I showed him how I can feel it… then I demonstrated how to start unblocking his deafness… and overnight he felt a huge change in clarity and realized.
I AM NOT SPEAKING JUJU MAGIC THIS IS REAL
When I say I have malignancy in my body. ITS REAL. And I have been unheard until my oncologist writes “palliative care” on my medical notes. The truth is, even the doctors know what this is but they are legally bound not to say until they have evidentiary material. And insurance would not allow it. Until seemingly too late, it appears as though I’m in emergency and to the outside world, hopeless. I am weak and fragile. I can barely get off the floor.
But there are moments when I have enough energy to increase my conscious awareness enough to make myself tea or herbs or soup. And write.
I can write even in a subconcious state of emergency. My awareness of the world shrinks to emergency levels of survival. My brain plays with what it senses and the world descends into a minimum number of polygons to resolve and understand. Keith appears as an alien with shoulders coming off his head standing on two stalks with no body. My brain fills in a face which doesn’t fit. I know it’s him, but my brain has reduced to being present only in a subconcious state of processing.
I am fully aware of what’s happening INSIDE my body as this emergency war begins. My tumors are being attacked and digested. My liver is overloaded. I know how to shut down my kidneys to prevent the rhabdo from damaging my kidneys. My spleen is inflamed from overwork. I take breaks from battle to replenish vital micronutrients and sustain the fight. The tumors are moving…
I felt a lymph node rupture from the peristaltic pain of excreting tumor debris into my daily diarrhea, two or three times a day of tumor mush and coffee grounds from the internal bleed of tumors that have broken away from their blood supply.
It’s intense.
The outside world sees me as suffering and possibly dying. My inside world is full of collateral damage and strategy. I still believe I can win. I lined up all my ducks in a row and even when my lymph is overloaded, I can switch to triage mode and nurse my liver through the pain. I can switch my metabolics to do damage to tumors or nourish me. I have to do it repeatedly in waves of immune attacks from my spleen. All while protecting my kidneys and blood vessels from the rhabdo that ensues.
To me, my inside world, is just like the pains of labour. Instead of it being a twice in a lifetime thing with birthing my daughters, it’s turned into a weeks long battle of labour. To extrude the tumor debris through my meridians and lymphatic system, like acne pain in every lymph node.
I am not suffering. I am just going through the motion of navigating my body tension to ease the phlegm through my body. I am birthing myself out of the caul of cancer. Cancer has invaded all my negative space and boundaries between organs, and I have to transform and squeeze it out like toothpaste. It hurts, phenomenally, but when I chase the pain and turn up the intensity to a tension I can bare to sustain, the tumors slowly digesting - start to move in big gulps of qatar. A thik material that feels wholly gross and stringy, it draws its tail behind it like a slug as my lymph nodes expel it. And that hurts intensely with every peristaltic wave of shit machinery.
I’m getting it out. Tablespoon by tablespoon. But the masses are many like a parasitic invasion.
And Keith finally knows what I have been up against. His deafness cannot reign while I am clearly ahead of the doctors while they are hopeless and rendered incompetent by denial of access to help by insurance.
Luckily I started my battle well before the doctors were up to speed. This is sarcoma. There is no cure or treatment. The oncologist is not even allowed to utter the words because they fear litigation here in the US, in England if they even think they smell cancer the doctor tells you upfront. Over here, they are stupid bound by rules not to traumatize a patient with reality.
I get it. And I don’t care. I’m fighting it the way a woman’s body knows how. By transforming it and laboring through. Don’t be scared for me I said to Keith. He says he is so helpless, but I told him, his presence is all I need. The pain of this journey being alone for so many years was more painful than this. His presence during my pain was the most important thing, and that is not being helpless, that is supporting me and providing me the safe space I need to labour through the pain.
It is unreal to him that his wife writhes on the floor in pain many times a day. But to me, this is just a dance. It hurts yes, but I am channeling body tension to milk the digested tumors out. In my state of subconcious awareness my pain is vibrant, I am chasing it, I am holding the pressure on the gobs of snot moving through the fascia plains, and this is like running a marathon. Over weeks. I am not in pain in my subconcious state of awareness, I am navigating the constellation of sensations, some of them as bright as pain, but in moving toward them, they ease until the next fight.
The way to cure a narcissist is to reveal how deaf he is to the transformation we can endure through pain. I need these sensations to guide me like the stars. I need pain. It is not suffering, it is a switch of modality that I have been through when I gave life. And finally Keith is witnessing this.
I know he is afraid. But he is being forced to watch and learn now as if his own life depends on it. Which, I have to say, his journey will start soon. He better have me at his side if he wants to survive it.