My Journal
July 2, 1998

Today I went to Ashland hospital with John to get a couple blood tests (mainly to test the level of Tegretol in my system). The nurse who was trying to draw my blood didn't know what she was doing, and her needle really hurt. She made three attempts. On the last try, I suddenly felt woozy and nauseous, so I fainted. The feeling of that state was really interesting. While I was passed out, I could feel my body trying to relax, like I really wanted to let go; but something else was keeping me from completely surrendering. It kind of felt like a dream. I felt the front of my body up against something. It felt warm. I felt like I was hanging on it. (I had flopped over onto the desk.) When I regained consciousness, I could not remember where I was. I looked at John's face in front of me and saw the nurse and then realized that I had been getting my blood drawn.

It all seems like a relevant analogy for something else. I imagine that the first stage of death could be like fainting. Or maybe that's how my surgery will feel. Yet maybe it won't be as conscious, since my mind was still working when I fainted (although it was in a very subconscious way). I felt the separate parts of my mind. The brain works in such interesting ways.

Today's whole experience made me feel very scared. It made me wary of hospitals and of trusting my body, my blood and my life in the hands of other people who are in the medical field. The thought that I'm going to have an IV in my arm for the surgery now sounds intimidating to me. Plus the surgeons are going to be opening up my skull to work with my brain. It's finally sinking in. I'll be there in seven days.

I keep finding myself in situations that open my eyes to valuable lessons from this tumor. People are sharing inspiring insights with me. I'm having to rethink some major issues in my life. I feel ready for change. I know I need to let go right now, which can be hard. I'm starting to see that there is an intense amount of bottled-up anger inside me. I think the tumor is a physical manifestation of the intense resentment. I aim for forgiveness.

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