Jewish World Review Feb. 26, 2002 / 15 Adar 5762
You can radiate your brain without losing your soul
http://www.jewishworldreview.com --
The hardest part about writing about brain radiation is writing the words
"brain radiation."
I assure you that I'm OK. It's my fingers that are typing
these words on my computer. It's my thoughts that are deciding which of the
Yip Harburg lyrics from the Scarecrow's song, "If I Only Had a Brain," I
should use later in this piece.
After 14 sessions in which I received 250 rads each, I've met some great
people --- since so many great people get cancer. And I've solidified some
terrific friendships, since it takes terrific friendship to drive a person to
Cedars-Sinai and sit with one's own doubts during a friend's treatment.
Other than that, the only part of my reality that has changed is that my
hair, which had grown back into soft brown poodle curls, is once again gone.
At 4:30 a.m. on the morning of Radiation No. 13, my head was expelling poison
like Love Canal. Hair was everywhere. I got up, found my lady's razor and
took care of business.
Nevertheless, it is true. I've just completed three weeks of brain radiation.
Like every Jew alive, I believe that the brain is the seat of the soul. It
matters not at all if you've never heard an Orthodox take on spiritual
biology, in which the brain is equated to the Torah, while the "heart" is
divine service. The beis hamikdash, Holy Temple, G-d's residence, is described as, "The brain of the world."
The brain is the big act; it's us at our very essence. It's where we make up
puns and drive ourselves crazy with guilt, must-haves and might-have-beens.
You can take out a hunk of my lung, and I'll still want chocolate chip
cookies.
You can burn the daylights out of my cells with chemotherapy, and I'll still
love eggplant parmigiana.
But when an MRI suggested that tiny lesions in my brain would eventually
create a problem, I turned myself into Russell Crowe in "A Beautiful Mind,"
drawing pictures on stained glass. Except I'll never create a new market
theory.
I pleaded with my doctors, say it isn't so.
But lung cancer has a great propensity for metastasizing to the brain. Act
early and we have a chance.
Full-brain radiation is no one's first choice, but it doesn't have to be
awful. My worst problem was my imagination, having been primed by movies like
"The Snake Pit." The imagination, too, is in the brain, along with quantum
physics.
In moments of trouble, the soul becomes dogmatic. Maybe that's because the
soul is located in the brain, which is also where the "Pharaoh" resides.
According to one theory, "Pharaoh," is located in the back of the neck,
lodged in the brain stem, part of the essential dogmatic taskmaster that
won't let us go.
I brought to brain radiation all the same obsessions and skills that I've
used all my life. Which means, I was determined never to be merely a number,
a cog in the wheel.
I still had a brain.
My first day of brain radiation at Cedars-Sinai went like this:
I showed up at 6 p.m. accompanied by my daughter, Samantha, her friend
Heather and my friend Diane. My name was called over the loud speaker. The
four of us stood up, held hands and said a prayer.
Tim, the radiation tech, met me in the radiation room, with its giant version
of the machine that takes your teeth X-rays. He handed me my personalized
facemask, which I can now use for Olympic fencing, and gestured for me to hop
on the treatment table.
"Wait," I said. He wore a cross around his neck. I felt safe going into my
spiel.
"This is my brain we're working on here," I said, looking him in the eyes.
"Do your best."
And it went fine. The mask fit snug, and the cross hairs lined up perfectly,
so only the right areas got hit. The whole procedure took 90 seconds on each
side. He took good care.
The next day I moved to the morning shift. Over 13 more days in a row
excepting weekends, I would also meet Christine and Joanie and Kimberly.
From inside the mask, it went like this:
After checking my mask, Tim left. The room was silent. I'm alone. Tim calls
my name over the intercom. I begin to breathe deeply.
How will I get through this? Dare I pray for myself? Why the hell not!? I'd
say the "Misheberach" prayer for the ill for you, if roles were reversed. Why is the universal
"Om" better than the direct appeal?
So against the purr of the radiation, the glare of the white light and the
antiseptic spray of ozone, I prayed for a refuah sheleima, a full and
complete recovery.
You can radiate your brain without losing your
Enjoy this writer's work? Why not sign-up for the daily JWR update. It's free. Just click here.
JWR contributor Marlene Adler Marks is a columnist and author of "A Woman's Voice: Reflections on Love, Death, Faith, Food & Family Life ". Send your comments to her by clicking here.
11/20/01: And many more
By Marlene Adler Marks
"I would not be just a nothin'
My head all full of stuffin'
My heart all full of pain," sang the Scarecrow.
08/06/01: The Waiting Room
07/17/01: Some of the best times of my life have happened during chemo
04/19/01: Head Trip
04/11/01: Doorposts of my House
11/16/99: The return of my first-love
10/13/99: Educating the 'new Jew'
10/05/99: Digging in Deep
06/13/99: McCain, Jewish frontrunner?
06/08/99: The Meaning of Loehmann's, RIP