MEDITATION
AND THE ART OF CYBERKNIFE TREATMENTS
In
early January, doctors at Kaiser diagnosed a mass in my head
as a benign meningioma, a brain tumor, in the left cavernous
sinus near the pituitary gland. Due to the sensitive location,
surgery was not recommended. Radiation treatment was recommended
and, since Kaiser doesn’t do radiation treatment, they referred
me to Stanford for "Cyberknife" treatment.
The
cyberknife is cutting-edge technology which uses a linear accelerator
and computers to shoot radioactive particles directly on target
into the tumor. Dr. Steven Chang, the head of the team that treated
me, explained that the surrounding tissue in the brain is resistant
to the radiation so the radiation kills the tumor and does little
to no damage to surrounding nerves and tissues. Still, the idea
of having radioactive particles shot into my brain was a little
nerve wrecking. That and the fact that my head was literally
pinned down to the table. I’ll explain.
I
went to Stanford on Thursday, January 23rd, to be introduced
to the cyberknife, to have a mask made, and to have a CT scan
of my brain. In preparation for the CT scan, I told the nurse,
then one of the doctors, that I had had a CT scan of my body
done the week before at Kaiser and had broken out in a rash the
day after. Because of the previous allergic reaction, they pumped
benadryl and a steroid (Decatron, I think) into my vein, then,
since I was in no shape to walk, carted me over to the Blake
Wilbur Clinic to meet the cyberknife. The cyberknife looks like
a huge microscope and I was placed on the table so that my head
was just underneath. But on that day, all they did was put a
blue mesh material over my face and press it down over my features
to create a mask. The mask dried quickly and was taken, along
with me, over to Radiology for the CT scan.
In
Radiology, the mask was placed over my face and fastened down
on the sides. But then the radiologist came out, asked me questions
about my rash and feelings of constriction in my throat and vetoed
the CT scan without proper preparation. That night I needed to
take 50 mg of Prednisone at 8 pm, 2 am and again at 8 am the
next morning along with 50 mg of benadryl, then went in for the
scan. The scan took place without a hitch though I did break
out in a rash again the next morning and was wakened with tight,
constricting feelings in my throat. I took more benadryl and
soon felt better. Clearly, I’m allergic to the dye injected into
a vein for the CT scan.
The
next Monday the first of three cyberknife treatments began. I
was told each treatment would take about 40 minutes. Each treatment
began with the fitting of the mask over my face and fastening
it down on the sides of the table, so my head was literally pinned
down. I was told to close my eyes due to the fact that laser
beams would float by now and then and shouldn’t get into my eyes.
I went into this thinking that with 8 years of meditation practice,
all this shouldn’t bother me. Well, I think I set myself up for
trouble with this thought. The first 5 or 10 minutes were spent
getting me into just exactly the right position, then everyone
else left the room heading for cover behind a lead wall and the
cyberknife was turned on. I could see the impression of the lights
behind my closed eyes, I could hear buzzing sounds and hear the
movement of the cyberknife. I was told that if I needed to swallow,
to go ahead and swallow, and if I needed to cough, to go ahead
and cough. But all I could think of was staying perfectly still
so that none of the radioactive particles would end up in a wrong
area of my brain. I also seemed to think that I was going to
be an example of how someone who meditates can be calm and cool
about all this. But instead, in my efforts to do this, I could
not calm myself and began to feel fear and panic.
The
first time I felt fear, I invited the fear to be with me and
endeavored to comfort and calm my fear. This seemed to work a
little. But when I kept having trouble slowing my breath, I began
to feel fear again. This time I instinctively told myself, "Don’t
go there!" I began to distract myself from the thoughts
of fear by thinking of other things. This helped! Later I remembered
Rumi’s poem about "not going where fear would like to lead
you." In this case, this was so true. So, by the end of
the first treatment, I did manage to calm down.
On
the second day, my daughter, Anne, took me to Stanford. This
time when I began to notice twinges of fear, the thought came
to mind that instead of being afraid of the cyberknife and what
it was doing, that I needed to relax and let it do what it needs
to do. "It’s there to help me, after all," I said to
myself. So with that thought I began to align myself with the
cyberknife. "Go cyberknife, do your stuff!" Then I
just let myself experience everything that went on. One of the
things I noticed was what looked like traces of particles visible
inside my closed eyes, as if you see a shooting star fall and
the trail it leaves behind, though not bright. It seemed suddenly
as if the inside of my head was like space–that particles could
go shooting through in between cells and atoms but stop in just
the spot where they needed to be. Amazing! The next thing I started
to do during this second treatment was what is called Loving
Kindness Meditation. I began to think of individual people in
my life and to send good wishes their way. And so went my thoughts,
on and on for the rest of the session, thinking of one person
after another and of what might be helpful for them. At the end
of this treatment, as they were removing the mask from my face,
I could hear Anne’s voice as she entered the room. Anne told
me later, "Mom, you were glowing." "You mean with
radiation," I said jokingly. "No, Mom, you looked really
happy." I was. I felt incredibly happy. I used this approach
during the last treatment session and it went very smoothly.
I
felt no pain during or after the treatments. I was told that
some people might feel headaches or nausea and, at the end of
each treatment, I was given a tablet of Decatron to help prevent
swelling of the surrounding tissues and relieve any possible
side effects, but I never had any. No, I take that back. I did
experience sleeping problems and weird dreams at night, then
tiredness during the day, but these problems disappeared after
a week.
At
any rate, following treatments I would come home and just relax.
The afternoon following the completion of the cyberknife treatments,
I received the latest issue of Shambhala Sun (March 2003), a
Buddhist magazine, in the mail. I opened it up at random and
found an article called, The Lama in the Lab. The article described
research that’s been done with the help of practiced meditators
to show whether or not there are any brain changes during different
types of meditation. I ran and grabbed a highlighter when I read
this on page 68:
"In short, Oser’s [a meditator who was being tested] brain shift during
compassion seemed to reflect an extremely pleasant mood. The very act of concern
for others’ well-being, it seems, creates a greater state of well-being within
oneself. The finding lends scientific support to an observation often made by
the Dalai Lama: that the person doing a meditation on compassion for all beings
is the immediate beneficiary."
It
was so amazing to me that this magazine arrived at my house on
the very afternoon that I finished my radiation treatments. I
knew what they were talking about–from my own experience! But
I’m aware of something more–that this healing does not end with
me. I feel so grateful to be alive. I feel a renewed commitment
to my Bodhisattva vows, to my work as a Mental Health Counselor,
to my relationships, and to my laundry. Now, more so than before,
the laundry is nirvana.
"May
all beings be happy."
Carol
February 8, 2003
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