September 22, 2015

It is what it is, but maybe I can guide it just a little bit. Maybe.

When I was in elementary school, around 3rd or 4th grade, I started getting migraines. The pain would last for hours and was unbearable, followed by copious amounts of vomiting and a sensitivity to light that lingered for days.

One day I got a blind spot and fell down the stairs at school. I don’t know if anyone really knew what to do with migraines then. I’m sure the nurse asked what happened and was baffled when some 3rd grader said she couldn’t see her feet. I’m positive it freaked my parents out, too. I was either really good at getting out of school or something was going on.

The migraines continued into high school, and in 9th grade my mother took me to see a neurologist. Migraine research was pretty new and he suggested I see a colleague of his who was experimenting with biofeedback and pain management at the time.

The second doctor showed me how to use my breath, my body, and my brain to control my migraines. I was hooked up to all sorts of gadgets measuring my heart rate (EKG), temperature, and brain activity (EEG). One of the first times I came out of the room, my legs were like jelly, and it was hard to walk. My mother thought he gave me a sedative. He was quite enthusiastic about how “low” I could go, and every week I went lower. It was the best drug ever and it was inside my brain. This doctor changed my life, and I don’t even remember his name.

It wasn’t the first time I experienced meditation. My science teacher in 7th grade had taken our class into the woods and sat us all down on logs while he talked about nature and connectedness. During the last part of class he had us close our eyes and “listen intently to nature.” He wanted us to relax into it. We were 7th graders, little shits. Most of the kids were snickering, poking each other, rolling their eyes, yawning. But something happened for me. As I was listening to the teacher and the birds, everything went completely silent. It felt it as if I separated from my body and from time. It was like I was moving forward and backward at the same time. I was here, in the moment. It’s like when you fly in your dreams. THAT feeling. I look back at this and realize it was my first experience with drugs. This is the high people chase, and it’s pretty goddamn awesome. This is what meditation feels like for me now, and has since I was 12.

I’ve never had a full blown migraine since the biofeedback. I get a blind spot. I meditate. It goes away, quickly. What does this have to do with cancer? When I think of recovering from surgery physically and emotionally I’d rather use meditation than pills. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll take pills if I need them without hesitation. But I’m pretty sure I already have the best drug possible inside me already.