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Michael Finley A THEOLOGY OF BRAIN TUMORS Page 1 A THEOLOGY OF BRAIN TUMORS by Michael Finley Michael Finley A THEOLOGY OF BRAIN TUMORS Page 2 Thanks for downloading A THEOLOGY OF BRAIN TUMORS. Note that this book is copyrighted. I continue to look for a publisher. Meantime, you can donate $2.99 to the author by going to: http://www.amazon.com/paypage/P1S1RX15FZS030 Thanks! (c) 2001 by Michael Finley; all rights reserved Michael Finley A THEOLOGY OF BRAIN TUMORS Page 3 TABLE OF CONTENTS [dedication] .................................................................................................................... 4 Acknowledgments .......................................................................................................... 7 Thar She Blows .............................................................................................................. 8 The Big Hurt ................................................................................................................ 10 Instruments of Inscription .......................................................................................... 17 Suffering Succotash .................................................................................................... 23 The Book of Bitching ................................................................................................... 30 The Visit of the Magi ................................................................................................... 35 Going Home .................................................................................................................. 39 Clay Pigeons ................................................................................................................. 42 The Melting Windshield .............................................................................................. 48 Jumping in the Night ................................................................................................... 52 How I Got My Tumor, Maybe ................................................................................... 56 The Thing Inside .......................................................................................................... 59 Guilt and Forgetfulness .............................................................................................. 64 Return to the World ..................................................................................................... 70 Celebrity Brain Tumors .............................................................................................. 79 And We All Shine On ................................................................................................. 84 The Color of Cardinals ................................................................................................ 88 The Taxi Trunk ............................................................................................................ 91 A Day ............................................................................................................................. 93 The Mending Tree ........................................................................................................ 95 Michael Finley A THEOLOGY OF BRAIN TUMORS Page 4 [dedication] To the ones who really matter … Jonathan my pride, Daniele my joy, and Rachel the delight of my days. Michael Finley A THEOLOGY OF BRAIN TUMORS Page 5 Michael Finley A THEOLOGY OF BRAIN TUMORS Page 6 Michael Finley A THEOLOGY OF BRAIN TUMORS Page 7 Acknowledgments Many people to thank. My doctors, especially Tim Rumsey, my regular doctor who is a better writer than me, and my brain surgeon Robert Gregory, the fellow who makes his hospital rounds in the dead of night. The nurse Carrie who sat with me during my fifteen lowest minutes ever and taught me that perfect strangers can change your life, by caring; if you were faking your kindness, Carrie, it was still spectacular. My teachers and mentors over the years, whether they knew it or not -- James Wright, William Stafford, May Sarton, Franklin Brainerd, Barry Casselman, Fred and Betty Pat Leach, Helgi Michelson, Dan Armitage, Paul Gruchow, Jim Vance, and Robert Bly. Peter Yarrow, for his kind concern and willingness to help. Aly Bain, the Shetland fiddler, for a good joke late one night, whiskey sweating through our brows. Jungle Larry, my onetime employer, for his inspiring example of man at home with the wilderness. The friends who helped me put on the brakes at my most runamok moments -- Rich Broderick, Dirk Leach, Erv Lopat, Debbie Leach, Carol Lukas, John and Noelle Morrison, Worth Frank, Deb Enloe, Alison McGhee, Harvey Robbins, James Mathewson, Julie Schumacher, Ned Berube, Tom Brown, Dan Kelliher, Jane Kerr, Kathleen Marotta, Larry Sutin and Bob Kearney. For my e-mail buddies from the meningioma and braintumr listservers -- for your heartache, for your courage and your encouragement, and for your stories. All the subscribers to my weekly newsletter ([email protected]) for sticking with me -- some of my weekly letters were quite revolting. My clients The Masters Forum and The Leigh Bureau, who called me early on to let me know they had no plans to replace me. My agent Andrea Pedolsky, for not wincing at the first draft of this project, when every critical cell in her must have cried out to do so. My father, Paul Finley, for his appreciation and support. My mother, Mary Josephine Mulligan Finley Konik, for her proud example of how to suffer and, in the end, how to make do with what you've got, and be grateful for it. Which leaves the immediate group -- my adored daughter Daniele, so wise and caustic and brave; my splendid son Jon, so pessimistic and so tender; and my wife and best friend Rachel -- soldier of kindness, exemplar of initiative, diva of learning, my raging red lioness who always brings me red meat -- so lovely and so weird -- I love you more than you could ever believe, and if I ever leave you, know that it will be with unsurpassable reluctance. Michael Finley A THEOLOGY OF BRAIN TUMORS Page 8 Thar She Blows Let me begin by telling you what I was thinking about the night my head caved in. I'm a 48 year old freelance writer, a hack writer with a hacking winter cough. It's been with me for two weeks, and every time I cough it rattles my timbers. I work at home, in our remodeled attic, seldom more than an intercom call from my wife Rachel and Jon and Daniele, our kids. I am a business writer, and I write articles and books with business themes, about teams and change and such. Since I don’t know much about the business of business, I focus on the human side of it -- what the workplace feels like (awful) and what managers go through to run an organization (hell). I'm always scheming some new idea. In truth I am less a book writer than a book schemer, having written over a hundred book proposals in my time. I have never written a best-seller, so most of my ideas go nowhere. My current scheme may be the worst yet: I am convincing myself to write a business book incorporating the lessons of Moby Dick. OK, laugh. Everyone does. But I am certain, tonight at least, it will be a great book, perhaps the greatest book ever, for a hack book anyway. I liked the story of the white whale as a child, and I read the actual book for the first time on a recent vacation. Since I have just discovered it, I am assuming no one else is familiar with it. If you squint and turn your head sideways, and ignore all the cosmic literary stuff, there are numerous lessons in the book about teamwork and leadership. My plan is that the hip half of my readership will snort at the foolishness of the idea but lap it up because it's funny; and the other half will take it at face value and think, "How true." Either way, I get both halves, and who knows, there may be thousands of each kind, and some lucky author will be able to buy lots of groceries. Andrea, my astute agent, assures me that my idea is without value. “Mike,” she advises me, “people hate Moby Dick. I hate Moby Dick. There is probably no more hated book than Moby Dick.” I accept that attitude. I can even work it into the model, I tell myself. I intend to open the book with a declaration of anti-intellectualism: “Hey, when you were in school, did you, like me, read the Cliff's Notes version Moby Dick instead of the Melville version?” See, I'll make a negative into a positive, converting dislike into like. I know I can do it because I have already talked myself into it. When you’re me, you get very good at making positives out of negatives. It is just past midnight, January 22, 1999. I am typing like crazy, interrupted only by coughing. I am surrounded by Kleenex and empty Diet Coke cans, and the blather is flying thick and furious, about how the sailors in the row boats formed cohesive cross collaborative units to keep the whale from killing them, and how the visionary leader Michael Finley A THEOLOGY OF BRAIN TUMORS Page 9 -- OK, the insane visionary leader -- skillfully defined a mission and motivated the enterprise to achieve it. I am on a roll. I feel great because I have a model that excites me, and that I have already written in my imagination. This would go here, and I would put that there. It'll work. Writing is so great. The idea is to keep working for another hour. But I'm all keyed up and need to stretch out to settle down. I get up from my desk to do some quick calisthenics to limber myself up for another dozen paragraphs. A fit of coughing comes over me, and I hack till I am