Recently I have been contemplating the purpose of a tumour in the body. We all know that a tumour is a mass created by a bundle of cells. Sometimes benign, sometimes malignant. But what is a tumour when the cancerous cells are inactive? As with my case, I still have a whopping 4 cm x 2.5 cm tumour in the outer layer of my brain (within the dura mater). However, according to a recent PET scan, cancer has left the building! In other words, the tumour is still there even though the cancer has fallen asleep.
I have been investigating the nature of a tumour. Recently I read about how tumours are the body's response to 'dead spots' in the body. In other words, places where inflammation, lack of oxygen and very little life force flows.
I am by no means saying that this is accurate. It is just simply another way to think about a tumour. I have always found it helpful to perceive my body as a story rather than a clinical observation. I think of a tumour as space in the body that is not receiving life force. Similar to a black hole in the universe. Instead of sending the correct cells to the tumour (to dissolve it) my body has temporarily chosen to fill it up. Like a plug.
I like this idea. That tumours are plugs. Perhaps my tumour is my body's way of placing something in my weakest spot in a futile attempt to give it a placeholder. If this is true, my question is "how do I give those spaces in my body LIFE? How do I help the dead spots in my body remember how to live?
For me, the obvious answers are: sunlight, exercise, oxygen, presence and joy.
As a writer and podcaster, I also find that dialogue helps. So here is my letter to the tumour in my head:
Dear Tumour,
I see you. You are still here, nestled in the outer layer of my brain. You’ve been with me for some time now, and though the doctors tell me that cancer has fallen asleep inside you, your presence remains.
I have wondered about your purpose. Why are you here? What message do you bring? At first, I feared you. I thought you were my enemy. But as I’ve listened more deeply, I’ve begun to see you differently. You are not simply a mistake or a threat, you are my body’s response to something much deeper.
I imagine you as a plug, a placeholder, filling a space in me where life force has not been flowing. A space that might have been inflamed, neglected, or without vitality. You came not to kill me, but to hold a place, to prevent collapse, to mark an area where attention is needed. In that way, you are like a flag, or even like the body’s attempt at love. You are an imperfect but earnest gesture to protect me.
So rather than hating you, I want to thank you. Thank you for reminding me that healing is not only about fighting, but about nourishing. Thank you for showing me the places in my body that need more life.
And now, dear tumour, I want to tell you this: I am ready to bring life back into those spaces. I am offering you sunlight, fresh air, oxygen, movement, joy, and presence. I am breathing vitality into the places you guard. I am choosing to flow life where once it was blocked.
If you are ready, you may dissolve, you may soften, you may release your post. If you wish to stay, then let us coexist in peace, without fear. I honour your presence, but I also trust my body’s wisdom and resilience to know when your work is complete.
Thank you for being my teacher. Thank you for reminding me to live fully into this one precious day.
With compassion and love,
Nathalie Brewer
