I’ve told you all about Operation Woo-Woo. Since we’re handling this Brain Candy ‘project’ with an integrative approach, we’re incorporating Eastern and Western techniques to the treatment plan.

Operation Woo-Woo is the kumbaya portion of my treatment, and it is so fun.

To that end, Raye, a petite-in-body big-in-soul Reiki practitioner came to our house the other night.

Now, from what I understand, Reiki is all about energy flow. That’s my Cliff Notes description, but I’m sure a quick click of The Google will yield much more helpful information than my simple-minded forever-glib understanding of life thingies.

Anyway, Raye’s placing her hands on me and blowing and sneezing and in general making me want to open my eyes to see what she IS doing, when she asks me, “What color is your tumor?”

“White, and black and gray,” I say, because those are the colors in the MRI (turns out it’s white and pink).

“What shape is it?” she continues.

“Cauliflower-shaped,” I answer, because that’s what shape it is in the MRI.

“How big is it?” she asks.

“More than 1 ½ centimeters,” I say, because that’s what size it is in the MRI. “Like, a plum,” I add, from out of nowhere.

“What is its name?” she asks.

“Sara,” I say.

WHAT? What did I just say? Where did that come from? Sara? No, I’ve been calling it Mini-Me and The Evil Parasitic Twin. It doesn’t get a name. Especially a name so sweet with such lovely associations to my dear Sara from college (Sara, I believe there’s no connection … read on!).

“What does Sara smell like?” Raye asks.

“Popcorn,” I say.

Double what??? Where are these statements coming from? I mean, they’re just falling out of me. In fact, I don’t even believe I’m saying them. Sara is.

“How does Sara feel?” Raye continues.

“She’s embarrassed. She knows she’s done the wrong thing and can’t undo it and now we’re all in a terrible bind,” I continue. “She’s horrified.”

OK. Now, what is all this channeling and speaking on my behalf? It’s bad enough that ‘Sara’ is trying to take over my brain, but my speech now too? Classy.

“I need you to befriend Sara and explain to her that she has to leave,” explains Raye. “She is in the wrong place and she needs to find an appropriate place to go. She’ll need your help, Deirdre.”

And all of a sudden, I feel so badly for Sara. Here’s this little set of me-cells who just got all excited to join the party and sprang to life, and I’m about to do everything in my power to nuke the hell out of her.

I feel sorry for Sara – my mother-clucking Grade 4 inoperable brain tumor. Fack.

So I’m no longer calling her Mini-Me or my Evil Parasitic Twin. She has a name, Sara. And while I’m very irritated that Sara makes me dizzy and tired and feeble-minded, I’m going to try (very lovingly) to help Sara leave this world so she can find an appropriate ‘vehicle.’

Oh, a quick note on the name Sara. When my parents named me, they whittled my choices down to two names: Deirdre … and Sara.

And Kathy has always said, “If you’d-a been twins, I would-a named you Deirdre and Sara.”

(BTW, that is NOT Sara pictured above. I’ll swap her in when I get a chance. But the whitish mass is a medulloblastoma.)

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