breathe

Every day my radiation team walks me from the waiting room to the “treatment cave.” (You just know that room is encased in lead!) They ask me how I am feeling. Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I cry. I’m always tired. They console. They encourage. They cheer me on.

But mainly they remind me to breathe.

No, for real.

“Okay, deep breath now,” my lead tech, Bianca, says as she places a little black block over my heart so the green lasers can measure the air in my lungs. The radiotherapy room is big, freezing cold and dark. The table is hard, uncomfortable.

Bianca pauses for a few seconds as she and her partner “micro-shift” me to align the lasers with the three tattoos on my skin that look like freckles.

“Remind me to never play Jenga with you two!” When you can micro-shift someone—2 millimeters to the right, 1 millimeter up—imagine what you can do with a tower of  of blocks.

Bianca smiles. “You ready to hold still?”

“Yep. I’m banking on shooting lasers out my eyes today. Still waiting for those superpowers, you know.”

Then I am alone.

Arms above my head. Green lasers outlining the left side of my neck, chest, and armpit, like a monster staking out its turf. I close my eyes and try to ignore the itch on my forehead. There’s no moving once we start. Them be the rules.

The audio speaker above me crackles and I hear Bianca’s voice. “When you are ready, take a deep breath.”

I breathe in until my ribcage rattles a little. Then I hold it. The arms of the machine buzz and move around me like an octopus gathering its prey. I take comfort in its Stay-Puff Marshmallow smile topped off with a blue bow.

When you take a deep breath and hold it, your diaphragm, the big dome-shaped muscle located at the base of your lungs, pulls your heart away from your chest. This is known as a “Deep Inspiration Breath Hold,” or DIBH. (I know, what an acronym!)

Go ahead, give yourself a DIBH. Take a deep breath in and hold it.

When I was diagnosed with cancer on my left side, we knew radiation would be part of the treatment. The problem with radiation for lefties like me is the risk for heart disease. My heart is smack in the middle of the radiation field.

Okay, you can let out your breath now. Doesn’t that exhale feel good? So you feel inspired?

The radiation machine with its whirling arms can honestly feel overwhelming at times. The heat on my blistering skin. The pain in my shoulders. My bloodshot eyes.

But in the middle of the darkness, I hear a kind voice telling me to breathe.

“Inhale.”

“Hold.”

“Exhale.”

Once someone told me a story about a wise Rabbi who gave a young boy two pieces of paper. He instructed the boy to put one in his right pocket, and the other in his left. On the days when he was on top of the world and everything was going his way, he should reach into his right pocket where he would find the words,  “You are made of dust, and to this dust you will return.” When all the world was against the boy and he felt small, vulnerable, and alone, he should reach into his left pocket and read the words, “But for the love of you, God made the universe.”

“Okay Belinda, take a deep breath.” Bianca’s voice cuts through the cold air.

I inhale, praying, softly, just slightly above my breath:  “I am but dust, and to dust I will return.”

I hold my breath for the next 25 seconds, letting the message sink bone deep.

Breath prayer is an ancient form, appearing within the Orthodox tradition as early as the 3rd century. There’s even a word for God, Ruach, which literally means breath. The breath of God in our lungs.

Breath prayer is as simple as breathing. You choose one or two lines to meditate on while you inhale, and then exhale. For me, it calms fears and comforts doubts.

“You can breathe now,” Bianca says quietly.

Relieved, I exhale and say to myself, “But for the love of me, God made the universe.”

I can’t tell you how many times I have had to fight off tears as I let the those words roll over me. Infinitely valuable, loved from the top of our heads, right down to our toenails.

And made out of mud and dirt.

My son, ever the scientist, says we’re made out of carbon, oxygen and hydrogen. A little nitrogen and calcium too.

Sounds like dust to me. Deeply loved dust.

Thank you for making this climb with me, dear ones. With every breath today, may you feel the ruach of heaven fill your lungs.