An Update on Lewis

And how slowing down is sometimes all the body asks

I’ve been reading your letters, well-wishes and prayers to Lewis. I am remiss for not having written sooner. What I mean is: I’m sorry. It’s never my intention to disappear. More and more, I feel like I’m turning into Tommy.

My oldest friend, Peter, he said, over the “phone” from Sweden, a few weeks ago:

“I can’t communicate.”

“I can’t either,” I said.

But we have been friends for forty years. This means we can at least communicate honestly about no longer being able to communicate. Neither of us expects to other one to be less shell shocked.

Scandinavians, among their many attributes—they understand silence. They understand the impossibility of saying anything, or better to say, why it’s better to say nothing than to say something when you can’t really say anything.

In any case, I took all of your prayers and well wishes for Lewis and gathered them up. I placed them in a(n) (imaginary) mason jar.

“Look Lewis, fireflies,” I said.

He blinked—closed his eyes.

We’ve had a blessing come over us, since last I wrote.

I had not realized the vet had been trying to reach me, but it turns out they needed to move the surgery from this past Monday to the following Monday.

That bought us time. Hooray!

This below is a photo of Lewis with his castor oil and turmeric poultice. He has another one made of DMSO and aloe. And another from colloidal silver. And guess what?

The growth has diminished, significantly.

“It’s definitely smaller,” says Diana, when I’m not sure I can trust my perceptions.

“It is, right?” I say.

“You should measure it,” she says.

“Yeah.”

“I think it’s about 40 % smaller.

I had a session with Amandha Vollmer, and he confirmed I was on the right track, and gave me what felt like the real truth, which, if you know her work, you will be aware of.

“I’m not going into the cancer matrix with him,” I said.

“I get it,” she said.

The whole process was about me unblocking myself from the truth Lewis already knew and was trying to tell me. It wasn’t about being saved either by Amandha Vollmer or the vet/surgery.

It wasn’t about being rescued at all, suddenly, but about staying calm, hearing God, hearing Lewis, and accepting the radical possibility that maybe, just maybe, just this once, I can be allowed to follow my instincts.

Naturally, I would like to project all my wild existential anxieties onto this animal. But when push comes to shove—who am I? Am I somebody who believes in the body’s ability to heal or am I not?

“So Mama, I don’t have to have the surgery?” Lewis asked.

“I think we’re going to take our time and we’re going to support your body, and yes, I think we’re canceling the surgery. I mean we are, Lewis. I just haven’t gotten through to them yet. I was on the phone to them and then Melissa called. I’ll cancel in the morning. And thanks for being so good with those poultices. You have a lot of people concerned about you.”

“Tell them I’m doing just great. Soon there will be no growth at all. And tell them I said thank you so much.”

Jack, meanwhile, has taken Lewis back, let him come a bit closer, after a long time of estrangement. I wonder if that’s because the “cancer” is retreating.

We love DMSO.

“It was invented by a Russian scientist,” I tell Lewis.

“We should learn his name,” he replies.