Learn to Meditate

Practical advice for those newly diagnosed with cancer

The Monk at Prayer. Edouard Manet (1865).

I meditate using a contemplative practice taught by Fr. Martin Laird. Each morning, I sit on the carpeted floor of my office with my back against a couch so I don't slump. There is coffee: there is always coffee. I start a timer using the Insight app on my phone. I watch my breath, and on the out-breath, I mentally say the word "love." Any one-syllable word that is meaningful to you will work. Don't think about love; just say it. Your attention will drift away from your breath. Don't beat yourself up; just go back to "love." Start by meditating for 5 minutes and increase it when that feels right; if you try to do too much, you will fight it. 

Chenrezig, the Tibetan bodhisattva of compassion.

If that doesn't appeal to you, there are a gazillion other ways to do it. Each of the major streams of Buddhism has a distinctive technique. And if you want to meditate but do not want anything associated with a religion, there are secular techniques (Google "mindfulness meditation"). Whatever you do, don't make this a test of your virtue. The point is to make your life easier.

There are many reasons to meditate, but I recommend it because it can help you cope with fear. As a cancer patient, you will experience inescapable pain and suffering. Meditation can help you get through. Here are some situations in which I have used mediation to calm myself.

• Waiting to meet the physician who will tell me my biopsy results. 

• I was getting radiation, which blistered the inside of my throat, and I could not swallow. "Well," the nurse said, "now you'll have to feed through a tube." "Oh," I asked, "where will the tube go?" "Ah," she said, "we will thread it through your nose and down your throat." "Wow," I said, "so you will anesthetize me?" "Uh, no. You need to be awake while we do this." I thought, "Seriously?"  

I am in the mask and about to enter the radiation machine.

• Radiation treatment of throat cancer involves precisely targeting the x-ray beam so that it burns the tumour and spares healthy tissue. To make this work, my head had to be held still for 20 minutes in the same position for each of the dozens of radiation sessions. This was accomplished by making a mask out of a plastic mesh that covered my face, head, and neck. I laid down on a table or a sled that rode on tracks that led into the machine. A radiation tech put the mask over me and clips it to the table, fixing my head in position. Then the sled pulled me into the machine. The first time, this was terrifying; I felt like I couldn't get enough air to breathe. Fear increased my heart rate and made my breath quick and shallow, which increased my belief that I wouldn’t get enough air. This is the vicious cycle by which anxiety accelerates to panic. 

So I meditated inside the mask. Emotions are both cognitive and somatic. By focusing my attention and slowing my breathing, I reduced the physical symptoms of anxiety, such as rapid heart rate and shallow breathing. And my mind had something to do. By the third session, the mask didn't bother me at all.