The instant I saw the tumor, time stopped. In the office of my neurosurgeon, Dr. Linda Sternau, I looked at my first MRI and saw a white mass the size of a golf ball in the center of my brain. As I shifted my focus from the deathly image of the tumor to the beautiful Miami skyline visible through the office windows, I began to feel a deep sense of calm growing inside me. This soothing energy gathered in my lower abdomen and traveled up my spine to the top of my head, where it spread and enveloped my entire body. Gone were the headache and double vision I had been experiencing, and with eyes wide open I slipped into a very deep meditative state. Within my mind, a clear and intuitive voice spoke to me, stating: "You will be fine. You are in for a very hard journey, but you will be fine."
At this moment, the constant flow of time that I had felt my entire life ceased to exist. In its place I found a vision of the past, present, and future so clear that my fears subsided instantaneously. In my recent past I saw the miracle of my current existence; the hydrocephalus caused by my tumor blocking the drainage of spinal fluid from my brain should have already killed me. An unobstructed view of my present let me realize that I was in the hands of one of the best and most caring neurosurgeons in the entire world. Looking at my future, I saw that despite the dark days that awaited me, I was meant to survive cancer. The clarity of these three simultaneous images supplied me with all the intuition, courage, and peace that I needed in order to endure my ensuing cancer treatment, which included two brain surgeries in five days, an intense chemotherapy regimen, and full brain and spine radiation therapy.
While this change in my perception of time helped me to survive cancer, it also caused me to feel out of sync with almost everyone else in my life. In talking with other cancer survivors, I perceived that we all shared this unique awakening along with a kind of post-traumatic stress. After struggling for years to identify the nature of my personal discomfort, I settled on the idea of Panoramic Time—the ability to feel, see, and interact with the past, present, and future simultaneously as a result of the stoppage of time. Through the duration of my treatment and recovery, I saw Panoramic Time as a blessing, then as a curse, and eventually as a blessing again.