Chaper 1
My Diagnosis
The Medicine Chest
IS
too Small!
My Diagnosis
The Medicine Chest
IS
too Small!
Already on the edge of sanity, I gripped the steering wheel as tightly as I held my thoughts. My shoulders lifted almost to my ears. My heart raced with the pace of the car and the second hand of a Timex watch. The adrenaline still crept through my veins from the morning's interruption of business calls. The fear that a simple cure may not be in sight kept the high coursing through my body. I glided between cars and stoplights as the red Nissan Pathfinder rocked back and forth in the same rhythm as my frantic state. I disliked being late for anything. The stress was killing me.
Even as my future lay heavily on my mind, I couldn't help but notice the wonder of new life unfolding outside my window. Country suburbs quickly rolled into concrete downtown Nashville. Yet, the air was still perfumed with the smell of warm grass turned green by the sun mixed with the sweet fragrance of white blossoms. They hung abundantly in clumps on the black locus trees. White spidery dandelion seeds floated away from their anchors, swept forward by tiny gusts of air. Like the spring arrival, my favorite time of the year, I embraced the chance for new beginnings. If only it was that easy to change.
Arriving slightly late, I greeted my mother and Chris, my boyfriend for seven years. I was thankful to have Chris with me. He always offered a different perspective to situations. Maybe this came from being a northerner from Ohio. Traveling as a guitar player and vocalist for a new country artist kept him away most of the time. Perhaps this was a blessing, because I couldn't immerse myself in our relationship anyway. I didn't know what our future held together. Love was in our words to each other. However, a cancer verdict seemed to add clarity to our previous decision to not get married. Neither of us was ready for that sort of long-term commitment. Possibly because we have our careers to nurture or maybe fear of failure. Regardless, marriage without sickness is hard enough. We certainly didn't need any complications added to our relationship
.
On the way to the waiting room, we walked past an open area crowded with IV poles; drip bags were casually attached to people like gas pumps to cars. The room smelled of medicine: chalky and acidic. Chris's elegant, aquiline nose scrunched up in disgust. We all quickly glanced away from the sad blank eyes that studied us.
As we waited to see the doctor, I pushed back the emotion of disbelief that this could be happening to me. Instead, I tried to remain true to my nature since childhood: strong and positive. Yet, the constant chatter in my head soon began like early morning birds on a feeding frenzy.
Hope I remember everything. I think I read enough on cancer. High risk of damage from treatments. Can't my body heal without destroying it with drugs? I really want to try alternative ways of beating this. I wonder what would work. Where's God's answer? I did pray. I can't hear him. Need answer soon. My choice can make life easy or hard. I hope it's a short path with an easy fix. I really need that answer soon. What if I don't pick the best path? If only I had taken better care of myself. Years of bad choices. I should have reduced my stress levels, ate right, worked less, exercised, and slept more. I did some of these things. Sometimes. Just not enough. Why didn't I avoid preservatives, chemicals, smoking, fertilizers, people ill with viruses? I should have taken time off. Gone to the doctor more often. I did go, what unpleasant places. Felt like a small child, spanked for feeling bad. Conclusions were always the same. To think it took six years and months of antibiotics before a diagnosis. The pain wasn't in my head. Wished it had been...
The nurse's voice blared from across the waiting room, "Renee Sutton."
I immediately thought, why couldn't they just say my first name or remember my face?
Goose bumps rose on my arms as we entered a stark white examination room, large enough to seat just the four of us. Was it the chill of learning my fate or the iciness from the room temperature? Maybe the temperature is purposely set low to offset the heated moments that occur with the delivery of bad news.
The oncologist wore the typical white mid-length technician coat. Observing the formality of his appearance, I wondered what substance he was protecting himself from--cancer? He wasn't there to examine me. I thought to myself, maybe this is how doctors set themselves apart from their patients.
He described to us the sequence of events for a yearlong duration of treatment needed for Hodgkin's disease, the lymphatic cancer that had engulfed my chest. The oncologist said, "It calls for chemotherapy and radiation because of the cancer's advanced stage towards the heart and lung." He then mumbled something about a tumor the size of a grapefruit.
My brain churned as he kept talking in what seemed like a staged play. Year? How much chemo? How much reduction? Eight intravenous drugs? Port?
The information swirled in my head. He wasn't sure of how much reduction would occur with chemotherapy. The radiation to follow would kill any remaining cells and help reduce the size of the tumor. I would need to start immediately. I could still hear him talking, but it sounded more like a buzz now.
Shocked by the news, my thoughts drifted back to four months ago to a visit with my new primary care physician. The tumor was missed in the reading of a previous X-ray. This early in the diagnosis I resolved that it was a simple mistake, but costly to me. Some people had urged me to sue for such a blatant oversight of a tumor, but I knew that a lawsuit would not rid me of the cancer. As the eldest of four children and with parental teachers, I had learned early to be accountable for my own actions. I hadn't taken care of myself through the years. Now I paid for it.
Still, it was hard to imagine how in less than ten years I had climbed the ladder to become a manager at a high tech company, advising upper management on critical business ventures. All the while the seeds of cancer were multiplying in my body. A year to undo the damage seemed like an awfully long time; a lot of career progress quickly lost.
I shook off the thoughts of discouragement and straightened my suit jacket. I cleared my throat for courage to ask the oncologist, "Can you tell me what alternatives or holistic methods could be used instead of chemo."
I hoped for an answer that would be less invasive and destructive than chemotherapy--maybe even something with a shorter recovery. There were only a few books on the market that described the various alternative methods and their risks, including vitamin C, and other megavitamins, laetrile (amygdalin extraction from pits of peaches), immune serum protein, chelation theraphy, macrobiotics, acupuncture, and coffee enemas. Most were experimental, administered somewhere other than Nashville, and lacked evidence for stopping cancer. These therapies definitely weren't covered by insurance.
Even so, I wanted to gather every piece of information on how to treat cancer--particularly outside of the standard medicine since I was sensitive to chemicals. The oncologist professed to know nothing about alternative cancer treatments. A smirk spread across his so sure face.
"You're going to die if you don't take chemo," he blurted.
Mom gasped as she struggled to maintain composure. "Well then, that just doesn't leave any choice in the matter of what to do," she responded. Mom had taught me to ask questions to any type of doctor and as many questions as possible. Mom froze. I suspect she felt forced into the corner of the unknown when there is not enough information about a subject or maybe it was the fear of death for her child.
Chris sat quietly anticipating my response. He shot an alarmed glance at me as I struggled to find the words to counter back. In synchronicity, Chris and my body lifted with strong will and poised for an attack of more questions.
The oncologist's choice of words shocked me to sudden quietness. I thought, how could he be so sure that I would die if I chose another way to heal? I felt like I was standing on a diving board for the first time, with the entire conventional medical community behind me, ready to push me forward. The doctor explained that other therapies weren't proven. Yet, I knew full well that once I took that dive into chemotherapy, my body could later pay-- from early menopause, gum disease, immune disorders, breast cancer, leukemia, other cancers or liver damage.
I wanted to live. I believed hopefulness of living was hidden somewhere between the lines of the doctor's death warning. Was the opposite really true, that if I did take chemo, then I would live? The word "die" reverberated in my head like the constant clicking sounds of katydids in the summer, harder to ignore the more it repeats. At that weak moment fear grabbed me like a villain, using the word to convince me of certain failure in healing my body more naturally. I could have used a better form of hope than the oncologist's statement.
I was thankful that he didn't throw out any further prognosis, like statistics on recovery. I didn't ask but couldn't help to wonder, how long would I live? Only until diagnosed with cancer, I now understood the death sentence given when acquiring an illness that doctors don't know how to cure. The sentencing became evident in the reactions from others. I could see it in their hesitation or careful choice of words used when they encouraged me or in the simple statement made by a doctor.
I fought the fear back into the depths of my subconscious and decided to keep my thoughts to myself. Chris followed my lead. I stayed calm as a deeper decision developed in my head. I chose to make my own prognosis, with or without the support of the medical community. I desired to step beyond the boundaries of what was accepted as truth about cancer recovery. This first step formed the foundation of my new beginning. I dreamed of the possibilities for a better way to heal and in a much more restorative, comforting environment with positive and openly undoubting medical support
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Since the diagnosis of cancer ten years ago, I have seen this dream unfolding as a new model and customer oriented health care. It is a movement towards an integrative and whole-person approach to healing that includes both alternatives, sometimes called complementary medicine, and traditional practices. However, there are other changes occurring that go beyond the holistic approach. In support for better patient care, the new health care model expands to make adjustments in attitude, environment, and coordination. However, I extend it further to include more and radical changes in the mindset, patient-physician relationships, and governance of health care. My dream transformed into a vision to spread health and hope to everyone. I am doing this through my everyday contact with anyone and by giving business to those health care entities that embrace the changes. I didn't just experience an awakening from my own encounter with cancer but also in the long-term relationship with the medical providers caring for me. Ten years ago I felt lost, unguided, and exposed to more unhealthy conditions. I wanted to know how to avoid health problems and risks but felt like my concerns were ignored. As I experience the healing business from a patient's set of eyes, aspects of a better health care model are explored throughout the story. Simple wisdoms used ages ago by doctors helped me to spread health and hope in my own life and in the lives of others.
My quest began, thankfully, by discovering those professionals or institutions that have stepped outside the boundaries of traditional Western medicine to include non-conventional options, like Cancer Treatment Centers of America and Deepak Chopra's Center for Well Being. I use the term alternative to reference anything that is not considered mainstream or standard in the conventional treatment protocols used by medical providers. Some practices have embraced a few alternative modalities but don't address the entire equation of mind, body, and spirit in the healing process. Such practices employ licensed doctors, psychiatrists, nurses, and psychologists. Others are those gifted and qualified to provide spiritual and emotional guidance as chaplains, ministers, and volunteer healers. There is a holistic nursing community that has embraced some alternative healing techniques, which are increasingly offered to their patients. Unfortunately alternative methods are often not explored until the critical juncture, after the standard conventions failed. They are being offered nonetheless. With these out of-the-box thinkers and risk-takers, the public is today more aware of the possibilities that non-traditional health care options provide to them. The door stays open for those who believe that there are better ways.
Although the new model bears hope for the future, there are still many barriers to change. New therapies, technologies, medicines, procedures, and research on mind-body are constantly coming to light. Yet, there are still not enough therapists and doctors with the in-depth knowledge, training and/or certification to effectively bring this healing to the mass market. Advances are certainly less seen in the local doctor's office. The proactive patient is left with no choice but to take matters in his own hands, or through hearsay, find an alternative medical practitioner. Unfortunately, problems can worsen or new ones emerge because of untrained, misinformed usage of complementary treatments. To further complicate this situation is the lack of coordination between practitioners with their treatments.
Growth of the caring business increases as the population becomes larger and ages. This causes stress and low morale among the professionals with the increase of demand and a shortage of the trained. They come to the job with their own life stresses; they are people too. New health information that professionals should know surfaces everyday but can't keep up with it, which only adds more stress to the growth.
Other barriers are the institutions like the FDA, governments, and health care organizations that help balance and protect society from wrongful intent or the ineffectiveness of some health care solutions. An imbalance can occur through over-governance, which in turn can delay cost and life-saving solutions. They need research and experimentation before releasing solutions to the public. There is not enough testing with alternative options, even though there is much done on the conventional methods. Sometimes alternatives are in medical research but stifled because it's different or the methods are in the early stages of thinking. Many people in the past have sacrificed and incurred much suffering due to lack of knowledge or long delays in releasing solutions. An example is the pain incurred in surgery for generations before anesthesia could be used in the U.S. Legs were amputated to avoid nerve pain and spasms in the paralyzed, which is now calmed with prescription drugs. Governing entities and insurance companies rely on the results of research and testing, which doesn't occur often or fast enough.
Another barrier is the politics and profitability around medical solutions evolved from the treatment of symptoms, which began as early as 460 BC. The diagnosis, prognosis of conditions, currently practiced solutions, and stagnant way of thinking form what I call the "medicine chest"--a box that implies boundaries. The current "medicine chest" and the hopelessness portrayed when there is no cure prevents patients from using things that work and stifles the general population from allowing the body to heal. At the root of the medicine box is fear in so many realms: fear that profits will not occur, fear that someone won't heal, fear of being unsuccessful, fear of being sued, fear of being wrong. I finally gave fear a name, Fear Thought. With the villainous Fear Thought in the way, we lose sight of the humanitarian vision of caring for those suffering in health. We have lost flexibility in this area to hope and think big with creativity. These two things are needed to break down the barriers for better and more accessible health care options. All of this is my diagnosis of the health care industry.
As the journey unfolds in my story, the appearance of an advanced model reveals health and hope encountered through a patient's eye and perspective. The first glimpse at better health care is having more choices available, alternative or conventional, experimental, proven or unproven within an enhanced environment to heal using a new attitude in the patient care relationship based on a new way to hope.
Unless the health care system changes dramatically, ailing people will continue to live in pain and even die-when a new approach could save them from this fate. It is an unjustifiable suffering. What if the real message from the Christian, Jewish, and Islamic prophets' was that the better "hoped for" life is not when we die, but really when we advance to a pure loving interaction? This would be an advancement that requires thinking and responding differently on a solid foundation of faith and trust. Grabbing onto such a foundation coupled with the reminded goal to end pain and suffering in health just may boost the morale within the health care community. This type of enthusiasm could advance us forward. There are examples in life that advanced humanity by walking through a new window of thought; such as in the search for freedom, the saving of the planet, and even in the current health quest to help people in suffering. We must all hope for a change and for something better, with a sense of urgency.
The broken hope found in the majority of sickness and medical practices needs healed. If we do this and individually reach for the best but all work together, a better health care model for the twenty first century can happen faster. Hopefully this can occur without a negative impact. What do I lose by hoping this highest thought? Nothing lost. How would I know for sure that this hope can or can't be achieved? I don't. I just trust. Is it unrealistic to hope for better health care that can heal me faster and from things that are claimed incurable? Not when my expectations are just to have something better.
I return back to my story ten years ago in 1992 before the integrative health movement took hold. This was a time when herbs weren't available in supermarkets. Institutions didn't ask for their patients' healing needs. Current drugs were only a thought. Eastern methods of healing were largely taboo in the southeastern United States
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My dream of a better way to heal became disrupted by the ringing of a few words spoken bluntly by an oncologist that I met only twice. You're going to die You're going to die You're going to die. Somehow the negative words attached to a thought in the brain, forgetting the end of the sentence. I left his office in a daze but with a new mission. My new beginning started with a thump.
Doctors were the wiser was the tradition, and I looked to him for guidance. The road to recovery looked long and disheartening because there were no answers. There was so little support for alternative options. I felt completely alone in my opinion, but pressed on to embrace the change as a means to get control of an uncontrollable situation. By default, I reached to my business skills in communication, team approach, and analysis. I hoped to create a cooperative medical team and to find the reasons for cancer. It made sense to use the good business rules in the healing environment. To do so, would I be shunned as a crazy person?
After the first oncologist explained the standard medical treatment path, I sought the expertise of a second oncologist, Dr. Gleen. He was a young single man, tall and sturdy like in the pictures of Greek gods. He didn't act with a god-like attitude, though. He too was unconvinced of my belief in the promise of non-traditional medicine to heal cancer, but he was open to the possibilities.
Left with no other educated or supported choices, I was off to receive chemotherapy at the "IV filling station" located in Nashville's Saint Thomas hospital. The room hosted color TVs with my favorite soap operas in an attempt to transport me from the reality of what was happening to my body. The truth of the experience was a row of vinyl loungers within a large cold room painted white and gray. I created a real healing place at home when I was alone and talked to God. Like my faith in God, I envisioned a complete trust in a different brand of healing.
I proceeded with the decision to use conventional medical treatment. I also began natural means of building my body's power to heal itself from cancer and chemotherapy. I read nearly every book available on the immune system and holistic medicine. If I developed a stronger immune system, the authors advised that my body would fight the cancer on its own. I had spent the past three months on antibiotics to fight what was thought to be a bronchial cold. This was a huge sign that my immune system didn't work properly. The chemotherapy was bound to erode it further. The cancer cell type was labeled as lymphocyte deplete, meaning that the immune system already had a problem with producing disease-fighting cells.
Why wasn't I informed on how to care for a damaged immune system? It made perfect sense to me to combine the two healing approaches. Books hinted at a root cause for a poor immune system. I asked the doctors but they didn't know. There wasn't much known on causes and prevention of poor immunity. I was forced by lack of knowledge to observe my own health situation at a root cause level.
The poor state of my health made me look at the relationship between stress and immunity. I was caught in the high stress of the lucrative business of computers and telecommunications. With little time given to my needs, long dedicated hours had gained me much achievement at work. It didn't pay off for my health.
The bronchial dry cough, rashes, weight loss, and night sweats had prolonged for months. These symptoms didn't slow me down either. This also should have sent me a clue earlier that something was wrong. I was absorbed with other things. The desire for personal achievement and better pay overrode the need to be health-conscious. The diagnosis of a life threatening illness stopped me like a disconnected phone call. Yet, I still tried to get more done, rushing here and there. Another choice made on my own.
I was caught in the frustration of a desire to change but didn't know how. Was I addicted to adrenaline, the stress drug, or a workaholic? Did stress cause my immune system to diminish? Could the nurse at work, who led the stress reduction workshops, see the stress problem impacting my health? Did I just not listen?
Now weeks since the diagnosis, I sat for my first chemotherapy treatment. The IV attached to a port implanted beneath the skin on my left arm. There were hours in this position to think about the learned behavior of stress. I reflected back on how Mom had accompanied me through sterile hospital halls during an onset of diagnostic ordeals, while she negotiated with the suave land developers from Iran. Mom, a hard worker since her teens and an expert at multi-tasking, had arrived in Nashville for her real estate deals. She grew up in my birth home of the east Tennessee mountains, but Nashville was our stomping ground for most of my life. She was the first woman in the sixties to enter a male world of real estate. She was my female model for high achievement. I guess I learned a high tolerance for stress and change from a childhood life in constant churn with three siblings and my parents' self-made businesses.
During my reflections, several insights emerged on the affect of long term stress and its culprit. Right away they had informed me of a large tumor but diagnosis couldn't be confirmed. This had landed me quickly into an unsuccessful needle biopsy with a punctured lung as the outcome. Then the weekend in a surgical biopsy left me with a tumor still inside of my chest but uncovered my allergic reactions. The dyes, used to x-ray, had formed dark lines and circles on the skin over each kidney and across my arms. It basically burned the body from the inside out. The burnt veins remained evident. This had been my first awareness of sensitivities to drugs and dyes, a sign the immune system was weak. I had taken four instances of different dye tests. Each time, I had incurred high fevers and delirium. My concerns were voiced repeatedly. It was the last CT Scan in the hospital where the doctors and technicians finally accepted that I was sensitive to dyes.
Recuperation from diagnostic procedures at my townhouse in southeast Nashville had kept me pseudo sedated while waiting days for results. Not knowing the diagnosis didn't help my psyche; continuing to work did. My feeling had been that a weekend off for surgery was already too much to ask of myself. To add a few weekdays far exceeded my tolerance for missing work. I had worked at home, my compromise to taking sick time and a means to still accomplish a pile of work. The quiet time during treatment helped me to realize that my drive to succeed was warped, and must be a root cause to my current stress levels and a poor immune system.
Getting past diagnosis was a big step and led me into weekly rituals of IV's and checkups. The treatments forced me to sleep most the day, but I poured through reading material when awake. By nature, my analytical mind gathered as much information as possible about the disease, the body, and holistic approaches. My philosophy was that better decisions are made with more information in your hands. So I searched for answers. I had applied this principle for years in business, so why not in my own health?
I read about statistics for death, reoccurrence, and the potential for long-term side effects of chemotherapy. It crossed my mind that too much information might not be a good thing. There was no separation of good from the unhelpful facts. I felt statistics and prognosis to be an unproductive forecast formed by those who believe it or not. Once active in the mind, it wonders on to more negative thinking and fear. Prognosis was hard to avoid because it's thought to be helpful to learn and prepare for the future. How could prognosis be excluded from a right to know about a disease or condition? Releasing the prognosis from my mind was going to require psychotherapy in itself.
My energy waned with each treatment and my knowledge grew about the disease. I found myself in short depressions, which fell as easy as pulling a heavy dark blanket over my head. A fog covered my eyes. With the physical pain, the mind surfaced the prognosis. Thoughts churned on the negative. I doubted my ability to succeed. The Fear Thought emerged again to use the statistics to convince me of failure in healing. However, a simple prayer evoked the higher wisdom to overpower the Fear Thought. Lord, I choose love, the better way. Fill me with love and grace. Thank you for the healing that I may not see or feel right now. I didn't stay long in the depression. Of course, the anti-depressants, which the oncologist insisted upon, helped me to not sink deep into a crater. The little red round pills allowed me to have more upbeat times than down. Saved by the doctor and a Higher Power.
I continued the quest to learn. I read, questioned, and analyzed the possible medical reasons behind the cancer. I looked for answers on how to heal naturally. There were several influential books that guided me to many answers and more questions. Most significantly Bernie Siegel's books: Love, Medicine, & Miracles and Peace and Love & Healing brought me awareness of the power of love and will. More paths opened as I pursued the mind over matter and energy techniques described in books such as Minding the Body and Mending the Mind, The Relaxation Response, and Alexander Lowen's Bioenergetics . I recalled the positive and inspirational messages that I read as a teenager. The books by Joni Eareckson, a quadriplegic who found peace through a life-altering event, and Norman Vincent Peale gave me faith that something good would come out of the cancer experience. I sensed it would take more than a spiritual healing for my unique soul.
I gathered documentation to start my own case study using alternative means. I tried new things. I controlled variables by changing one thing or another at different stages and observed the changes. The oncologists were right. There was not much information available on alternative methods. I found and used what was on the market or in clinical trials, always first with a prayer to the Higher Power for guidance on the choices. The prayer was silent words in my thoughts with my eyes open and focused on the intent. Sometimes done in crowds or even in the middle of a conversation with an individual. Lord, please direct me to the next thing my body, mind or soul needs. Many times I said the prayer right at the verge of choosing sometime new to try.
I ate a daily regimen of raw foods, supplements, juices, and herbs. Attendance to healing conferences occurred frequently. I altered my entire lifestyle by using solutions found in my search to increase will power, spiritual faith, and physical wellness. My oncologist acknowledged my quest as I told him each new experiment. It was unfortunate he didn't have at his fingertips more information on these other ways.
I learned tricks from other cancer patients. In one case, a co-worker recommended taking all twenty-three free-form amino acids to replenish the body with proteins, which help rebuild the cells and tissue killed by chemotherapy. The proteins worked. My scalp quickly grew back into stubs. The new hair growth remained even as chemotherapy continued. My teeth and nails stayed healthy and strong.
Another patient shared her use of visualization. I turned my lymphocytes, the immune system's disease fighting cells, into the popular video game of PACMAN. I visualized them racing through my body to devour the cancerous cells. At times, I experienced tingly sensations in the veins and then a sudden lifting of the will in my mind followed with a deep, released sigh. I can heal.
With all of the experimentation I felt like I lived on a cliff, dangerously treading on the loose rocks of my progress. My mind raced for answers. I thought like a scientist but lived on faith not yet solid.
Seven months quickly slipped by as green, black, orange, and red drugs pumped into my veins. Each color produced a different effect. Some of the drugs where even biohazards that must be handled with special care. Immediately after a chemotherapy session, my body sunk into a deep fatigue. It took every ounce of effort to raise my placid limbs. I felt as if my insides were swimming in a pool of thick metallic paint, tainting everything that I ate. A chemical treatment was all the medical field could offer. I grew weaker and more reliant on God's strength. The spiritual energy somehow still coursed through my system. I was thankful that I already knew how to get spiritual support. I wondered. What do those, who don't know, do in a situation like this?
I spent most days curled up on a bed beneath a tall double window without curtains. The sunshine soaked through the body to warm my bones, like the penetration from a heat lamp. Sometimes I rested and prayed there the entire day. Peace felt as if the gentle pressure of hugging arms around me, only the arms where invisible. Prior, I hadn't known the feeling of the miracle of grace. In the midst of pain, quietness with God brought a different kind of joy, a huge burst of happiness in the middle of the chest and abdomen. Time passed more quickly in this golden light of energy. After each occurrence I prayed to a Higher Power. Thank you, God, for your dose of medicine.
Alternative means to heal came in many different forms. Humor and mind power were key for me to withstand the months of chemotherapy. I mixed laughter and pleasure at every opportunity. I decided to have fun with the whole concept of being hairless, after many years with natural wavy brunette hair that flowed over my breasts. In the large cold treatment room, I humored the nurses with jokes about my hair loss. At first the nurses didn't know how to respond. When I laughed they did too. It broke the ice. It was no big deal, since I had always wanted to be a blonde. I tried auburn and red hair colors too, which added some new excitement to my romantic life with Chris. I pretended that the new appearances in our romantic playfulness kept him around during this trial, but my deeper sense speculated his dedication might be another form of pure love.
The fun with wigs kept me busy, but then I formed a preference for hats, which boosted my confidence and gave me a sense of class. I acquired fifty hats over time; white, blue, gray, red, casual, and dressy. I had a hat for every business suit. I continued to dress up--even though I was mostly with nurses, doctors, and strangers. I let myself believe that I caught the attention of others because of the hats and not from missing hair or walking at a turtle's pace. I sported makeup, using the appropriate color of eye shadow to match my attire. I kept my humor and a positive attitude through most of it all. Throughout treatment I used many positive mind approaches, knowledge gained from the mind over matter and spiritual books. With hats, makeup, and dressing up my psyche was lifted. I felt good about myself, which gave me a positive attitude.
I formed different work goals to keep my mind active, away from the Fear Thought. The goals gave me hope and a sense of accomplishment. I wove in work at home in between rest and treatments. I was a perfect candidate to trial the work-at-home concept, with new modem technology available in the early nineties. On good weeks when I felt strong, I invited my staff to work at my home. On occasion, a venture to the office kept my presence alive amongst coworkers. They encouraged me, regardless of the hidden truth of whether they believed I would live long in life. Their true emotions seemed to be masked by a forced smile or within the initial pause to find the right words to say. Regardless, the positive approach elevated my hopefulness. Their love of concern and friendship demonstrated another form of pure love. My work hours decreased over the months, but the tasks revived my mind and gave me daily goals.
In these months, a 105-pound physically fit woman gained thirty pounds from the prednisone steroid, another one of those invasive chemicals used in treatments. The weight addition inspired me to move my body as much as I could. On bad days, I crawled down the flight of steps to retrieve a meal from the "Steak-Out" delivery guy. Sometimes my goal was simply to walk to the mailbox or brush my hair. These had become forms of exercise and were important to maintain some kind of movement in my limbs, as I stayed in the bed for weeks. On good days, Chris took me to the park for a slow stroll.
I now lived each day as if it were my last, in appreciation of everything. I constantly listened to each word spoken and sniffed every smell, including the unpleasant ones. However, fear emerged deep from my unconscious: the fear of living a short life. Clouded thoughts lurked deep inside of me. Was this the last time to savior the closeness of friends, family, Chris? Will there be more seasons to see? What am I thinking! I can't do this to myself! Is there someone that can help me with these defeating notions? I want to live a long life!
It was December 1992 with more treatments to go. The weakness and anemia was so intense that I couldn't continue the chemotherapy. Threats of hospital stays and blood transfusions lurked in the horizon. My intuition said to stop the drugs. I did.
Dr. Gleen accepted my decision. He was full of energy but listened to my every word. On each detail, he siphoned information from me. His brain churned before speaking. At each monthly visit, he responded this way. It actually had become a pleasure to see him, sharing his own life events. Pulling his chair close to me, he discussed the next course in treatment. "Radiation was the next step for your stage," he said. "The tumor is smaller, but radiation will need to occur across a large area on your chest. What do you think about doing this?"
I was impressed that he asked my opinion. All through the treatments, Dr. Gleen behaved with the utmost sincerity for my care. He also respected my experimentation with non-standard practices. When I would tell him about my weekly massages, he said to do whatever makes me feel good. He would often rattle off from memory the list of supplements and foods that I ate. His caring attitude had been exposed after the first treatment when he called me at home in the evening. He had asked how I was doing. Granted it probably was protocol to do so when giving such strong drugs, but the gesture and interested tone of his voice had made me feel important to the world. He had made me feel this way at an early stage in the treatment and continued to this point.
Our dialogue always occurred in a casual back and forth manner, building on each other's questions and responses. As we saw each other during the course of many months, our conversations revealed that he was a man of faith. I wasn't afraid to answer him openly, "I prayed about whether to do radiation, and the Lord said to leave it for you to decide. What do you think?"
Dr. Gleen delayed a moment, almost as if he first said a silent prayer. "We can try waiting to see if the tumor stays subsided. Um. Let's not do radiation."
This was good news to me. My body couldn't take any more hits. I also knew the long-term effects of radiation poison to any organ in the path of the emitted ray. Heart, lungs, throat, thymus, and thyroid glands would be at risk. The night sweats subsided, the six-year chronic back pain diminished, and the cough stopped. My spirits lifted with a feeling of accomplishment. As another month ticked away, I felt renewed strength. My short-term hopes were fulfilled: immediate fixes and a quick passage of time.
The past nine months seemed to have flown swiftly. Seeds from the past spring were now sprouting green needles beneath dead piles of tree foliage. It felt like just yesterday when the seedlings had fallen. Graced daily by love from God and others, the expedient passing of time was also a gift to me. Answers that I needed had come as guidance through God. I learned that the answers aren't always what are expected. At the onset, I had hoped for a quick passage of time. I had formed expectations around this as a shorter duration of time to treat cancer. Whereas, what I really received was a feeling that time passed quickly. This was a greater blessing than expected, because the time included joy, found in grace.
Now middle of January 1993, one month after receiving my final chemotherapy session, I was assigned a new project and working full-time again. I tried to catch up so that I could be reinstated onto the list of managers ready for acceleration into higher chains of command. My work hours returned to just below my usual norm of a year ago: ten hours a day, six days a week. The adrenaline high returned with an even sweeter revenge. I quickly regained my habit of running to the fax, to the vending machine, to meetings, and to airplanes. I was exhausted and suffered a return of skin rashes. I was still determined to succeed at work and finish every deadline.
Before long, I underwent a gallium scan, a dye test to show whether the body is fighting a disease. The test results revealed a new area of concern in my chest. The Fear Thought reappeared in February 1993 to confirm suspicions of something deeper, not solved, not cured. What more could I reach for in the form of hope, when all I had for hope now was faith that I can be cured? From the beginning, no one promised me a remission. A cure from the medical community was out of the question. Why hadn't the alternative immune boosters and chemotherapy been enough to rid of this cancer? I asked, searched, and searched some more both on my own and with the doctor to find the solution. I thought I had reached the top of the mountain, seeing all the answers to recovery. What else can I do to heal?
For now, I needed to find another hope to pull me through this next event. It seemed that the next best offer of hope was radiation. This was not enough for my expectations as I treaded beyond the false summit.
"Ask and it will be given to you,
seek and you will find;
knock and the door will be opened to you."
Jesus in Matthew 7:7