Mary and I met through the Busting Out dragon boat team in 1999 and our friendship grew as we got involved in other activities together, such as hiking, biking, downhill & cross-country skiing, cottaging and even winter camping. Mary participated in it all, even after her cancer came back. Many years we did the Run for the Cure together, and the year of her recurrence, we crossed the finish line together, holding hands.
Mary taught me to not let cancer keep me from living my life.
The winter after her cancer returned, a group of us went to Algonquin park to camp in a yurt and ski. Mary was having chemo treatments, but she didn’t let that stop her. We skied together and, as I struggled to keep up with her, I remember thinking: I hope I could handle it half as well as Mary if my own cancer ever came back. Little did I know that I would soon be joining her on that journey.
When my cancer did return, Mary was one of the first people that I called. I met her for lunch the next day and told her that I really didn’t want to join her ‘damn club’. But now that I had, we were in it together. That Christmas she gave me a lovely fleece nightgown with the words ‘our damn club’ embroidered on it.
Mary taught me how to be both a ‘classy lady’ and ‘one tough broad’
Mary and I often went on group hikes or ski outings together, but we had an agreement that if one of us needed to turn back, we would turn back together. Sometimes I didn’t feel like going but there was part of me that thought “If Mary can do it, so can I”.
Mary taught me that if you have a battle to fight, it’s better not to do it alone.
We participated in the “Look Good, Feel Better” program together, where we learned how to draw eyebrows where there were none. No disrespect to that wonderful organization, but we secretly called it “Look Good, Feel Like Crap”. A few weeks before she died, I brought my mom and my son Adam to see her, and she put on makeup and draped herself in a lovely red shawl for our visit.
Mary taught me that, if you have to be sick, you might as well look good doing it.
I know it was a hard pill to swallow, but Mary handled the loss of her beautiful thick hair with humor and grace. In a piece that she wrote and posted on my blog she said:
“Well, as my friends say, bad hair is still way better than the alternative. But just in case, here’s how I want my epitaph to read: She died after a long and cranky battle with cancer and hair care.”
Mary taught me that it’s better to laugh than to cry
In 2004 we travelled together to China to paddle in the World dragon boat festival in Shanghai. After the festival, and a group tour that took us to several cities in China, Mary & Jennifer & I went on to Vietnam.
We enjoyed great meals (even though we weren’t always quite sure what we were eating), tea ceremonies, boat rides in the Me-kong Delta, foot massages, and unknowingly what our guide referred to as “friendly massage’.
Mary taught me to hang on to my bathing suit straps while having a massage on the beach (even though I have pictures to show that she didn’t!)
We spent the better part of a month together and the only complaint that Jennifer & I had was the snoring. You wouldn’t believe the noise that could come out of such a little person! She’d probably be mortified that I shared that with you, but somehow it made us feel better to know that she wasn’t quite perfect after all.
I recently went through the pictures of that trip and it was a joy to see photos of Mary looking lovely and healthy and strong. That’s how I remember her: with her head of beautiful thick hair, smiling, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
Mary taught me that the world is a wonderful place to explore and that times with good friends are to be cherished
Mary touched so many people, as we can see by the turnout today. I know that at the International Festival in Peterborough last weekend, she was with the Busting Out team in the boat and in spirit.
Mary taught me to dig deep and paddle strong.
And that cancer doesn’t define you.
It’s not how you die that matters, but how you live your life.
And Mary’s was a life well lived.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Monday, May 31, 2010
New math, by Sue Hendler
New math, my results and a potential solution to the parking problem
Posted By SUE HENDLER
May 2009
I get a fair number of comments on this column. Some are heartwarming and supportive. Others are not. Still others give me pause, as they give me more, rather than less, material over which to ruminate (spoken as a true vegetarian).
The most recent instance of the last of these was a response to my "wish list" column ("At first, cancer centre seemed foreign; now it seems homey," April 3). Alastair Lamb and Anne Smith wrote a letter to the editor ("Cancer centre improvements meet columnist's 'wish list,' " April 22) in which they documented how most of the things I had wished for were, in fact, planned in the ongoing expansion of the cancer centre.
It was great to know that some of the things I thought could enhance the lives and treatment of those of us with cancer were actually being planned for. But there was one stark incongruence that I have been thinking about for the past while.
In my column, I made a big deal of how the people at the cancer centre make all the difference -- especially in the midst of inadequate physical facilities. In their response, Lamb and Smith emphasized the improvement of these facilities.
But that made me think back to a story in the Whig from a while ago. It had the provocative headline: "KGH to cut jobs, beds." That story was all the rage in the cancer centre waiting rooms the day it came out.
OK, so I know I'm a political person. I have lots of opinions as to how the world ought to be run, and lots of arguments with how parts of it are being run. But I didn't set out to write this column in order to express political viewpoints. While I believe that values are implicit or explicit in everything we do, and I knew I couldn't escape expressing values in my columns, it wasn't my intention to advocate for or against particular ideas, policies or programs in this space. But the juxtaposition of these two stories ended all that.
In other words, the contrast between these two positions struck me, as I hope it does you. How can the same, or smaller, numbers of staff provide good service to increased numbers of clients (from 75,000 to 105,000, using Lamb and Smith's own numbers) in a space that is almost twice as big? Hmm ... must be the new math. I must have been sick the day they covered that in school.
Speaking of sick, after several weeks of good news I got a less-positive report before my last chemotherapy treatment. I had had a CT scan and, for the first time, had not called my oncologist for results. I'm not sure why; maybe I didn't want to spoil things, as I was feeling pretty good but realized I had never gotten a good report after a scan. It was always, in the words of my oncologist, "not good" or a "mixed bag." Maybe I wasn't worried because my blood work had been encouraging. Maybe I was in denial.
Anyway, I didn't call but, for some reason, wasn't surprised when I got the "mixed bag" verdict. Some liver lesions are smaller or gone, but several are bigger. Bone lesions look like they're healing. Lung lesions look stable. Tumour marker counts are way up ... again. Sigh.
So what does this mean? It could just be an unexplained blip in my treatment. It could mean that the chemotherapy isn't working anymore. It could even be a positive thing in that the tumour marker could signify dying cancer cells as opposed to replicating ones. In other words, we don't know.
It's hard to decide what to do given that kind of uncertainty. We could stop this chemotherapy and try another one. We could try something else entirely. Or we could stay with the current therapy for one or two more cycles and see what happens.
I've decided to go with the last of these options. Two oncologists recommended it, it makes sense to me not to give up on something that has been effective -- at least not without more conclusive evidence -- and I really don't want to go through the uncertainty of starting another sort of therapy with a whole new set of side effects and a whole new question as to its efficacy -- or not.
The day I got this news, I drove to my place in the country. I figured that digging in the garden would be therapeutic. While I lay on the grass and took a break from this work, I looked up and saw three -- no, four -- turkey vultures circling overhead. Not yet, I thought. Not yet.
Finally, if you have ever been to the local cancer centre, you'll probably have experienced the frustration of trying to find a parking spot anywhere close to the building. You'll probably have driven in circles for a while and then reconciled yourself to either getting a parking ticket or parking blocks away, or both. Having dealt with this situation for more than a year, I would encourage you to sign an online petition (before July 31) about cancer centre parking: http://www.thepetitionsite.com/2/parking-for-cancer-care. Thanks.
Sue Hendler is a former member of the Whig-Standard's Community Editorial Board. She is contributing regular columns on her experiences while she travels her breast cancer journey.
Posted By SUE HENDLER
May 2009
I get a fair number of comments on this column. Some are heartwarming and supportive. Others are not. Still others give me pause, as they give me more, rather than less, material over which to ruminate (spoken as a true vegetarian).
The most recent instance of the last of these was a response to my "wish list" column ("At first, cancer centre seemed foreign; now it seems homey," April 3). Alastair Lamb and Anne Smith wrote a letter to the editor ("Cancer centre improvements meet columnist's 'wish list,' " April 22) in which they documented how most of the things I had wished for were, in fact, planned in the ongoing expansion of the cancer centre.
It was great to know that some of the things I thought could enhance the lives and treatment of those of us with cancer were actually being planned for. But there was one stark incongruence that I have been thinking about for the past while.
In my column, I made a big deal of how the people at the cancer centre make all the difference -- especially in the midst of inadequate physical facilities. In their response, Lamb and Smith emphasized the improvement of these facilities.
But that made me think back to a story in the Whig from a while ago. It had the provocative headline: "KGH to cut jobs, beds." That story was all the rage in the cancer centre waiting rooms the day it came out.
OK, so I know I'm a political person. I have lots of opinions as to how the world ought to be run, and lots of arguments with how parts of it are being run. But I didn't set out to write this column in order to express political viewpoints. While I believe that values are implicit or explicit in everything we do, and I knew I couldn't escape expressing values in my columns, it wasn't my intention to advocate for or against particular ideas, policies or programs in this space. But the juxtaposition of these two stories ended all that.
In other words, the contrast between these two positions struck me, as I hope it does you. How can the same, or smaller, numbers of staff provide good service to increased numbers of clients (from 75,000 to 105,000, using Lamb and Smith's own numbers) in a space that is almost twice as big? Hmm ... must be the new math. I must have been sick the day they covered that in school.
Speaking of sick, after several weeks of good news I got a less-positive report before my last chemotherapy treatment. I had had a CT scan and, for the first time, had not called my oncologist for results. I'm not sure why; maybe I didn't want to spoil things, as I was feeling pretty good but realized I had never gotten a good report after a scan. It was always, in the words of my oncologist, "not good" or a "mixed bag." Maybe I wasn't worried because my blood work had been encouraging. Maybe I was in denial.
Anyway, I didn't call but, for some reason, wasn't surprised when I got the "mixed bag" verdict. Some liver lesions are smaller or gone, but several are bigger. Bone lesions look like they're healing. Lung lesions look stable. Tumour marker counts are way up ... again. Sigh.
So what does this mean? It could just be an unexplained blip in my treatment. It could mean that the chemotherapy isn't working anymore. It could even be a positive thing in that the tumour marker could signify dying cancer cells as opposed to replicating ones. In other words, we don't know.
It's hard to decide what to do given that kind of uncertainty. We could stop this chemotherapy and try another one. We could try something else entirely. Or we could stay with the current therapy for one or two more cycles and see what happens.
I've decided to go with the last of these options. Two oncologists recommended it, it makes sense to me not to give up on something that has been effective -- at least not without more conclusive evidence -- and I really don't want to go through the uncertainty of starting another sort of therapy with a whole new set of side effects and a whole new question as to its efficacy -- or not.
The day I got this news, I drove to my place in the country. I figured that digging in the garden would be therapeutic. While I lay on the grass and took a break from this work, I looked up and saw three -- no, four -- turkey vultures circling overhead. Not yet, I thought. Not yet.
Finally, if you have ever been to the local cancer centre, you'll probably have experienced the frustration of trying to find a parking spot anywhere close to the building. You'll probably have driven in circles for a while and then reconciled yourself to either getting a parking ticket or parking blocks away, or both. Having dealt with this situation for more than a year, I would encourage you to sign an online petition (before July 31) about cancer centre parking: http://www.thepetitionsite.com/2/parking-for-cancer-care. Thanks.
Sue Hendler is a former member of the Whig-Standard's Community Editorial Board. She is contributing regular columns on her experiences while she travels her breast cancer journey.
An open letter to my sister, by Sue Hendler
An open letter to my sister: 'I understand so much better now'
May 15, 2009
Dear Celia:
Happy birthday! It's been almost eight years since you died, so that means you would be turning 52 today. As always, I miss you and hope that wherever you are, if anywhere beyond the container of your ashes, your spirit is more peaceful and content than it was during your last years on this planet.
I've been writing this column in our local newspaper for almost a year. I started doing it a few months after I was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. Sometimes I wonder what you would say or think about my writing -- and my cancer -- both in general and in terms of specific columns or topics. I wish we could talk about it.
I'm writing to you because I want you to know that so many things about your illnesses and your behaviour make sense to me now. While I found them frustrating and irritating at the time, I have found myself doing and feeling some of the very things that I couldn't understand back then. So I want you to know that I get it and I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I got frustrated when I drove you around to do your errands. You had particular things that you wanted to get in particular stores and in a particular order. Ever the planner, I just wanted to do everything in the same place -- or at least as much as possible. Driving around southern Florida, where you lived, was never my favourite thing to do, and I wanted to do the least amount of it as possible. Why couldn't you understand and respect that, I wondered. After all, wasn't I doing you the favour of helping you get your errands done? I now know how important it was for you to retain control over at least some parts of your life.
I'm sorry I kept trying to "fix things." While there is a fine line between being helpful and being controlling, I know now that I could have talked with you about how I was experiencing that conflict. We could have come to a place where maybe both of us might have been more comfortable.
I'm sorry I was scared of your illnesses. My own fear helped make me less than supportive at times. I had always been a pretty healthy person, and being around anyone who was ill was difficult for me. That must have not felt too great to you and, boy, do I know what that feels like now!
I'm sorry I didn't make more time for you. It's true you lived far away and I had a job that was pretty demanding. Still, I wish we could have had more time together -- especially now that I see time as the greatest gift we can give each other as friends or family members.
I'm sorry I got impatient when we spoke and you repeated the same thing over and over again. And you weren't on chemotherapy so you couldn't even blame it on chemo-brain! Again, I sure know now what it means to be repetitive and have people say, "Sue, you already told me that."
I'm sorry I didn't realize that being with you while you were so sick was in many ways a gift that I could have accepted more gracefully. I think that I often regarded it more as a chore and something I was giving you instead of a more equitable sharing of time, experiences and feelings.
I'm sorry I criticized your choosing to hang out with people who were sick. While I thought it made sense that it would be better for you to associate more with people who were well, I can now understand how sometimes you wanted to be spending time with people who had experienced situations similar to those with which you were living.
I guess what I'm trying to say with all these examples is that while being really sick and thinking one may be close to death is going to be a unique experience for everyone, there may well be some general trends. Trying to maintain some degree of autonomy and control over one's life falls into this category. Accepting with grace the help of others does, too. As does needing to be listened to and respected.
While it's too late for me to say these things to you directly, it's not too late for me to figure them out and articulate them in whatever form I can. I picture us having this conversation while we are walking on trails in the Everglades. Remember when I found that eastern diamondback rattlesnake? Or when we saw the roseate spoonbills? Or when we drove north to Orange County and saw all those manatees? Those stand out to me as some of the good times we had before you died. But I now think that if we had had this sort of conversation, that would have been a good time, too.
Sue Hendler is a former member of the Whig-Standard's Community Editorial Board. She is contributing regular columns on her experiences while she travels her breast cancer journey.
May 15, 2009
Dear Celia:
Happy birthday! It's been almost eight years since you died, so that means you would be turning 52 today. As always, I miss you and hope that wherever you are, if anywhere beyond the container of your ashes, your spirit is more peaceful and content than it was during your last years on this planet.
I've been writing this column in our local newspaper for almost a year. I started doing it a few months after I was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. Sometimes I wonder what you would say or think about my writing -- and my cancer -- both in general and in terms of specific columns or topics. I wish we could talk about it.
I'm writing to you because I want you to know that so many things about your illnesses and your behaviour make sense to me now. While I found them frustrating and irritating at the time, I have found myself doing and feeling some of the very things that I couldn't understand back then. So I want you to know that I get it and I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I got frustrated when I drove you around to do your errands. You had particular things that you wanted to get in particular stores and in a particular order. Ever the planner, I just wanted to do everything in the same place -- or at least as much as possible. Driving around southern Florida, where you lived, was never my favourite thing to do, and I wanted to do the least amount of it as possible. Why couldn't you understand and respect that, I wondered. After all, wasn't I doing you the favour of helping you get your errands done? I now know how important it was for you to retain control over at least some parts of your life.
I'm sorry I kept trying to "fix things." While there is a fine line between being helpful and being controlling, I know now that I could have talked with you about how I was experiencing that conflict. We could have come to a place where maybe both of us might have been more comfortable.
I'm sorry I was scared of your illnesses. My own fear helped make me less than supportive at times. I had always been a pretty healthy person, and being around anyone who was ill was difficult for me. That must have not felt too great to you and, boy, do I know what that feels like now!
I'm sorry I didn't make more time for you. It's true you lived far away and I had a job that was pretty demanding. Still, I wish we could have had more time together -- especially now that I see time as the greatest gift we can give each other as friends or family members.
I'm sorry I got impatient when we spoke and you repeated the same thing over and over again. And you weren't on chemotherapy so you couldn't even blame it on chemo-brain! Again, I sure know now what it means to be repetitive and have people say, "Sue, you already told me that."
I'm sorry I didn't realize that being with you while you were so sick was in many ways a gift that I could have accepted more gracefully. I think that I often regarded it more as a chore and something I was giving you instead of a more equitable sharing of time, experiences and feelings.
I'm sorry I criticized your choosing to hang out with people who were sick. While I thought it made sense that it would be better for you to associate more with people who were well, I can now understand how sometimes you wanted to be spending time with people who had experienced situations similar to those with which you were living.
I guess what I'm trying to say with all these examples is that while being really sick and thinking one may be close to death is going to be a unique experience for everyone, there may well be some general trends. Trying to maintain some degree of autonomy and control over one's life falls into this category. Accepting with grace the help of others does, too. As does needing to be listened to and respected.
While it's too late for me to say these things to you directly, it's not too late for me to figure them out and articulate them in whatever form I can. I picture us having this conversation while we are walking on trails in the Everglades. Remember when I found that eastern diamondback rattlesnake? Or when we saw the roseate spoonbills? Or when we drove north to Orange County and saw all those manatees? Those stand out to me as some of the good times we had before you died. But I now think that if we had had this sort of conversation, that would have been a good time, too.
Sue Hendler is a former member of the Whig-Standard's Community Editorial Board. She is contributing regular columns on her experiences while she travels her breast cancer journey.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
German New Medicine
I don’t pretend to understand German New Medicine (GNM) from the short time I spent at a retreat on the topic, but then I often don’t understand conventional medicine either, so this post is not meant to be a critique. The quotes below are from websites I found and not associated with the retreat I attended, but will lead to more information about GNM.
http://germannewmedicine.ca/home.html, http://www.newmedicine.ca/overview.php and http://germannewmedicine.ca/documents/metastasis_theory.html.
My own personal comments are in blue.
“Dr. Ryke Geerd Hamer, formerly of the Universities of Munich and Tubingen in Germany, founded the German New Medicine after extensive research and a therapeutic practice dating back to 1979.”
“After twenty years of research and therapy with over 31,000 patients, Dr. Hamer finally established firmly, logically and empirically how biological conflict-shock results in a cold cancerous or necrotic phase and how, if the conflict is resolved, the cancerous or necrotic process is reversed to repair the damage and return the individual to health."
”He established that such a sudden shock affects not only the psyche, but impacts at the same time (visible on a brain scan) the part of the brain that corresponds biologically to the specific trauma. Whether the body responds to the unexpected event with a tumor growth (cancer), with tissue degeneration, or with functional loss, is determined by the exact type of conflict shock. So far, Dr. Hamer has been able to confirm these discoveries with over 40,000 case studies. Since HEALING can only occur after the conflict has been resolved, German New Medicine therapy focuses on identifying and resolving the original shock.”
While I’ve certainly had my share of disappointments in my life, I’ve had very few actual ‘shocks’, so I have a hard time making a connection here. The biggest shock I’ve received was the cancer diagnosis itself. Part of the time I spent at the retreat felt a bit like group therapy and I’m not at a place where I want to analyze what emotional trauma may or may not have caused my cancer. I’m just interested in ways to be at peace and enjoy my life, however long it may be.
“German New Medicine does not dispute the existence of second or multiple cancers. But, as we now learn to understand, second cancers are not caused by “spreading” cancer cells, but are the result of simultaneous or further conflict shocks, involving the organ that is biologically linked to the respective conflicts. This applies, without exception, in every case of cancer.”
I have a hard time with this because I’ve been led to believe that the difference between metastatic breast cancer and new primary cancers can be pathologically identified. My original lung tumor was tested after the surgery and was determined not to be lung cancer. Further tumors in my lungs have responded to hormone therapy, which lung cancer would not.
“Lung cancer is biologically linked to a “death-fright conflict”. As a secondary cancer, lung cancer is most often the result of a diagnosis or prognosis shock perceived as a death-sentence.”
As mentioned above, according to GNM, I have lung cancer, not metastatic breast cancer. It came 10 years after my original diagnose, so I don’t think it can be traced back to a prognosis perceived as a death-sentence. I don’t want to die, but I am not afraid of death.
“Bone cancer is, according to Dr. Hamer’s findings, linked to “self-devaluation conflicts”, which cancer patients typically experience because of feeling “worthless”. During the conflict-active phase, the bone(s) or joint(s) closest to where one feels.”
Again, according to GNM, I have bone cancer as well, not metastatic breast cancer. I don’t feel worthless or self-devalued. I may have struggled with inadequacy issues when I was younger but, with time, I think I have developed a healthy sense of self-value and worth.
When I mentioned at the retreat that I have pain in my rib (I didn’t dare say that I’m about to start radiation!) I was told that the pain was a good thing because it meant that it was in the ‘healing phase’. Couldn’t it also mean that it’s getting worse? Healing itself may be painful, but I think that the cancer weakening the bone and causing them to fracture is bound to be more of a source of pain. My latest MRI says that there is a "met lesion involving C5 vertibra with almost complete and replacement of the normal marrow signal". Somehow that doesn't sound like a healing phase to me.
There was a young woman there who had received a very poor prognosis for cancer (I believe it was lymphoma) and is now healthy and cancer free because of GNM. However, we’ve all heard numerous stories of people who did high-dose chemo, or alternatively did nothing, and who are well today. Lance Armstrong’s cancer spread to his lungs and brain and he survived. However, no two cancers are alike. Metastatic testicular cancer is considered curable; metastatic breast cancer is not.
I guess what it all boils down to is that everyone has to do what is right for them. I wouldn’t criticize anyone for exploring and believing in GNM, but I now know it’s not right for me. My plan is to combine traditional medicine with whatever else I find that is helpful and adds to the quality of my life.
http://germannewmedicine.ca/home.html, http://www.newmedicine.ca/overview.php and http://germannewmedicine.ca/documents/metastasis_theory.html.
My own personal comments are in blue.
“Dr. Ryke Geerd Hamer, formerly of the Universities of Munich and Tubingen in Germany, founded the German New Medicine after extensive research and a therapeutic practice dating back to 1979.”
“After twenty years of research and therapy with over 31,000 patients, Dr. Hamer finally established firmly, logically and empirically how biological conflict-shock results in a cold cancerous or necrotic phase and how, if the conflict is resolved, the cancerous or necrotic process is reversed to repair the damage and return the individual to health."
”He established that such a sudden shock affects not only the psyche, but impacts at the same time (visible on a brain scan) the part of the brain that corresponds biologically to the specific trauma. Whether the body responds to the unexpected event with a tumor growth (cancer), with tissue degeneration, or with functional loss, is determined by the exact type of conflict shock. So far, Dr. Hamer has been able to confirm these discoveries with over 40,000 case studies. Since HEALING can only occur after the conflict has been resolved, German New Medicine therapy focuses on identifying and resolving the original shock.”
While I’ve certainly had my share of disappointments in my life, I’ve had very few actual ‘shocks’, so I have a hard time making a connection here. The biggest shock I’ve received was the cancer diagnosis itself. Part of the time I spent at the retreat felt a bit like group therapy and I’m not at a place where I want to analyze what emotional trauma may or may not have caused my cancer. I’m just interested in ways to be at peace and enjoy my life, however long it may be.
“German New Medicine does not dispute the existence of second or multiple cancers. But, as we now learn to understand, second cancers are not caused by “spreading” cancer cells, but are the result of simultaneous or further conflict shocks, involving the organ that is biologically linked to the respective conflicts. This applies, without exception, in every case of cancer.”
I have a hard time with this because I’ve been led to believe that the difference between metastatic breast cancer and new primary cancers can be pathologically identified. My original lung tumor was tested after the surgery and was determined not to be lung cancer. Further tumors in my lungs have responded to hormone therapy, which lung cancer would not.
“Lung cancer is biologically linked to a “death-fright conflict”. As a secondary cancer, lung cancer is most often the result of a diagnosis or prognosis shock perceived as a death-sentence.”
As mentioned above, according to GNM, I have lung cancer, not metastatic breast cancer. It came 10 years after my original diagnose, so I don’t think it can be traced back to a prognosis perceived as a death-sentence. I don’t want to die, but I am not afraid of death.
“Bone cancer is, according to Dr. Hamer’s findings, linked to “self-devaluation conflicts”, which cancer patients typically experience because of feeling “worthless”. During the conflict-active phase, the bone(s) or joint(s) closest to where one feels.”
Again, according to GNM, I have bone cancer as well, not metastatic breast cancer. I don’t feel worthless or self-devalued. I may have struggled with inadequacy issues when I was younger but, with time, I think I have developed a healthy sense of self-value and worth.
When I mentioned at the retreat that I have pain in my rib (I didn’t dare say that I’m about to start radiation!) I was told that the pain was a good thing because it meant that it was in the ‘healing phase’. Couldn’t it also mean that it’s getting worse? Healing itself may be painful, but I think that the cancer weakening the bone and causing them to fracture is bound to be more of a source of pain. My latest MRI says that there is a "met lesion involving C5 vertibra with almost complete and replacement of the normal marrow signal". Somehow that doesn't sound like a healing phase to me.
There was a young woman there who had received a very poor prognosis for cancer (I believe it was lymphoma) and is now healthy and cancer free because of GNM. However, we’ve all heard numerous stories of people who did high-dose chemo, or alternatively did nothing, and who are well today. Lance Armstrong’s cancer spread to his lungs and brain and he survived. However, no two cancers are alike. Metastatic testicular cancer is considered curable; metastatic breast cancer is not.
I guess what it all boils down to is that everyone has to do what is right for them. I wouldn’t criticize anyone for exploring and believing in GNM, but I now know it’s not right for me. My plan is to combine traditional medicine with whatever else I find that is helpful and adds to the quality of my life.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Overcoming Survivor's Guilt - Cancer Crusade Affirmation
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
And thou no breath at all?
~William Shakespeare~
King Lear, V:iii
The lovely young woman pictured above was one of my best friends. Her name was Juanita. The Spanish name is the feminine form of "Juan" which means "God is gracious." After her death from cancer at age 34, I doubted very much and for quite a long time that God was gracious, since my dictionary defines that word as "displaying divine grace, mercy, or compassion."
There had been other losses in my life. The worst was that of my own brilliant, sweet and handsome brother - my only sibling - who also died at the age of 34. There was the young woman with whom I taught who went to bed one night, seemingly the picture of health, and never awakened. And there was the infant son of a neighbor who picked up a nasty virus that took his tiny life in a matter of a few days.
But it was Juanita's death that caused me to experience "survivor's guilt" for the first time, probably because we had had similar diagnoses. Why had cancer taken her and not me? I almost laughed when I heard people say that "life isn't fair" because "fair" is such a wimp of a word to use when taking in the whole of life and death and our poor attempts to find some meaning in all of it. After all, as Johnny Carson once said, "If life were fair, Elvis would be alive and all the impersonators would be dead."
In the years following Juanita's death, there was much talk about "survivor's guilt" and much material available on the subject because of events in the news. Most of us felt a bit of its sting when a riding accident left Christopher Reeve's "Superman"" body broken and paralyzed; when a car carrying Princess Diana smashed into the wall of a tunnel in Paris; when an ill-fated flight took the life of John F. Kennedy, Jr. and his wife and sister- in-law; when the unthinkable, the unspeakable happened on 9/11 and the walls of our last illusions came tumbling down, finally and forever.
But for all the material I have come across in the years since Juanita's death, all the books published on the subject of "survivor's guilt," all the television talk show interviews with experts, I find that I return time and again to the most profoundly comforting book I have ever read. When Bad Things Happen to Good People, by Harold S. Kushner, is a small volume, just over 150 pages, easily read in a few hours. I encourage you to purchase a copy, read it and keep it close so that you can read it again and again, anytime you find yourself going to that life-isn't- fair place and wondering why you are still here when someone you loved and cherished is not.
I also encourage you to celebrate the one you have lost and to keep the flame of his or her life shining brightly by giving something good and beautiful to the world with your own life. It doesn't have to be big, but it has to come from a big place in your heart. It doesn't have to be expensive, but it must be generous of spirit.
I won't even begin to list the possibilities because they would be my ideas and not yours, and because once I started to list them, I would never be able to stop. You start. You think. You dream. You imagine. You leave a legacy.
Do it in memory of the loved one you have lost. And do it so that, when you are gone, the world will be twice blessed by your having been a part of it.
For everything there is a season,
And a time for every matter under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant,
and a time to pluck up what is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to throw away stones,
and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace,
And a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to throw away;
A time to tear, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate,
A time for war, and a time for peace.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
________________________________________
Roger and Kathy Cawthon
The Cancer Crusade
________________________________________
email: cawthons@thecancercrusade.com
web: http://www.thecancercrusade.com
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Card writing tips
Here are some card writing tips from the Cards4Cancer website:
1- Try to stay away from “Get Well”. Unfortunately some of the recipients of your cards will not get well and this message, while a positive one, can be hard for some. Because we do not know specifically who will receive your cards its a good idea to stay away from any type of “Get Well” messages.
2- “Thinking of You” “Wishing You Well” “You Are In Our Thoughts” “Encouraging You Through Your Battle’ etc…are all great messages to include in your cards.
3- Uplifting quotes are always great.
4- Drawings without any message at all work too.
5-Try to stay gender and age neutral as you do not know who will be receiving your cards. Please write ADULT or CHILD on the card envelope. If you wise to write a card in French, please write FRENCH on the envelope as well.
6- We ask that you include spiritjump.org somewhere in your card so that people who want to receive more cards know about our services.
7- Hospitals have asked that people not include religious messages in their cards.
8- Hospitals have asked not to store cards in a home where someone smokes cigarettes and that they are kept in a smoke free environment.
To learn more, visit http://www.cards4cancer.wordpress.com/
1- Try to stay away from “Get Well”. Unfortunately some of the recipients of your cards will not get well and this message, while a positive one, can be hard for some. Because we do not know specifically who will receive your cards its a good idea to stay away from any type of “Get Well” messages.
2- “Thinking of You” “Wishing You Well” “You Are In Our Thoughts” “Encouraging You Through Your Battle’ etc…are all great messages to include in your cards.
3- Uplifting quotes are always great.
4- Drawings without any message at all work too.
5-Try to stay gender and age neutral as you do not know who will be receiving your cards. Please write ADULT or CHILD on the card envelope. If you wise to write a card in French, please write FRENCH on the envelope as well.
6- We ask that you include spiritjump.org somewhere in your card so that people who want to receive more cards know about our services.
7- Hospitals have asked that people not include religious messages in their cards.
8- Hospitals have asked not to store cards in a home where someone smokes cigarettes and that they are kept in a smoke free environment.
To learn more, visit http://www.cards4cancer.wordpress.com/
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Consumer warning - Shark Vacuum from Canadian Tire
In October 2008, I purchased a Shark vacuum cleaner from Canadian Tire for $169.99. It seemed to work well and I recommended it to my mother, who then bought the same model.
Within 6 months the wires in the telescopic tube came apart. I took it to a local vacuum service centre, only to be told that because Shark has an exclusive rights deal with Canadian Tire, they can’t be repaired & I’d have to order a new part online.
I put off ordering the part and by the time I did, the warrantee had expired. In the meantime, I used a 20+ year old Electrolux which has its problems but still works better than the new vacuum, which I was unable to use at all.
I called Euro-pro’s customer support and was told that, yes, I would have to order a new telescopic tube (product 1129FC), which I did, for $53.32 (including shipping & handling). When the tube arrived, it did not work.
This is the part that really ticks me off! I called customer support and was told that they have upgraded the parts and I will now have to order and purchase a new Power Nozzle for $89.99 plus shipping and handling.
I wrote to Euro-Pro’s customer service on Feb 22 and to Canadian Tire’s customer service on Feb 28th with the following concerns:
a) Euro-Pro seems to have a ‘throw away and repurchase’ policy, which is environmentally unfriendly. It is disappointing that these products cannot be repaired.
b) I should have been told that I would need to buy a new power nozzle when I ordered the telescopic tube.
c) The replacement parts will cost a total of $134.31 (plus shipping & handling for the power nozzle) for a vacuum that originally cost $169.99. I think that I could have bought a much better vacuum for the total of $300 that I will have spent on the Shark in a year & a half (not to mention the time I’ve spent trying to get it fixed or get new parts).
d) While I realize that I was at fault for missing the warrantee date, the fact that the vacuum broke within 6 months tells me that this product was poor quality to begin with.
It doesn’t look like I’ll get this resolved, but I just thought I’d warn other people who might consider making a similar purchase.
Within 6 months the wires in the telescopic tube came apart. I took it to a local vacuum service centre, only to be told that because Shark has an exclusive rights deal with Canadian Tire, they can’t be repaired & I’d have to order a new part online.
I put off ordering the part and by the time I did, the warrantee had expired. In the meantime, I used a 20+ year old Electrolux which has its problems but still works better than the new vacuum, which I was unable to use at all.
I called Euro-pro’s customer support and was told that, yes, I would have to order a new telescopic tube (product 1129FC), which I did, for $53.32 (including shipping & handling). When the tube arrived, it did not work.
This is the part that really ticks me off! I called customer support and was told that they have upgraded the parts and I will now have to order and purchase a new Power Nozzle for $89.99 plus shipping and handling.
I wrote to Euro-Pro’s customer service on Feb 22 and to Canadian Tire’s customer service on Feb 28th with the following concerns:
a) Euro-Pro seems to have a ‘throw away and repurchase’ policy, which is environmentally unfriendly. It is disappointing that these products cannot be repaired.
b) I should have been told that I would need to buy a new power nozzle when I ordered the telescopic tube.
c) The replacement parts will cost a total of $134.31 (plus shipping & handling for the power nozzle) for a vacuum that originally cost $169.99. I think that I could have bought a much better vacuum for the total of $300 that I will have spent on the Shark in a year & a half (not to mention the time I’ve spent trying to get it fixed or get new parts).
d) While I realize that I was at fault for missing the warrantee date, the fact that the vacuum broke within 6 months tells me that this product was poor quality to begin with.
It doesn’t look like I’ll get this resolved, but I just thought I’d warn other people who might consider making a similar purchase.
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