and My cancer diagnosis arrives by phone. The first thing I do is pull up a picture of Jesus on my computer and look him in the eyes. He speaks to me as clear as a bell. “Magic is underfoot,” he says.
Moments later I receive a text from a healer I’d reached out to saying that he can see me the next day. Followed by a text from my neighbor saying that she can drive me the four hours to see him the next day. My faith has not wavered since.
I am inspired by the visit to the healer. A firm reminder that our bodies have restorative powers. I decide positivity is the best medicine.
I’m 74 years old and don’t take any medication. I attribute it to being a long-term meditator, twice a day for over fifty years. When I am under the weather, I prefer herbalists or homeopaths or chiropractors to traditional doctors. Suddenly finding myself in a medical drama facing life or death choices is challenging.
Every interaction I have with doctors, surgeons, nurses, office staff, technicians is caring and professional. I am humbled to receive that level of personal attention.
As for those serious choices, I have spent a lifetime relying on my intuition so that is what I do. I listen within. When the answer isn’t clear, I take advice from a knowledgeable friend (a scientist) and a naturopath (who developed a synergistically blended formula to address hormone mediated cancers to keep them from proliferating).
There are a lot of decisions over the next few months. When my inner light is green, I take the doctor’s suggestions. When it’s red, I don’t. As you can imagine, it’s not easy to go against medical advice.
In the end I agree to surgery. Prior to going into the operating room, I see a TV mounted on the wall with changing nature scenes. I hear Jesus speak through the screen. He says, “I am in the doctor’s hands.”
In spite of the heart-warming message, when they roll me into the operating room I have a break with reality, convinced I’ve stumbled onto the set of Grey’s Anatomy.
Two months pass. Many friends become angels.
I say yes to physical therapy and radiation. Physical therapy is a learning experience. I like it.
Radiation is painless at first except for the position you’re poised in depending on your situation. In my case, my neck and shoulder are compromised. In the morning my whole body hurts. I pray for relief. Something sweeps over me as gentle as a summer’s breeze. My discomfort fades.
I receive radiation for several weeks. Things get complicated. I get a skin rash that spreads. The doctors and nurses are beyond kind. I’d call them regal. They assure me the rash is not related to the treatment. That doesn’t stop the sleepless nights or calm the irritation.
Next, I have trouble swallowing and nerve pain. I am told these are temporary side effects, along with severe redness.
Understanding helps. I discover the reason my neck is placed in that uncomfortable position is to safeguard my esophagus, which lies close to the lymph nodes the radiation is targeting. Evidently it can still cause inflammation, but if you’re reading this and about to get treatment yourself, try not to worry. It may not happen to you. Now I purée my food.
Fortunately my swallowing improves. Another side effect appears. It’s scary. I feel my positivity wobble. Thank you Google. Knowledge is comforting. It doesn’t take away the pain but it helps to give a name to my experience. I see my radiation oncologist. The situation begins to resolve.
I ring the bell at the women’s cancer center. A lovely man with one of those toy bubble-maker guns fills the air with bubbles while others clap. The healing begins.
