Two Years!

This month marks a big milestone in this cancer journey.  As of July, it's now been two years since chemo with no relapse.  With follicular lymphoma, that's big news! Apparently up to two years brings the highest incidence of relapse.

So what this means is that instead of going every 3 months for a check-up and lots of bloodwork, and a CT or PET scan every 6 months -- I can now go an entire year until the next scan and exams/bloodwork are now 6 months apart. Cause for celebration.

But what really matters almost more to me is how good I feel this year.  Better than in years!  Since before I turned 50 actually (I'm 62 now).  I'm still running and weightlifting, and those two things I attribute to a resurgence of energy and vitality that's really kind of fun. 

Of course I still have another big issue to deal with -- trigeminal neuralgia (facial nerve pain) for the past 13 years -- that rears up some days worse than others.  But that's the thing about getting cancer.  Everything else pretty much pales in comparison.  All the other "issues" can be taken with a grain of salt with an overriding feeling of gratitude for the big picture.



In May at the Bay Area Senior Games
track & field meet.  I won a silver,
bronze, and a gold in the 200 meters
(which was odd since I'm not a
sprinter -- but fun!)

But what's really making life more fun, exciting, and more passionate is a return to running.  Competitive running.  After fantasizing about the Senior Games for 16 years (since I reached 50, the year one can enter), is....I finally did it!  In May I competed in the Bay Area Senior Games - track & field -  and it was such great fun.  Everything I hoped for.  I ran the 800m (which I ran in college), 400m and 200m. Lots of amazing athletes from age 50 to 100, all friendly and supportive of each other.  I plan to compete in the senior games every year from now on. 

Not only that, I've continued running and keep improving in ways that I've dreamed could be possible (at my age, hehe).  So in preparation for next spring's track season, I'm going to run cross-country this fall.  Yeah, pretty crazy. 

Turns out there's a whole network of races through the USA Track & Field Association (USATF) for open, masters, and seniors in this region.  And anyone over 60 gets the fine distinction of being a "super senior".  I love it!  Although I still have a ways to go to feel comfortable racing a 5k (about 3 miles), I'm getting there.  There are even cash prizes!  Something unheard of in my previous running ventures.

Running now is different in other ways too than being 25 and competing.  There's more recovery time, and more attention to eating not just good food, but great food -- which has been part of my healing process anyway.  At 25, I could eat whatever whenever.  Not any more. 

And just to help inspire me and revel in the past (which is kinda meaningful from time to time), my cross-country (and track) coach from Glendale College, Diane Spangler, is getting inducted to the college Hall of Fame this year.
 


Our undefeated cross-country team
from 1977 at Glendale College. I'm third
from the right, and sister Marcie second from right.

Which is fitting, because our cross-country team from 1977 was also inducted (in 2003), for being undefeated and winning the state meet that year with no other team since then duplicating that.  It was a special time, for sure.

So my sister Marcie and I, who raced together cross-country and track (in different events), are going to her celebration in October in Glendale.  Just one more thing to celebrate these days!

Sometimes I celebrate quietly, and don't make a big deal (except in this blog). The difference now is I do it all the time for even the little things.  Every day.     

-Adele Sonora
www.thepathofcancer.blogspot.com

 

The Immensities

Two weeks ago on Tuesday, I woke up and knew it was time.  This was the day I'd call the vet and take my 16-year old cat "Birdie" in for a hospice consult.  In reality, it was a euthanasia consult.  But I didn't want to call it that because then I might not be able to go through with it.  And I had to. 

Listening for birds...
 

Birdie had a very fast-growing tumor in his throat and neck that in only 3 weeks went from the size of a large grape to a solid collar around his neck.  I watched him carefully everyday for signs of struggle (like choking) and kept him as comfortable as possible.  Amazingly, he kept up all his normal routines (which were many), even eating the best he could during the several weeks the tumor grew daily.  At least I didn't have to take him in until 4:30 that day.  So there were a few more hours to say goodbye, as I had been doing for 3 weeks.  And appreciate his steadfast presence over the years.

Later that morning at 9:00 a.m., I heard the joyous news that my niece Marina had given birth to her first daughter in North Carolina!  News made all the sweeter because of Marina's previous difficulties in pregnancy.  "Willow Quinn Nicholson" is my sister's first granddaughter, my first grandniece, and everyone was ecstatic.  A new baby in the family is always such lovely news and so welcome. 



My grandniece....Willow Quinn Nicholson.... born to my niece
Marina and her husband Josh in North Carolina.

Birdie was just a baby when I rescued him at only 3 weeks old.  The scrawny parasite-ridden thing had been abandoned in a school parking lot.  I had to feed him from a bottle at first and it took the vets at Acorn several tries to get him to survive.  But live he did.  As one of the special orange tabbies, he had attitude to spare and was a fighter. 

As am I, it turns out.  About 11:30 a.m. on that same morning, I was at my 3-month follow-up with my oncologist.  The previous week was a PET scan -- the glucose uptake scan that detects any cancer activity in the body.  Dr. Kiwan announced that it was completely normal, which is always great news!  And not only that, in 6 more months after another CT scan, which would detect any size changes in lymph nodes, I won't need any more scans.  The riskiest time for relapse will be over -- the first two years after treatment.  So I'm doing really really well. 

And I actually feel really good now!  Once it got figured out that I had a drug allergy causing much difficulty over the fall and part of the winter, I feel better than I have in years.  I've been weight-lifting and even started running again.  I haven't run for years even though I tried many times unsuccessfully.  Having run track in college (800 meters), I loved running!  And over the years have fantasized about running again.  So I'm ecstatic about how well things are going, in so many ways. 

As I continued to reflect during that day, Birdie's life had gone very well.  He'd lived a long 16 years, and had been with me through many significant phases of my life.  From working as a public outreach specialist (a writing job I loved), becoming an artist, still working as a massage therapist, then retiring from corporate life, a nerve pain condition and health difficulties, going back to my first passion of nutrition and helping others with their health (as well as myself), then the past few years a lymphoma diagnosis and chemo treatments.  And now being well again. 



Birdie with his favorite
blankets.

Birdie was there through it all -- his routines embedded in mine because he wanted to be where I was.  He greeted me at the door every time I came home, was on my lap for every meditation and channeling session, and would only eat if I was present. He was also sensitive and wouldn't be groomed, wouldn't meow (except to make chirping noises when he heard birds outside), didn't like to be petted, and generally took life on his own terms.  He did what made him happy -- no more and no less.  He loved peanut butter, microfleece blankets, and his good friend Kingsee -- also rescued from being abandoned by a neighbor.  

Birdie and Kingsee were best
napping buddies.



At the end of that long day, I took Birdie back to Acorn Clinic -- where he first began his life in a sense.  The vet confirmed that it was indeed time.  The tumor around his neck, probably a sarcoma (one of the worst kinds), was already affecting his breathing.  I knew that taking him in would be a sad sad business -- euthanizing a beloved pet always is.  It seems near impossible to do! Yet it must be done if it can save the animal from suffering needlessly.  It was time for Birdie to go back "home". 

Because the day ended with my special kitty friend's death, there's no way I could feel joyful, even with all the wonderful news of the day that I was so grateful for.  In the end, it simply reminded me of the old Irish story of a man asking his friends "How are you?"  

"What way are you Paddy?"
In sepulchral tones, "Perpendicular, no more".

"What way are you Jack?"
"Keeping the best side out, like the broken bowl in the dresser."

"Jim, what way are you?"
"If I felt any better I'd see a doctor."

"What way are you Vincent?"
"Stumbling along between the immensities."
"What immensities?"
"The immensities of birth and death."


--by Adele Sonora
www.thepathofcancer.blogspot.com





 

Bit of a Snafu

I got a few surprises this week at my 3-month follow-up.  I'm anemic again, due to the many viral infections lately my doctor said.  And my immunoglobulins (IG's) are low again.  Even lower than in January when I needed the two infusions of IG's.  So I might be needing a few more. 

And since I'm still waiting for the final results of my CT scan last week, this morning my mind was wandering.  Trying out different scenarios.  My preferred scenario would be that nothing has changed, all the lymph nodes from groin to neck are stable and not growing.  That's what I was expecting.

Scanxiety

When it's time to get the follow-up CT scan every 6 months, one word pretty much sums up the feeling.  Scanxiety. 

A couple weeks before the date, it's just a small feeling, a gentle observation that the day is coming.  But as the week before draws nearer, the feeling builds and anxiety starts in.  It all focuses on just one tormenting question. 

"What if...." 

A Delicate Time

This update is long overdue. I've been mulling over what I could say that might be new and interesting.  And came to the conclusion that the past six months have been kind of a wordless grey area. 

One of the few watercolors
I've finished lately.  Part of a
series of sacred structures.

To be honest, it's been a long slow slog through unchartered waters.

Reorganizing

The day after Christmas was my one-year anniversary of starting chemotherapy.  That seemed a pretty good day to post an update, which I was planning to do.  Except I woke up with the flu.  Again. 

A lot of resting going on
at my house these days.

November and December brought a barrage of colds and flus.  After doing so well this summer, even with the slow recovery, it was disappointing.  Moreso because I still wear the face mask everywhere!  Well, almost everywhere.  And it's the "almost" that got me into trouble.  Every time I didn't wear it, I was sick within two days.  So frustrating.  However, no storm lasts forever I kept telling myself so I was still hopeful. 

Then I hit a snag. 

One Year to Recover

A year to recover from chemo is a lot longer than I was planning on.  That's what my oncologist said last month in my follow-up visit.  The fatigue component would be at least 6 months.  And since it's been two months since finishing my six-round treatment, that gives me a ways to go. 

Not to mention that some of the side effects, any of them, could linger.   The fatigue and intermittent body aching are still the worst residuals for me.

On the plus side, my doctor also went down a long list of possible side effects that I could still be having - and I didn't have any of them!  I also feel a ton better than just a few months ago.  Some ups and downs, yes.  Mostly because my red blood cells plummeted last month and I became more anemic than even during chemo!  And much more tired.  Like a windup doll who just wound down. 

This was quite a surprise to me!  But when I looked at what I'd been eating the month before, it wasn't as much of a surprise.  I had dropped off my most iron-rich foods like grass-fed beef and spinach.  Once I got back on those in a big way, I started feeling gradually better in a matter of days. 

A recent haul from my
garden, as the summer
winds down

That was a good lesson.  To see that just because I did so well during chemo, there were reasons for that.  Hey, I'm not naturally that solid or physically unflappable.  All the foods as medicine and supplements really played a part.  Even so, it's still a little shocking even for me, a nutrition scientist, to see the direct correlation between diet, outcome, and function.

I wanted to say a few words about my amazing oncologist, Dr. Kiwan at Sutter Cancer Center in Sacramento.  At my follow-up visit last month, after getting through all the medical-type questions, he then asked me: 

So, what do you plan to do with your life now? 

I was so touched by his question, not just because he was a doctor actually asking me about my life, but because I could tell he "knew" what the cancer ordeal is all about.  One, if there's hope you're going to live for awhile, the big question then becomes, "What shall I do with myself, and the rest of this life?"  What do I WANT to do with my life"? 



I need a little time
on the beach to
figure things out.

These are questions that we all could be, and even should be, asking ourselves on a regular basis.  But do we?  I don't think so.  We're too caught up in the daily routine of life -- making a living, taking care of kids, dealing with all the little crises that come up, and on and on. 

I told him that I felt some big changes were needed in my life.  That cancer surely must be a transformative illness and needs to be treated that way.  He said, "Good!"  All my patients who do the best make a lot of changes." 

And that's pretty much what all my reading and research tell me about cancer survivors.  The folks who recover the most fully let themselves be guided to whatever needs changing in their lives.  So, that's my mission now from this point forward.  I'm not sure what all is in store just yet, but I have a few blossoming ideas that I'll share later.  Dietary, exercise, and health-habit changes are only the beginning.  The emotional, spiritual, and social components need to be covered as well.  Whew. 

It's still a bit overwhelming at times, to be honest.  I hope I can be one of those who does whatever it takes, without becoming complacent when faced with making some even bigger changes in my life. 

In the meantime, onward!  At this point, every 3 months I go in for a check-up, and every 6 months a CT scan.  Based on how I was at diagnosis, and the fact I'm now in full remission from the slow-growing follicular lymphoma, gives me a 92% chance of staying in remission for 5 years.  Now that's pretty darn good news! 

-Adele Sonora
 

How to Make A Beautiful Life

Love yourself.

MAKE PEACE with who you are
     and where you are
               at this moment in time.

Listen to your heart.

If you can't hear what it's saying
     in this noisy world,
          MAKE TIME for yourself.

Enjoy your own company.
          Let your mind wander among the stars.

Try.
Take chances.

     MAKE MISTAKES.
Life can be messy
               and confusing at times,
but it's also full of surprises.

               The next rock in your path might be a stepping-stone.

Be happy.

When you don't yet have what you want,
          want what you have.
                     MAKE DO.
That's a well-kept secret of contentment.

 There aren't any shortcuts to tomorrow.
     You have to MAKE YOUR OWN WAY.
          To know where you're going
                     is only part of it.
You need to know where you've been, too.

And if you ever get lost, don't worry.
          The people who love you will find you.
                    Count on it.

Life isn't days and years.
           it's what you do with time
and with all the goodness and grace
                     that's inside you.

MAKE A BEAUTIFUL LIFE...
                  The kind of life you deserve.


          * * * * * * * * * *
These words were on a birthday card my Dad sent me a couple years ago.  I was so touched that I saved the card, and just recently came across it -- soon after I learned, last week, that after 6 months of chemo, I"m in full remission!  My PET scan from last week showed I"m completely clear of cancer right now.   

Oh What A Relief It Is. 


-Adele Sonora


 

Chemo is Over

Tomorrow would be the day I'd go back to the infusion center for the next round of chemo drugs.  But it's over!  And I'm trying to wrap my mind around that.   

After six months and six rounds, I wanted to feel overjoyed when I finished the two days in May.  Even like celebrating.  But I knew the month to come would be another rough one as the drugs did their thing.  How optimistic I was back in December and January.   Since then, the rounds have become cumulative so the fatigue and body-aching just kept ramping up as time went on.  So much so, that I almost nixed the whole thing after the 4th round, not sure I could take anymore.  But I did, and found ways to handle it. 

I know just how my neighbor's
kitten felt the other day -- stuck in a tree
and not sure of the next move.
 

I'm simply wiped out.  Which in and of itself isn't that bad, especially when I remind myself to be more "patient".  It's the body aching that sends me into never never land.  Flu-like aching everyday is a little hard to bear.  Some days are more intense than others. I don't know if it's a side effect from the drugs or my body trying to grow back some white blood cells (especially lymphocytes) that have been killed off.  I guess it doesn't matter. 

This last and final round has proved the most difficult so far. Most days I drift around the house, trying to hang onto the concept of time passing and that no storm lasts forever. 

And I still have a couple more months of this -- the time it'll take for all those white blood cells to grow back.  So I"m not quite in a celebratory mood yet. 

All that being said, I think I'm doing fairly well through the whole process.  I had no flus or colds (except a minor cold in January) because I wear a face mask everywhere I go, when I do go somewhere.  I didn't require any magnesium or potassium or platelet (blood) transfusions and didn't need to be hospitalized for anything.  I've nearly gotten shingles 4 times but knocked those out quickly.  All in all, my doctor said I've done "excellent".  Geez, if this is how excellent feels, I really would've hated to do poorly.  

So, my next PET scan (which shows degree of cancer activity, if any) is the end of June.  That'll be a good milestone. My oncologist thinks I'm totally in remission....many people are with these two drugs. But there's an underlying bit of  anxiety present while waiting for that confirmation. 

Lots of cucumbers and tomatoes already
in my garden that I started in March.
 

In the meantime, I'm rediscovering the pleasures (where there are some) of lots of resting, visiting with friends, and letting the day pass slowly and calmly while I keep gently moving when possible.  I've been able to plant my usual garden which is great -- a little everyday since March.  And I've been reading books again!

 Some of the recent ones:   

• Mastering Miracles - The Healing Art of Qi Gong as Taught by a Master, by Dr. Hong Liu
• Radical Remission - Surviving Cancer Against All Odds (The Nine Key Factors That Can Make a Real Difference), by Kelly A. Turner Ph.D.
• Lots of other cancer-healing and nutrition books til my head is swimming with them 
• Born Fighting:  How the Scots-Irish Shaped America, by James Webb
• The Scent of Water, by Elizabeth Goudge
• Some Danger Involved, by Will Thomas (a few novels even)

I appreciate all the healing thoughts and intentions you all send my way, and definitely appreciate your phone calls (even when I'm unable to call back) and visits.  I look forward to a really good fall, and that's about the limit of my visible enthusiasm at the moment. 

-Adele Sonora

The Most Powerful Medicine

The Most Powerful Medicine

I just finished my breakfast of a grass-fed groundbeef burger and half a plate of cooked spinach.  Seems pretty odd, doesn't it?  Until recently, I hadn't eaten beef for 10 years unless it was put in front of me at Christmas.  Yet here I am, eating it for any meal of the day, almost every day of the week. 

I snapped a pic of these UC Davis
grass-fed cows last spring.  They're
probably part of an experiment.

So here's why.  Anemia (low iron) is common with cancer and cancer treatments which basically means that the red blood cells have less oxygen-carrying capacity.  Not good since most every cell in the body depends on oxygen.

After my surgery last summer where I lost a lot of blood and became anemic, my surgeon (rightly) told me to take iron supplements for a month. Which I dutifully did and even extended it another month just for good measure. I didn't know then that iron feeds cancer cells and I'll never know whether all that iron helped the cancer progress in the fall.

I wish there were some sort of clearing house for all this information.  But there isn't.  We who want to use nutritional, integrative, or alternative therapies to help ourselves have to find it.  One way or another.   

So, with all the volumes of research I've done so far on cancer nutrition, three things stand out as being really good sources of fuel for cancer cells:

• Iron
• Sugar (in all its forms including fruits, and starches that digest quickly to sugar)
• Glutamine (an amino acid we normally need a lot of, found in protein)

It stands to reason then, that the above three would all be eliminated in an anti-cancer diet.  Right?  

Well, yes, except that sugar is the only one that can truly be eliminated (via not eating any type of sugar or starches - all carbs essentially) because our body doesn't need to eat carbs.  We can make sugar (glucose) just fine without eating it.

Pumpkin pie, my favorite.
No sugar of course.

Which means there's still a blood glucose issue because our bodies will work tirelessly at keeping our blood glucose as steady as possible  -- especially for the brain's benefit.  Since cancer cells have access to our blood supply, they have access to our blood glucose. This means that the sugar-eating cancer cells can't really be kept from eating sugar, but maybe can be controlled by keeping blood sugar steady with no insulin spikes at all.  So as not to provide an extra little feast to those hungry cancer cells. 

With iron and glutamine however it's a bit trickier.  We need iron for the oxygen-carrying purpose (to live, in otherwords) and we need glutamine for muscle function, as a brain neurotransmitter, and to replace fast-growing intestinal cells -- just to mention a few of its important functions.  We also absolutely need protein for just about everything in the body, and eating protein is where we get glutamine (one of the amino acids of proteins).  The highest sources of glutamine are meat and dairy, but even plant sources contain glutamine. 

So...how to cut out the cancer feeders iron and glutamine -- without cutting them out.  This has been a recent quandry as I keep fine-tuning my anti-cancer diet.  (More on the actual diet later.)

The answer (so far as I know now)....is to only eat them in food sources, in real food.  With iron, for example, beef has the highest amount of "absorbable" iron.  And spinach has the highest plant source of iron, even though not nearly as absorbable as from beef. 

Heck, I learned this back in college getting my nutrition science degree.  So when my hemoglobin dropped low back in December just before starting chemo, I started eating beef and spinach -- a lot of it.  Before the next bloodwork (2 weeks), my iron was back up in the normal range. 

Who says what we eat doesn't matter? 

After that, I started monitoring my own labs (bloodwork) for everything that might possibly be helped nutrionally. 

There was the potassium a couple months ago.  It commonly drops low with cancer and during chemo (as do other electrolyes and minerals) and lots of people require potassium IV's.  If the sodium(salt)/potassium ratio gets too messed up then fluids can accumulate in the wrong places (like abdomen and lungs).  That's "malignant ascites" and it's only one of the bad things that could happen.   

So there's no way I'm going to let my potassium drop.  Although it started to.  So my nurse told me to "eat a couple bananas every day".  Bananas are one of the highest sources of potassium (also of starch and sugar, alas) and while I appreciated that she offered me some actual nutritional advice, I figured I could do better than that.  So I started taking capsules of potassium.   When it threatens to get into the low range, I take more, and it comes right back up.  It's almost magical.  Except it's not.  It's just biochemistry. 

Of course there are situations where one could take too much of something and upset the balance of something else, unknowingly.  And that's exactly why, in many people's minds, food sources are the best sources.  It keeps everything kind of balanced in a good way (most of the time).  Turns out, vegetables and all plant sources are full of potassium so it's no secret, or shouldn't be, why many people with cancer heal themselves with lots of plant-based foods (like vegetable juices and vegan diets). 

Coincidentally or not, a plant-based diet also does not provide a huge amount of protein, thereby further depriving cancer cells of another one of its favorite food sources (glutamine). 

The only reason I'm not eating a vegan diet is because I have a blood cancer.  Turns out, there's a metabolic difference between blood cancers (like lymphoma and leukemia) and tumor-type cancers (like prostate, uterine, breast, and lung cancers).  Maybe I'll talk about this in a future post but for now I"ll just say that blood cancers do better with eating meat.  Which I do, but everything else is pretty much vegetables!

Here's my take on one of
the above grass-fed cows (a
watercolor by me).

"My oncologist says I can eat whatever I want" is a common statement from those with cancer.  Yeah, mine says that too.   Unfortunately, he doesn't know much about cancer nutrition.  Why should he, he wasn't trained that way. As he was reviewing all the supplements I take a few months ago, he asked:  "What does Vitamin C do?" I like the fact that he wasn't too arrogant to admit he had no knowledge of basic nutrition science or alternative nutritional therapies (e.g., that Vitamin C infusions kill cancer).

But not as much as I like the fact that my oncologist is an expert at treating lymphoma and leukemia, an expert on chemo drugs, and an expert with other cancer treatments like bone marrow transplants -- all things that could come in handy for me one day.  Those are the things I depend on him for. 

For all the rest, I depend on myself and others who have sought other ways to be helped even more.  Afterall, if the medical world had all the answers, a lot more people would be healing (and surviving) from cancer, wouldn't they?  And I'd happily do as little as my oncologist recommends.  

I write all this because these are the things I've been wrestling with.  I read cancer-survivor blogs, medical research papers (of which there are many on the topics of cancer and sugar, iron, and L-glutamine), lymphoma-survivor websites, and on and on.  A vast amount of knowledge and experience is out there - and not all of it is useful so it has to be sifted through.  I apply what I can to what I know about the body and how it works, and then what's doable for me.  And then try some things.

Haven't tried this yet.  I don't
think it's recommended as part
of an anti-cancer diet.

Of course, diet is not the only important thing in healing cancer. The top four (in my way of thinking) are nutrition, optimized Vitamin D, daily exercise, and sleep/rest (which includes de-stressing and the relaxation response). More on these other things later. 

If nothing else, my dietary interventions have kept me from needing any potassium or magnesium infusions, or being hospitalized, my nausea and other symptoms are fairly minimal in the scheme of things, and I've done pretty well so far during these treatments (so I'm told). Not that they've been easy.   

Could it be true that what we put on the end of our forks matters most?  "Food is the most powerful medicine we have", says Mark Hyman, M.D.   I think I tend to agree.  But then I would, wouldn't I, since I believe in the power of nutrition. 

Aside from all of that, it's been a long month.  I got the chest port put in (surgically) the day before the last round.  I don't like it, but it's useful.  I've had a fair amount of immune-activated body aching on top of the usual nausea, fatigue, and fuzzy brain.  And my next infusion session is already this Thursday and Friday, March 20th and 21st.  Alas, the long month is already over.

Thanks for reading,
Adele

Tired to the Bone

A Huichol shaman from Mexico I worked with once said if you need more abundance in your life, pray for rain.  After days of rain here in California, I'm not sure how much more abundant I feel, yet.  But it helped me feel better about staying indoors, unable to do much.
 

Napping in a sunny window by a 

sparkly vase - how bad

can things be? 

 

After the second round of lymphoma-helping drugs on January 23rd and 24th, resting has been prominent on the agenda.   This round was much harder than the first -- much more nausea and much more fatigue.  I just haven't bounced back.  A deep fatigue has settled in, and most activities, except the most essential, have come to a standstill.  

 

I feel bone tired.    

 

One friend wondered if I feel so fatigued because my body is healing. Unfortunately, I'm still in the destruction phase of things. Part of my immune system is being killed off and that includes the part in my bone marrow. A multitude of really bad symptoms can result, which I haven't gotten.  So I'm reminding myself that some deep fatigue and frequent body aching may not be too bad. All in all.  


Taking it easy is one

of Birdie's specialties.

I try to find other ways to see my situation in hopes of enduring it better. For example, I notice that my two cats don't seem to get frustrated by resting most of the day.  They seem to quite enjoy it, in fact.

So they're my new role models for the moment -- until I get my body back.  Loving what is -- that's the possibility I'm aiming for (thank you Byron Katie).  Not so easy when the hard times come around.

I'm also reconsidering having a line put in before next week when Round 3 begins.  My vein had a rough go last time -- it got inflamed -- and phlebitis is oh so painful.  I'll probably have a chest port.  I don't feel ready for the next round, not at all, but I've got 10 days to work on it.    



My friend Zooey knows
what to do when the need arises.

So while I wait this thing out, I'm realizing what all can be done at home when really really tired.  DVD's, PBS, and Netflix have offered up most of my diversions.  Things like the Story of Ireland, The Celts, and Irish history in general fascinate me right now.  Viewing all kinds of scenic wonders of the world. Watching Julia and Jacques have a go with French delicacies I'll never recreate.  Trying to understand the complex history of India and Pakistan.  Perfecting the art of bubble baths with candles and my recipe for Raspberry-Orange Oat Bran Muffins.  Solving the riddle of the "mystery illness" post-menopausal women seem to get.  How to train a dog to sit in your lap (I don't have a dog).  Learning to clog on utube while laying on the couch. And endless fantasy about Burt Wolf's and Rick Steves' travel destinations.

Best of all, I've had plenty of time to talk to and visit with lots of good friends! 

Friends make the day finer.

It's really good to have friends.  They punctuate the days with warmth, generosity, and kindness. I'm appreciating all my friends and family-friends so much right now. 

So, Round 3 is Thursday February 20th from 10 am to about 4 pm.  I love getting texts during this time, while I get infused in my cushy heated chair.  And the next day from 10 - 11 am, the easy day. 

Everything will be okay as soon as you are okay with everything.

-Michael A. Singer, The Untethered Soul

A Box of Chocolates

I was dreaming about flowers a few days before chemo was to begin the day after Christmas.  It put the idea into my head that having flowers and beautiful music during the process might somehow make it easier.  Maybe it would keep my thoughts flowing in a positive direction. 

And I needed some encouragement because I was dreading "chemo" like I was going in to have something amputated.  Those two C-letter words:  chemo and cancer -- they strike such fear, don't they.  The weeks preceding felt like I'd been shot out of an emotional cannon -- with none of the cool feelings of "flying" but just dread at not knowing whether I was going to land on a soft bush.  Or splat. 

Yet, I'm the one who moved up the day to December 25th; it was orginally scheduled for January 2nd.  The lymph nodes in my chest were pressing on my lungs to such a degree it was getting very uncomfortable so I decided it was time.  Past time, probably.

The second thing I decided was to change my thoughts from having "chemo" to:  "I'm starting two new medications to help my immune system".  That sounds a lot better, don't you think?  Maybe even downright flowery. 

So, the day after Christmas at 8 a.m., I was off to the infusion center.  It was actually pretty nice there. Each little room had a sixth-story window, the chair was heated and reclined into many comfy positions, lots of guest chairs, there was wifii and cable tv, and I was waited on hand and foot. Five nurses to nine infusionees made that possible.  

My dear friends brought me and
flowers to the infusion center.
It almost looks as if
they have halos, doesn't it? 

Unfortunately my nurse said the flowers couldn't stay because of potential allergies and reactions amongst patients there.  But I still had the music and it was really nice to have (I took my computer to listen to Pandora).

Getting the IV in was a bit of a challenge. But I had decided against the two choices given me:  either a picc line in my arm (prone to infection and trickey with  showers) or a chest port (installed surgically and I just knew it would be poking me).  I talked my doctor into not having either of those and just going with the regular old-fashioned IV infusion. Or at least try it that way. 

So as the infusion nurse poked around painfully for a half hour, I just smiled patiently since this is what I had asked for.  Finally a good little vein in my left hand was corraled into participating.  Then through the IV, I was hydrated for an hour and given some anti-nausea, a steroid to reduce inflammation, and benedryl to minimize any allergic-type reactions.  Already quite a few drugs even before the heavy-hitters were pulled out.   

Unfortunately, I still got a reaction.  After a smooth 30 minutes of the ritixumab (Rituxan), my lower back suddenly felt like I got hit with a baseball bat, with some other allergy-type symptoms.  So the infusion had to be stopped several times while I was given yet more benedryl and steroids (a couple whopping doses of hydrocortisone) so my body could adjust to taking in the "mouse protein" -- which is what this monoclonal antibody is made from.  With all that benedryl (same as in tylenol p.m.), it's amazing I never slept while I was there. 

The Rituxan finally went in after many hours and stops and starts.  I hoped the reaction wasn't a portent of things to come.  The second drug, bendamustine, only took an hour to go in.  By this time, I'd been there 10 hours!  It was only supposed to be about 5 hours.  But I was relieved the Rituxan worked out, since that one can be potentially very helpful in lymphoma.  Rituxan goes in and targets the B cells in the immune system (that's where the cancer is in my case), killing off all of them, both good and bad, so that the body can regrow new ones. That's the plan anyway. (The name of the cancer I have is Non-hodgkins B cell follicular lymphoma). 

All in all, it was a cartload of drugs for one day! I apologized profusely to my liver for all it was going to have to process. Then I went back the next day for one more quick round of bendamustine.  Indeed, my liver ached heartily for 3 days. 

Amazingly enough, the first days I felt quite well.  No doubt, all the steroids kept me going for the second day as they tend to remove all inflammation but only temporarily.  When it all comes back, you feel it.  I also was supposed to have insomnia, for maybe a few nights but at least the first night.  I slept just fine.

The third night I had nausea but mostly just some indigestion the first 5 or 6 days, which some DGL (deglycirrized licorice) fixes really well.  The fourth day brought some distressing body aching, but it was also gone after a day and a half.

Every day, though, it was something a little different - like a box of chocolates.  I didn't know if I'd get my favorite caramel almond one, or one of those mushy syrupy pink ones I had to sneak back in the box.  I kind of wondered when things were supposed to get really bad.  But they didn't, not really.  Except for fatigue and some other strange and unpredictable sensations in my body and brain -- it has all gone quite well. 

Several weeks before, as my doctor was prescribing the heavy-duty anti-nausea meds (that I knew I didn't want to take), I said to him:  "Maybe I won't get nauseous."  He paused and looked at me like he was thinking, "Is she an idiot, or just overly naive." He said, "Everyone gets nausea, and everyone gets fatigue." 

The fatigue I definitely had.  It wasn't crushing though, or overwhelming.  I felt sensitive like I needed some peace and quiet, and irritable at times.  Some days were better than others.  After about a week, my energy improved every day. I was able to go for a walk most days -- kind of my barometer of how well things were going.  Even the sores in my mouth the nurses were warning me about never materialized. 

So, was it my secret weapons used for moving the drugs through?  The flowers?  The music?  I also used a couple strategies to potentiate the new "medications", like hot baths afterward to keep my circulation moving.  Coffee enemas greatly helped my liver and brain fog, infrared saunas with lots of fluid helped moved it all through and out, and select supplements kept things working well, like adrenal support which I"m big on.  I had also prepared for the event by optimizing my Vitamin D (really really important even in lesser circumstances) and a few other things to help ease the way. 

Now it's the 14th day after round one.  I feel so relieved I got through it as well as I have - so far anyway.  The main thing is I got through.  I was so very worried about it.  I go back for round two in exactly two weeks (on January 23rd), again for two days in a row.  There'll be six rounds total. 

And now some really good news!  I went back yesterday for follow-up blood tests. Since lymphoma is a blood cancer, what's happening in the blood is always really significant and shows where things are going.  With these two drugs, the white blood cells ("white count") usually drops low -- the lowest point is around the 14th day and then they work back up (hopefully). 

Mine didn't drop -- they're still normal!  This is huge news and shows that I still have some immunity (and the drugs didn't cause the dreaded "splat").  My doctor was surprised my bloodwork looked so good (my anemia even reversed itself), and thinks it's because I started out in such good shape.  Also, some of the lymph nodes (the ones I can feel) have shrunk significantly.  Best of all, the pain in my chest is gone (which means the large nodes there have shrunk too); I even stopped coughing right away.  Amazing!

I've been told that successive treatments can get harder.   In cases like these, I"m glad I like to question everything. So who knows? Maybe things won't get harder.  

Thank you to all my amazing friends and family who brought food and flowers, phone calls, emails, rides, prayers and asking others to pray for me -- I appreciate you all so much!
 
 

Time for Chemo

I sailed through my three-month lymphoma follow-up -- blood work looking good and the rest of me doing okay.  That was the end of October. 

Unfortunately, there were a couple rips in my sails.  The main one was having gotten several flu viruses since the beginning of September and one in October.  Then the night of my follow-up visit, I suddenly got really sick with what seemed like pneumonia. Then my sails started flapping in the wind!

So Much Gratitude

Simple questions are often the hardest to answer.  Like "who are you"?  If I get asked that question (even by myself), it feels like I"m wandering around inside a cornfield maze -- glimpsing an opening here and there, but ultimately still lost in the seemingly endless possibilities that could be taken.   

But when I get asked, "What are you grateful for?"  -- the answers come crystal clear.  Especially since being diagnosed with cancer (just 3 months now).  I"m not sure how that works because it seems like the opposite should've happened.  I should be acutely aware of bad things happening and wondering "why me?"

Lately I've been reading a well-known inspirational blog by a woman who has breast cancer called The Silver Lining.  Finding the gift, or the silver lining, in all things (especially the seemingly bad things) -- it's all part of the new healing lifestyle.  An *attitude of gratitude* is recommended by most healers these days.  And many of them are M.D.'s. 

How is it that even M.D.'s are on board with this?  Because shifting to the energy of gratitude suddenly lightens the load, and the energy in the body changes.  I can feel a palpable difference when I do it.  Thoughts of  "OMG, I have Stage IV cancer" can nearly suck me under but when I suddenly switch to focusing my thoughts to something I"m thankful for, then I suddenly climb out of a muddy pit and start glimpsing some glittering tree tops. 

It's really quite amazing how that works.  And even if it doesn't work, it just feels good. 


Fresh beautiful flowers after surgery

Since getting the diagnosis in July, many amazing things have happened in my life -- namely in the form of dear friends and family, but also from people I didn't know well or didn't know at all.  I'd like to take this opportunity to say thank you from every crack and crevice in my heart for all the wonderful, touching moments I've experienced -- through gifts of concern, caring, and love.  They've meant everything to me.

Things like finding fresh beautiful flowers on my doorstep on arriving home from surgery, and lots of good food and visits during my recovery in July.  Regular phone calls have also been so meaningful to me, because I haven't always been able to call.  The first weeks after getting diagnosed is usually a very crazy amd overwhelming time.  Many of my friends just kept calling, even when I couldn't return the call, and I appreciated that so much.  

Friends brought ten-pound bags of organic carrots and boxes of organic spinach, and lots of other fresh produce for my new "veggie extravaganza" diet.  I received many beautiful and well-meaning cards and well wishes.



Great water filters (Aquasana) for kitchen and shower

Water filters for my kitchen sink and shower (no more chlorine!) were sent, and a new BPA-free water jug. 

Did I mention all the kindness, compassion, and support via emails and phone calls for dealing with the diagnosis?  That's been so needed and so appreciated. 

My laundry was done, I got rides to CT scans, shots for bloodthinners, and seeing my new oncologist.

Getting ducks in a row isn't easy!

When first diagnosed with cancer, you're not sure where to turn or what to do (or do first), so a lot of energy was spent trying to get my ducks in a row.

For me, getting some kind of logical and impactful treatment going was first on the agenda. Even if doctors wanted to "watch and wait", that's not really my style -- I had to do something! This took, and still takes, a ton of reading and research into what all the best options are for follicular lymphoma.  Friends have helped me tremendously with some of this research and I'm so grateful for that. 

I'm also extrememly grateful for all those who've come before me -- other cancer survivors who have taken the time to document their journey and share it with others.  And share it with me.  Without them, I wouldn't have access to much-needed information for this condition.

And here's one of the most amazing things that's happened to me since July.  A huge emotional gift given by so many, on so many different levels.  Two of  my good friends held a fundraiser for me to help pay for medical expenses -- a bake sale, arts and crafts sale, and yard sale. 

A festive fundraiser with
bake sale under the canopy

They planned the entire thing, got donations of the most amazing kinds (even artwork) with baked goods, and created a very festive yard sale.  When I drove up to the event at 9 am last Saturday morning, I was overcome with emotion.   How could I ask for better friends than this?

What touched me the most was that friends came from all walks of my life -- art groups, book club, singing groups, longtime friends that I hadn't seen in way too long, an amazing nurse from my favorite doctor's office, relatives, church, other cancer survivors, other artists, and neighbors, just to mention a few.  Even the maintenance man from my apartment complex, a young musician, brought his girlfriend.   All of them friends to me.

 

One of my paintings bought
at the fundraiser by a dear friend

It was beautiful and astounding to see all the connections I have made over the years, and so moved that people would take the time just to come out and say hello.  Even more astounding is that I have many more friends who couldn't come, or didn't know about the event.  I value their support and friendship also in every way. 

Another painting bought
by a great friend

So many touching things happened that day.  Like the man who came by, a stranger to me, who said that he also had lymphoma, and to tell me, "It'll get better".  Thank you, whomever you are.

In the end, whether medical bills get paid or not became so inconsequential.  The very full feeling in my heart from that day will stay with me the rest of my life, I"m sure of it.   I felt like George Bailey in the last scene of "It's a Wonderful Life":

No man is poor who has friends. 



Vitamin C, Sugar, and Cancer

Having a degree in nutrition science, I thought I knew a little about Vitamin C.  After all, we learned about Linus Pauling (who discovered Vitamin C) many years ago, and his efforts to cure cancer.  Which sadly have not been researched properly over the years -- a long story that I won't go into here. 

It's the sugar that enters this picture as the real culprit. 

On a Charlie Rose (PBS) show several years ago, I listened to researchers from heavy-weight institutions proclaim that studies had just proved that sugar causes cancer.  And it didn't take years worth of sugar intake to do it -- only a few weeks!  That was startling news, and I wondered how long it'd take our culture to catch on to what a poison sugar really is. 

Now enter my cancer diagnosis, and efforts to try some natural treatments like Vitamin C.  It turns out that Vitamin C (i.e., ascorbic acid) resembles a GLUCOSE molecule!  Glucose as in the most basic sugar in our blood, that all other sugars and starches are broken down into. 

It also turns out that cancer cells take up glucose.  Said another way, cancer cells eat and live on sugar.  WOW. 

Now, this sounded a little surprising to me too at first, but it's fairly common knowledge in the cancer/Vitamin C world.  At least it should be.  My neurologist Dr. Hassid is up on all this.  Here's how it works.  Because ascorbic acid resembles a glucose molecule, the cancer cells (without other available sugar) will take up the ascorbic acid, which then proceeds to kill the cancer cell. 

Simply amazing, isn't it?  This also means one can't eat any sugar around the time of the IV because then the cancer cells will preferentially eat the real sugar instead.  The ascorbic acid is only a suitable alternative without real sugar. 

So the ascorbic acid is given intravenously (IV) in 30 to 75 grams doses (or more), and increases blood levels of ascorbic acid dramatically -- but only for a few hours.  Interestingly, at Dr. Hassids, they also test your blood sugar before and after the IV.  What happens is your blood sugar actually tests HIGH after the IV, but it's only an illusion.  It's only high ascorbic acid, not high glucose.  But even the glucose meter can't tell the difference. 

So blood levels stay high for up to 4 hours, and this is why 2-3 IV's are recommended weekly for cancer treatment. 

Well, that all sounds good but in my mind I got to thinking....if my blood levels are only high for up to 4 hours, then I"m only getting cancer cells killed for 4 hours.  What about the rest of the time?  So I started looking for another way to get, perhaps, round-the-clock cancer killing from ascorbic acid.  I'm not the only one wondering this, it turns out. 

That's where liposomal (fat-soluble) ascorbic acid comes in - taken orally.  If it's fat soluble, and not just water soluble like regular ascorbic acid, then it can actually get inside the fatty membranes surrounding every cell.  This is done by combining the ascorbic acid with phospholipids such as lecithin. 

And now there's not just liposomal, there's "liposheric" ascorbic acid.  Where the fatty molecules are made into even much smaller "nanospheres" so they can REALLY get inside the cells and go to work.  This then keeps levels of ascorbic acid fairly high - almost as high as with IV's, if it's taken at regular intervals during the day. 

I found a way online to make my own lipospheric ascorbic acid using lecithin granules.  It's done with sonic energy that merges the molecules, in a smallish jewelry cleaner machine!  I've never cleaned jewelry in my life with such a machine; maybe that's why my end product seemed like a failure.  Tastes nasty too with the lecithin.  So I just ordered a good brand of liposheric C to see if mine resembled theirs at all.  The oral amount will be 6 grams to 12 grams per day, which could cost up to $1.00 per gram, without making it at home. 

And so goes the weekly trials of using alternative medicine, and attempting some cost effectiveness.  I even had chemistry for 3 years in college, oh well.  It's a process, for sure.

Other things can be made into liposheric molecules too, like glutathione (body's master detoxer), resveretrol (master anti-oxidant), COQ10 (strong anti-inflammatory), and curcumin (from turmeric) -- all very potent cancer supplements.  Sounds like more home chemistry is coming up soon at my house! 

Not According to Plan

I've resisted up until now documenting these new happenings in my life-- even the part of me that's a writer, and needs to write. Maybe seeing the story in writing would make it seem more real -- something I"ve been tactically avoiding in several different not-so-obvious ways.

But then, it's all happened so fast. Just since July 3rd, I've had general surgery to remove a neck lymph node for biopsy, an aneurysm then a massive blood clot of my jugular (neck) vein, been put on anti-coagulants (blood thinners), had a CT scan and bone marrow biopsy, and of course, received the news of first "lymphoma" then "Stage IV lymphoma". All of it unwelcome and shocking news!

The original plan was to "watch and wait" (the official medical term) and get re-evaluated with another CT scan and bloodwork in October. That gave me 3 months to work on my own healing strategies which I launched into right away. And, if nothing else, process the whole mess that really began June 18th with an attempted lymph node biopsy and anxieties of "Gee, could I really have cancer no that would be impossible..."

But I'm floundering this past week with unexpected chest pain where the largest lymph nodes are (next to my heart and lungs). So, not only am I finding I need more coping strategies as things are not going exactly to plan (if there ever could be a plan on this kind of path). I"m also having trouble keeping up with updating all of you, my friends and family which feels so important now. I hope you won't mind reading some of what I may have already told you on the phone or in person.

So suddenly on August 20th (I notice that's today), I had to rush over for another CT scan of my chest to see if the large lymph nodes there had grown too much, causing pain, and which might require some intervention, namely chemo. Yesterday I saw Dr. K my oncologist (I notice online they're often called "onc" for short) to learn more about his thoughts on treatment for my particular situation. His plan for chemo would be two drugs -- one doesn't seem so bad and in fact, seems pretty smart. It's an immunotherapy drug that targets the B-cells (lymphocytes) directly -- the good ones and cancerous ones. But hey, that's better than kiling a bunch of other good cells.

However, his description of the second drug caused me to use a few wads of the tissue they kindly keep on hand for sobbing patients. At that point, it kinda hit me. That it is really ME that has cancer and it will really be ME that might need chemo.

And now here it is in writing, so it must be true. Thank you for participating in my now much-needed coping strategy of writing. But more than that, I appreciate your support by just knowing about and acknowledging the path I'm now on, and have been on for 4-5 years because that's apparently how long I've had this slow-growing lymphoma. I'm already a cancer survivor! I guess that's the good news. I'll have to mull that one.

 

\

The Good Thing About Cancer

A good friend just loaned me the book by Bernie Siegal M.D. -- How to Live Between Office Visits, A Guide to Life, Love, and Health. Wish I would've had this book in my pre-cancer days, it's fabulous! Bernie even got me to tear up a list I was making yesterday -- not an easy feat for me -- and just experience the day. It felt so much better and so much less frantic.

This is a poem he received from a woman named Patsy Barrineau, who left this wise and beautiful message.

The Good Thing About Cancer

The good thing about cancer

is that it speaks

in short sentences.

I listen attentively

as malignancy whispers:

Applaud yourself.

Hold his hand longer.

Hug her.

Buy it.

Say it.

Touch.

Kiss.

Smile.

Scream.

Laugh.

Cry.

Enjoy.

Live.

Yes.

I especially like the last "sentence"...

 

 

Follicular Lymphoma in a Nutshell

Before being diagnosed with lymphoma (on July 8, 2013 -- one of those unforgettable days), I thought I knew a little about cancer. I’ve had some dear friends get cancer, as I’m sure we all have. Plus, I've been involved in the health and healing world over the years in one way or another, so I've known professionally of many aspects of cancer.

It turns out, I didn't know much.

There’s so much to know! Even for lymphoma, there’s a dizzying array of categories and types. What I have is called “follicular lymphoma”-- the shorter name for:

Non-Hodgkins B-cell follicular lymphoma

What the heck is follicular lymphoma? Basically, it’s a cancer of the immune system, specifically, the B cells. These B cells (along with the T cells) are some of the soldiers (the lymphocytes) of the immune system if the whole thing was likened to an army. They help find and destroy invading organisms like viruses and bacteria.

The cancerous B cells then collect in different parts of the immune system, like the spleen, thymus gland, bone marrow, and the lymph nodes (located all over the body). My spleen and thymus gland are okay, but I have groups of enlarged lymph nodes in 6 different areas: neck, chest, one armpit, upper and lower abdomen, and groin. The largest lymph nodes are in my chest, between my lungs, next to my heart. They were almost large enough to cause my oncologist to recommend immediate chemo – but not quite. And it’s in my bone marrow, making it Stage IV, which just describes how much it’s spread.

Follicular means it’s slow growing, and it’s the most common type of the slow-growing lymphomas. It’s also considered incurable, unlike more aggressive forms that are considered curable. Doesn’t make sense, but there it is. When I first heard that it was slow growing, that sounded pretty good, or at least, not quite so bad. Until I learned it's been growing so long (4-5 years possibly) that it's spread significantly.

Something else I didn't know at first -- lymphoma is considered a blood cancer (along the lines of leukemia). And it’s most often diagnosed in the later stages (III or IV) because there aren’t any symptoms to speak of – not until an enlarged lymph node shows up and one is lucky enough to get it diagnosed before getting to the point of having night sweats, fatigue, or fevers. At that point, then it’s usually the most advanced (like Stage IVB). I’m at Stage IVA, because I don’t have those symptoms.

So, how long have I got? This is the question that strikes terror at mention of the “c”word. And I’d like to take a moment here to thank all my friends and family who haven’t yet specifically asked me this question (smile). I’m getting better at discussing statistics and all that, but…it’s not that easy at first to talk about your own mortality.

The prognosis is generally pretty good and the median survival is about 8-15 years but can range from 1 year to 20 years. It just depends on a lot of individual factors. My oncologist gave me my own statistics, based on everything like my age, bloodwork, size of lymph nodes, etc. I’m sure I”ll talk about it one of these days…

So What Now? My oncologist feels that treatment (chemo) will be needed, it’s just a matter of when. I asked him what would happen if nothing was done for another year and he said that my bone marrow would be totally infiltrated. Radiation is sometimes used, but in my case, my biggest lymph nodes are right next to two of my best buddies – my heart and lungs! So that’s too risky in that area.

Since I feel pretty good and don’t have any real bad symptoms, the “watch and wait” approach is the first strategy. This sounds odd at first (it did to me) because you’d think that taking immediate action against cancer (especially if it’s advanced) would be the best medicine. But in the case of slow-growing lymphomas like I have, it’s actually better to wait until things get worse somehow – like fever, night sweats, fatigue, or pain; or things get too “bulky” (very enlarged lymph nodes) that start causing trouble (i.e., pain), or major organs are threatened. Since I’ve been having chest pain for some weeks now, that might be what triggers the need for chemo, I’m not sure yet. I’ll see my oncologist again this week to talk about it.

Apparently, studies have consistently shown that survival is the same whether treatment is started immediately or deferred until needed. And I’m fine with that. Because if I would’ve been told 4 weeks ago that I needed chemo right away, I probably would’ve flipped! At least I have a chance to research my options and get used to the idea.

In the meantime, I’m not waiting. I have my oncologist’s blessing to try anything I can to help myself. My ultimate and perhaps lofty goal is to never have chemo. So I’ve already started some of my own treatments to aim for that goal (if nothing else, these things should keep me feeling strong):

·   A specific diet for blood cancers (80% plant foods like vegetables, nuts, seeds, low-sugar fruits, beans; and 20% high-quality fatty meats -- believe it or not, like grass-fed beef and lamb), organic eggs, and whey protein.

·   Lots of supplements for inflammation etc.

·   Detoxing with infrared saunas and coffee enemas (among other things)

·   Vitamin C therapy (I had my first IV infusion yesterday; more on that wonder drug soon!)

·   Exercise of all kinds to keep lymph moving

·   Daily vegetable juicing

And massive quantities of vegetables in every way imaginable! This is all quite a bit of daily work, more than I ever could’ve dreamed, but seems to be paying off already. I've already reversed the anemia (low iron) so that's encouraging. And I started feeling even better after starting all these things, especially the diet.

If you’re wondering about the fatty meats, that surprised me too. Until the past few weeks, I haven’t eaten beef much for 10 years unless it was given to me at Christmas! But it makes sense. Beef offers the most absorbable form of iron, and blood cancers usually bring anemia (low iron). Thankfully, I’m already gluten-free for 3 years, because if I were starting that right now along with everything else, it’d be a lot. Alas, I’ve had to cut out dairy – something I never thought I could do. And I’m surprised how little I miss it, but will need to find another way to make coconut pudding - one of my comfort foods. Does anyone have any ideas?

I initially started on a pancreatic enzyme program that kills cancer cells (the Kelley Metabolic Program) but I recently discovered that high doses of Vitamin C really help the chest pain. So for now, Vitamin C is what I’m focusing on.

Will all my efforts be enough to stop the cancer from growing?

I have no idea. But figure it’s worth a try. I’m not the kind of person to sit around waiting for something to happen. I’d rather feel like I’m doing something to help myself, even if it involves shoving vegetables into my Jack LaLane juicer day after day.

I'm sure I'll learn a ton more as time goes on about the immune system, cancer in the immune system, and all things related. But for now, thanks for following my stumblings as I try to find my way through the maze of cancer. I appreciate your presence very much!