Part 14. Chemotherapy 201 - Course Description

My cancer marker had been rising over the last few months; the anti estrogen therapy was not working. It isn’t that the cancer had “returned." It actually never left. I knew this and we were all hoping the anti estrogen therapy would keep it in check, but it didn’t.  So then, now what?

I have a tremendous amount of gratitude for my original oncologist. She was the calm within my chaos last year; the placeholder for my climb out of the abyss that was my existence. I always appreciated her availability, her care, and her calm demeanor. She outlined my options as we contemplated this next phase of my treatment - chemotherapy, a chemotherapy pill or a combination of an anti estrogen pill with the addition of another, Palbociclib.  In each case it would be buying me more time only. Frankly, none of the alternatives were making me jump up and down with excitement. She then said the words that gave me my freedom. “Renee, this is not curable.”

"If the only thing her recommendations can do is buy me more time," I thought, “What option do I like that buys me the most time, and is there an option out there I don’t know about that might give me the cure that I believe is possible?” I researched clinics in Mexico, San Diego, and Germany. I thought about trying alternative treatments that would require  buying the products from Canada because they are not approved here; I read about different strains of medical marijuana that have proven successful for some; and I explored various well known alternative protocols that I could implement on my own and then supplement with some of these other options.  I discussed these with my naturopath who then mentioned a doctor in Seattle she calls, “an out of the box Western Medicine oncologist, Dr. Chue”.  Wes and I scheduled a consultation at his office.

Upon entering the office, above the receptionist desk is the name of the clinic, Lifespring Cancer Treatment Center (love the name!), and a quote underneath, “With God, all things are possible.” Matthew 19:26. The juxtaposition of that statement and “Renee, this is not curable” was palpable. Here was an entire office that believes in the possibility of a cure. After a brief wait, I was brought to the area to check my vitals and above the chair I sat in was a painting “You are loved” and I thought, “Well, so far they are speaking my language everywhere I look!”

Dr. Chue talked to Wes and me for two hours and explained how his way of treating cancer differs than most oncologists. “First of all, I don’t see stage 4 cancer as incurable. Stage 4 cancer means you have more cancer.”  I am very much going to paraphrase what he said and hope I get it right. I’m not a science kind of gal as you know. Any mistake I make is mine in the translation of what I heard him say.

 “Cancer cells are smart in that they eventually learn how to outsmart the chemotherapy drug that is used. They also send out chemicals to create blood vessels to feed the tumors and these blood vessels aren’t great for getting the chemotherapy or immune system to reach the tumor. Usually, the amount of chemotherapy drug used is low enough so the patient doesn't die, but high enough to kill the cancer cells. Often there needs to be three weeks in between infusions to allow the patient to recover.” 

Because of how cancer behaves, Dr. Chue developed a three pronged approach to his system that differs from the normal approach and he’s been doing it this way for 20 years.

1. One drug, Paclitaxel, is given to shut down the blood vessels feeding the tumors.  Shutting down those vessels weakens the cancer.
2. He then adds in one or more other chemotherapy drug to kill the cells.
3. Finally, one to three immunotherapy drugs like interferon are given to boost the immune system. Adding in the immune boosting functions make the chemo drugs synergistically work better. 

All of this is possible because he is using low doses of everything and it is given on a weekly basis, This way of treating cancer is called metronomic chemotherapy. After twelve rounds of chemotherapy he assesses the progress and then switches the chemotherapy drug to outwit the cancer before it can get smart. He keeps switching it up every twelve weeks or so until the cancer is gone. This can mean you can be doing chemotherapy for quite awhile, particularly with stage 4 cancers. While I was not thrilled to be doing chemotherapy again, I was excited because his explanation made sense to me. There seemed to be logical, purposeful intent to the process and it resonated. Had I stayed with my original oncologist I would have opted out of chemotherapy as she had outlined it...not as a way to buy me more time only.

Dr. Chue truly believes he can help everyone and the attitude is infectious throughout the office. I heard of a woman who is thirteen years cancer free after having had breast cancer metastasize to her bones, liver and lungs. Today I met Karen (not her real name), who was diagnosed 10 years ago with stage 4 pancreatic cancer that had metastasized to her liver, lungs and lymph nodes. She was given 45 days to live...10 years ago. Here is another article about a 35 year old man with metastatic pancreatic cancer who found Dr. Chue. http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2806805/  He was so weak when he started treatment that he was brought in on a stretcher for his infusions. Five years later he completed the Seattle to Portland 175 mile bike ride. Patients in Dr. Chue’s office use words like, “amazing”, “brilliant”, and “genius” to describe him and people travel long distances to take advantage of his protocol. One woman travelled from Florida weekly for two years.

I love the infusion room overlooking Lake Union in Seattle. Last year my chemotherapy was done in a lovely, private area sectioned off from the other patients by a curtain. In this office there are 10 chairs set up side by side so that patients can chat with one another. If it weren’t for the infusion drips standing next to each person one might think we were all getting pedicures!  Inherent in a set-up such as this is confidence; confidence that the chatter amongst the patients is going to be beneficial to their well being, not detrimental.

So, to all of you who may know someone recently diagnosed with cancer, please, please share Dr. Chue’s information if it resonates: http://www.lifespringcancer.com. To all of you who are concerned for me...thank you AND I have been living with cancer for awhile; this is my new normal for now. My view is that I’m just in a different phase and I feel like I’m getting to be part of something special! I’m living my life with as little interruption as I can, and yet, I honor my body’s need for a slower pace. The bummer is I will lose my hair again. Drat! Vanity still speaks strongly! In anticipation of that, I had my friend Jami cut my hair really short so it won’t be as hard emotionally when it begins to fall out. Oh, and I find myself searching for cute little hats again...

Part 13. Chemotherapy 101 - Life Lessons

I’m sure many of you took chemistry when you were in school. Not me. I avoided science classes as much as possible. I’m sure many of you learned a lot in those classes and can recall the lessons even today. Since I did not take those classes, I cannot. The closest I got to taking chemistry was the twelve week course of chemotherapy I went through last summer. Chemistry - chemotherapy. Well I did have lab work every week and I did come away from the experience having learned things I won’t easily forget.

Life Lesson #1 Don’t “wait” away your life.

“I got my day back!” was a common phrase I would say to Wes last summer. He would often respond, “Yes, you got your day back!” The phrase originated early in the process of my chemotherapy. Technically you could say it started a long time ago. You see, I was a “waiter”. A waiter is someone who convinces herself that whatever you are currently experiencing will be better when…and fill in the blank. 

• I won’t be as stressed about money when I get that raise only to end up spending more when the raise comes…
• I won’t be as stressed when I get this new job only to find out the stress seems to follow you…
• I will feel better about myself when I lose weight …only to find out the weight stays on, or, it comes off and you still don’t have the esteem you would hope for. 

For me it was a way of repressing feelings when I had no control over something I was experiencing that I didn't like; a form of denial. I would tell myself, “All I need to do is wait for “it” to get better” which is sometime in the future and depends on some external event happening. But somehow that future utopian state never arrives even if the event does.

Last summer I found myself doing it again. I was sitting in the chair in my family room, tired and unmotivated, having received chemo the day before. “So, September 15th I will be done. That’s a little less than 3 months from now. That’s not that long. I can wait.” I sat there a little longer, “Twelve weeks; 84 days, and then I can start planning things again.” It was the equivalent of pressing the pause button on my life. I rocked in the chair back and forth a few more times. It was quiet; quiet enough to hear a clock ticking had one been on the wall.   I wish I knew who or what I could credit for the moment of crystal clear insight that came to me. 

“So do you really think that on day 85 something is going to be so different as to change how you feel on the inside about your life? It’s an illusion. There is no future date where everything is fine. You could waste 84 days waiting for the 85th, as if that day has the power to change everything. Its just another day. There is only ever NOW. NOW in this moment and NOW in three months. So how do you want NOW to look?

In that moment of clarity I thought, “Get up. Get up out of the chair and do one thing that says to the Universe, this is what living NOW looks like. This is what participating in life looks like. Listen to your body and don’t overdo it but get up now because you are able to and do something.” 

So I did. I got up and cleaned the kitchen. Yes, I know, a little underwhelming if this were a plot in a movie but at the time I was thrilled because it said I was participating in life in whatever way was available to me. Cleaning the house, running errands, playing in the garden, going to yoga were days I would rejoice because they meant I was experiencing life in normal ways. No more waiting for life to be different; I was creating life in the ways that I could. Each one of those days became an “I got my day back!” day - another day rescued from the black hole to which I had almost relegated them.  Chemotherapy gave me that important life lesson - create your life; don’t waste it away by deluding yourself into thinking the future will be different because its the future.

Life Lesson #2 Sometimes it’s kinder to accept one’s faults rather than force yourself to grow and change.

“I am vain. No two ways about it. I am vain and I’m ok with that.” I uttered that phrase a few times last summer, too. In the last ten years I had developed enough tools that when I would become aware of traits I didn’t like in myself I had ways to easily release them. In the process I found myself able to increasingly live a more peaceful life - the more you get rid of things that push your buttons, the more peaceful you are. But not this one.

One of many hats...and Ruby!

With the chemo I had lost my hair and I would not go in public without a hat. I tried. My friend Catherine, who had shaved her head in solidarity, was fine going without, but not me. I wanted to be brave so one time I did go without a hat and it was the last time I did. I was leaving my physical therapy appointment with my hat in hand rather than on my head. As I walked through the waiting room a teenage girl and I made eye contact and then she looked away. That's all it took! The hat went back on...and stayed on. I fantasized about walking into a store with a bald head and a smile on my face. In my mind, my ability to do that was the equivalent of winning a gold medal in the category of not caring what people think. I worked with the various tools to let go of the vanity. I understood what was underneath it all and finally I said, “Nope, its ok. I’m vain. I don’t care. I can live with this one. I don’t need a gold medal, I’d rather be kind. Life lesson number two- not everything needs to be let go of just because you’re aware of it. Sometimes acceptance of your faults is the kinder action.

Life Lesson #3 may not really be a life lesson as much as a “thing” that surprised me with chemotherapy.

Chemotherapy became a security blanket assuaging my fear of cancer’s proliferation as long as I was on it. This was a far cry from my long held negative beliefs about chemotherapy. On the very last day, when the chemo pump sounded its beep-beep-beep signaling I was done, I was elated. Wes and I high-fived one another with grins on our faces. As we drove away from the hospital, I was contemplating that I was really done. I had made it! There quickly followed this awareness of a sleeping dog beginning to awaken. Fear. It slept the entire time I was doing chemo and it began to stir again now that it was over, as if it had been patiently waiting for this day, too. This was not a friendly dog and I didn’t like what I was feeling.  The irony of how I came to feel about chemo was not lost on me either as a part of me actually wished I wasn’t done. If there is a life lesson here it is enemies can become friends given the right circumstances - be careful how you judge.

Catherine and me, 07/15

Well, it is summer. Apparently, summer signals a time for me to take my version of those science courses again because I  started chemotherapy last week. I’ll call it Chemotherapy 201, an upper level course this time. All kidding aside, as I mentioned in a previous post, my cancer marker number went up recently causing me to research many options. I’m excited to share those options in my next post and what I have chosen to do. Until then, I have already had a few opportunities to say, “Wes, I got my day back!” “Yes, you got your day back!” he always replies.

Part 12. Loving Cancer

Imagine the one relationship in your life that causes you the most pain or frustration; anger, irritation, or sadness. Who is this person? A coworker? A sibling? A boss? A friend’s partner? A parent? Who is the one who has the ability to change your mood from equanimity to irritation by the mere thought of them? Who is the one who can walk into the room and you feel your guard go up, your mood go down, and you begin to strategize how you want the interaction to go. 

These individuals have a tremendous amount of power over us. As long they have the ability to make us feel anything other than equanimity then they have power. They own a part of us if we give them any thought at all. It’s like we take one end of a rope, give them the other and play tug-of-war. We are tethered together in the struggle for who is right, who hurt whom, who was mean, unfair, gets undeserved attention, etc. Who will win? 

How tired are we willing to get before we drop the rope and say, “What else is possible because this situation isn’t changing and I’m tired of feeling this way?”

Cancer is no different. Those of us who have been diagnosed with cancer have entered into a relationship, one we prefer we didn’t have to have, wish would disappear out of our life, watch as it does things to us we can’t stand, and get tired and frustrated when cancer seems to have an endless supply of energy on its end of the rope. In our society we fight it. We keep pulling on that rope hoping our stamina and medical advances outlast our foe. Cancer pulls back pretty hard. All the terminology around cancer speaks to this being the accepted way of being in relationship with it. We fight because the only other option appears to be death…two options - fight or die. For me, when Carissa Schumacher urged me to “find a way to love cancer,” (see previous post) a third option was revealed and has been the source of my tranquility throughout the vast terrain this odyssey has presented.

So, what does loving cancer look like? It has been an ever evolving process towards deepening levels of love. In the beginning it was easiest for me to love cancer for the gifts it gave me…most of which I have mentioned in previous posts.

•     A deeper connection with Wes, as well as family and friends.
•     A vehicle for healing long held traumas, beliefs, and ways of looking at the world that no longer serve me.
•     The willingness to live fearlessly!
•     A preciousness for being alive, appreciation for what’s really important in life, gratitude for the little things like walking and driving.
•     A change in perspective so that any circumstance in which I find myself, I choose to say, “Where is the opportunity for love to reveal itself?” As an example, last year when my hair started falling out due to the chemo, I could have felt victimized, "Look what chemo is doing to me?" Instead, one of my fondest memories was the love fest I had with my closest friends as we held a Bald is Beautiful Party. Mike and Catherine (who deserve a blog post of their own) along with Wes agreed to shave their heads in support of me. My friend Jami is a hair stylist and did the honors. Leanne and Gigi lent their moral support and filled in as assistant stylist and photographer. Music, laughter, joy, and love all filled the room as the hair fell to the floor.  

Sometime in the last few months I sensed there was more. I began to realize the inadequacy of this kind of love - the kind where I’m grateful for the gifts cancer provided, but could easily do without the giver. It’s conditional. When I was young I was an achiever who caused very little, if any, anguish for my parents. That was the objective. The gifts I provided by my “achieving” got me love, or at least, made my parents happy. But I never tested the waters to see if I, the giver, could be loved unconditionally, without the “achieving.” I didn’t like how that kind of love felt so why would I be content with loving cancer in the exact same way. Could I love cancer unconditionally, no matter what it might do to me? And why would I?

I began to see the cancer cells in the same way I do my kids. No matter what my kids do I will always love them. I may not like what they do, but I will always love them; they are a part of me. To love cancer, everyone of those pesky cells, is to also love every part of me. If I can’t love all of me then how do I expect someone else to love me. If I can love cancer, something that might be the cause of my death, then there is no thing in this world that is beyond my love. And, when you love cancer, it no longer has any power over you! I am untethered. It cannot hurt me because the one thing this odyssey has given me is a very deep knowing of the eternal nature of my being. That is what loving cancer unconditionally has given me - freedom and a life worth living.

I go forth in this odyssey with a very powerful will to live; I have big things I still want to do but I no longer fight cancer in the process of doing those things. I dropped the rope of the tug-of-war I was playing and in doing so, I’ve had a chance to see what else is possible. I see myself as healthy (with some unruly cells playing around in there), I live everyday from a place of love, make choices in my care as to what is in the highest good for my body; not from the space of fear, and the outcome of all that will be known…later. All we only really have is now and my every moment is an incredibly precious moment.

Bald is Beautiful

Part 11. For a Higher Purpose

In a previous post I had mentioned that there were two people who I credit with saving my life. I wrote about Matt Kahn earlier. It seemed time to share the other, Carissa Schumacher. If Matt planted the seed that allowed my will to blossom and choose life, Carissa was the one who showed me the path through the forest; a forest that had seemed so dark and dense as to be void of paths.

Carissa is a psychic; probably the most eerily accurate psychic I have ever witnessed including those that make their living writing books and frequenting talk shows. Carissa chose another route. She works with those individuals who happen to find her; she doesn’t even have a website. (I have an email address for those interested.) There were a number of helpful topics we discussed, but there were two that seemed appropriate to share in a blog post. These two concepts have helped me, informed my way of life, changed me irrevocably. 

In our society we spend so much time fighting cancer, battling cancer, hoping whatever course of action we choose will get rid of the cancer. We worry, we fret, we are sad, angry and impatient to have it out of our bodies. The one thing that we don’t do; the one thing that is rarely asked is, “How might cancer be serving my highest good?” Sure we all want to heal from cancer, but do we ever consider how we might heal because of it? The two concepts Carissa shared and the subsequent work I did with those concepts made me realize that regardless of whether I healed physically from cancer, it was the vehicle by which I was able to do the real healing; the kind that transcends time and allows for more love, compassion, and connection to exist in my being. Ultimately, this kind of healing is the fertile soil that allows and supports the physical healing. 

The first concept had to do with "Life Purpose". Carissa’s innate knowledge of what she saw as my purpose for incarnating on this Earth, in this body, facilitated the shift in perspective on my relationship with cancer and fueled my desire to live. She said, “You came down here and incarnated in this body to once and for all heal cancer on behalf of your ancestors.” I knew what she was talking about. On my mother’s side of the family, going back four generations there are only seven females. I’m betting my Italian Catholic Great Grandmother had siblings but I know nothing of them so technically there may be more. Of these seven females, I was diagnosed with breast cancer; my mother is six years free of ovarian cancer; my grandmother died of lung cancer; my grandmother’s sister, throat cancer; and her other sister, colon cancer. I do not know the cause of death of my grandmother’s remaining sister nor my great grandmother. Intuitively, I knew that Carissa was referring to the underlying emotional and energetic patterns that have been passed down from generation to generation. In my business as a life coach and EFT practitioner, Epigenetics, the study of external or environmental factors' influence on genes, is a big deal. In our business, it is common to see how resolving emotional issues heals illness and disease.

The females on my mother’s side of the family are extraordinarily strong, self-sufficient, resilient women who chose to repress their voices for the sake of peace in their world. They gave away their power in an effort to be accepted, to be loved. It was safe; it kept them secure but at what cost? Where does all that anger go? I have such respect and compassion for their journeys and some day I look forward to sharing my grandmother's story of immigrating to the U.S. as an indentured servant from Italy.

As I settled into the idea that I was here to heal on behalf of my ancestors, I began to see having cancer as a calling, that there was some purpose to it, and I wasn’t just some random recipient of a bum deal. For me, cancer broke open my heart, crumbled my defenses, my walls, my constructs; all of which kept me safe, but also kept me separate and alone. In the ensuing year after my call with Carissa, I left my safe, little, invisible “island”. I blew it up actually, paddled to the mainland where all my relationships were and participated more fully in them...the good, the bad, the ugly. I healed the remaining parts of me that felt small and scared, and began to embody a quiet, peaceful confidence. For the first time in my life I became completely comfortable in my own skin. I found my voice and my power; a power that quietly sits inside. It doesn't need to make itself known in some big flashy way. It comes out to play as love and as a space holder for others to be able to find their voice, their power and to allow them to know they are loved and accepted exactly as they are in this moment.

 “I’m ok. I have always been ok. I always will be ok,” I wrote one day after a meditation. I knew this transcended death. I had healed what needed to be healed on behalf of my family. When I close my eyes I see a half dozen women, my ancestors, standing in a semicircle smiling at me full of love and peace. Their smile says, “Yes you did. You healed on behalf of us all.”

Cancer gave me that. I'm incredibly lucky to be able to feel that, to feel whole; to feel so much love in my heart, so much peace in my being, so much gratitude for all that I encounter. Can I regret having cancer? No, not at all.

Carissa’s other suggestion had me take a deep breath, exhale, inhale and say, “O.K…wow. How do I do that?” She had said (paraphrasing) to me, “ Renee, you need to find a way to love the cancer. I know in our society that goes against everything that is said, taught, and stressed about cancer but your path is through loving it, not fighting it. By doing that you begin to change the consciousness around cancer. That is another part of your life purpose.”

After we hung up the phone I let that seep into me. “What does loving cancer look like and why would I want to love cancer when everything in me wants it OUT!?”

To be continued...

Part 10. An Unexpected Gift from Ireland

In the movie The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel there is a character named Graham Dashwood played by Tom Wilkinson. With a group of retirement-aged people, Graham Dashwood chooses to go to India, to the Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. One of his motivations was to discover what happened to a long lost love. What is unknown to the group of people with whom he went was he had a life threatening illness he never shared. 

I too went to a foreign country with a group of similarly aged people, not to find a long lost love, although a deepening of love for my mother occurred. Rather, I too chose not to share my “back story”. I didn’t realize until my return what was beneath my motivation. For the first time in a long time I got to be Renee Meyers not Renee Cancer Meyers. The hosts of the group knew my situation, my mother knew, but the other 26 people knew nothing. 

I was happy. Free. Weightless. I got to be the version of me I envisioned. I didn’t care if anyone asked a single thing about my life. I was content to be interested in learning about theirs.There was the story of “Ted” who had a huge limb from an equally huge tree fall on him last winter during a nasty windstorm, puncturing his lung and breaking his arm. He brought pictures to share of the limb…both the tree’s and his. Though not the most dynamic of storytellers, you could tell that the experience was very important to him. He never voiced it, but I imagine the story was worthy of pictures because it was as close to escaping death as he could imagine.

 There was the comedic story of “Tess” who shared the messy details of her divorce involving mistresses, children by the mistress, and a letting go of long held beliefs about marriage. It was a divorce worthy of a movie script. Woven within every comedy sketch is real life pain that comedians know how to make humorous. Though she was a teacher, a comedian she could be. A few of us had a friendly competition which Tess won…"Who has spent the least amount of money for an item at Kohl’s?" I thought I would win having spent zero for an item I purchased a couple  years ago. Tess had a gift card which meant she had money left over when all was said and done.

There was the “how did you meet” story of one couple. She had never been married, he two months a widower. They were fixed up on a blind date and married six months later. That couple has been married 25 years and you can still see their mutual admiration and love for each other.

I didn’t need to be “heard” or be “seen”. I got to hold space for others to be heard and seen. Over breakfast one morning there was an impromptu, listening/ coaching moment where “Mary” came to see she really didn’t want to retire from her job; she loved it! She found freedom in announcing when she got back she was withdrawing her notice to leave. The only reason she was going to retire was because she thought it was expected of her given her age. There was the impromptu fashion consultant moment where I got to help “Jane” see that the green color of a particular cape brightened her face; the lavender in the other cape washed her out. Moments of friendship…listening, as “Margaret” shared that she had lost two of her three children…encouraging, as“Jill” overcame her fear of heights as we climbed the steps to kiss the Blarney Stone…just holding space for others to feel what they needed to feel.

Really, none of the above snippets signify anything big and that is the point. It’s how I choose to be in the world; how we all probably choose to be in the world. I got to experience again what it is like to be one of the crowd rather than one with “special circumstances.” I got to be me and no one needed to filter her choice of words for fear of how I might take it. Sometimes cancer can feel like an unwanted companion whose mere presence flavors, changes how the interactions, how the conversations occur.

Cancer does funny things to your relationships. “How are you?” said between friends upon seeing one another means, “hi!” or “What’s up since I last saw you?” Said to someone with cancer it can mean, “Has anything changed?” or “I’m so worried about you,” or “I hope you’re not closer to dying?” I suppose it can mean “hi,” but often the bracing expectation of an unwanted answer that accompanies the question adds something to the meaning. I’m not criticizing peoples’ genuine concern for loved ones. I get why the question is asked. I just long for normalcy in conversations. 

Similarly when I can tell that something is bothering a friend and ask about it, the answer can be prefaced with, “I’m worried about something which is stupid when I think about what you’re dealing with.” My response has always been, “Pain is pain. Worry is worry. Sadness is sadness. What causes it doesn’t matter. The pain, worry, or sadness deserves compassion regardless of how big or small the cause. I don’t think our emotions follow a hierarchal scale when they decide to make themselves known. We are the ones who add the scale and decide whether we are justified in feeling a certain way. My worry about cancer can feel exactly the same in me as your worry about whether the bee that just landed on you is about to sting you! When you share your life with me as you always would have, both the joys and the sorrows, what I receive is a chance to care for you.

Happy. Weightless. Free. That’s what I felt in Ireland. I brought a suitcase to Ireland and though it was heavy, the invisible one that follows me around at home, the one with the big letter C on it can feel much heavier. Some days it disappears completely, other days I’m good at tucking it under the table or in the closet, and, still others, it feels like I carry it on my back. Today, as I write this, it is propped against the wall over there…whatever that means. I won’t be contemplating the meaning…it is a beautiful day outside and I’m going to go walk my dogs.