Visit to Healer

I went to a professional healer today, at the urging of two friends. He has supposedly cured a number of people of cancer. I’m a bit skeptical about most alternative therapies, but I thought I should try him out because my friends swore by him.

He asked me some questions about my cancer and offered some observations such as, “You have at least six tumors”, then later on in the session, “You have more than ten tumors”. This wasn’t too difficult a deduction since I’d told him the cancer was all over my chest and in my lungs.

He told me a few other things about myself. He said I had no “joy”. I told him I thought I was a pretty happy person, cancer aside. He said I might be happy, but I didn’t have “joy”. He didn’t elaborate.

He had me lie down on a massage table and yanked at my arms, legs, and cracked my neck. He said this was to release my energies. He had me float my hand over my heart and asked if I felt any warmth. I tried to feel it; I willed myself to feel it. But I didn’t.

He said I needed to believe in his methods or they wouldn’t work on me.

This is the same circular logic that gets me stuck with Christianity. Either you’re in the circle of faith or you’re out. And if you don’t have faith, which by definition is belief without reason, then you can’t be saved. I wish I could have faith, but I don’t. It’s just not there. I don’t know how to get it, but I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be able to buy it at $120 an hour.

The healer said I had cancer because I didn’t “know myself” and if I were to “find myself”, then I’d be cured of my cancer. This idea of finding oneself is so vague and subject to so many interpretations. I find this obsession with finding one’s “essence”, whatever that means, can be quite egocentric and selfish. This is what bothers me about Buddhism. I never liked the idea of these monks forsaking the world, abandoning their families and loved ones, so they can go sit on some mountain and reach nirvana. Isn’t that the ultimate in self-centeredness?

I think we’re always learning new things about ourselves and some people are more self-aware than others. I think finding oneself is like finding happiness – it’s the process that’s important and people aren’t meant to sit back at some point in their lives and say, “Aaah, I’ve found myself. I’m truly happy.” Because once you reach that point, what are you supposed to do next?

This healer might have helped many cancer patients, but so have doctors. I’d wager that the percentage of cancer patients saved by conventional medicine far exceeds the percentage saved by alternative therapies. I’ve heard many stories about miraculous cures, people whose cancers completely disappeared without any medical intervention. I believe that’s possible through a confluence of events, including environmental and lifestyle factors – the same myriad factors that came together to cause the cancer in the first place. We can’t explain them because they’re too complex. They’re miracles.

If you believe in miracles, then miracles will happen for you. A rainbow is a miracle or a sign from God. Or it’s the result of the refraction and dispersion of sunlight by moisture in the air. It’s more beautiful to think of it as a miracle, so I don’t begrudge people who can see it as such. They might be the lucky ones. But I can see a rainbow’s beauty and still appreciate the science behind it. I can see myself being cured of this cancer and appreciate the science behind it – a science which I believe is in itself a miracle.

Chemo Comparison

I had one chemo treatment in Sydney, Australia during our family vacation. I just got back to Singapore and had another chemo treatment today. What a world of difference in the two experiences!

The chemo room in Sydney was warm, lively, buzzing with activity. Patients were busy reading or chatting with their chemo buddies, while nurses scurried about calling out greetings to patients and engaging in friendly conversation.

The chemo room in Singapore was cold, quiet, and full of sick-looking people. The patients were all asleep. This may be due to the fact that the Singapore doctor is giving all her patients drugs that knock them out, as she had been with me.

I learned in Sydney that I’d been getting seven drugs to control side effects, none of which the oncologist there thought I needed. So when I went for my chemo today, I asked to have my chemo without these side effect drugs. For the first time, I was awake during my chemo and left the doctor’s office feeling awake and energetic instead of groggy and drugged.

I think the Singaporean approach is to overmedicate just in case a patient develops side effects, while the Australian approach is to wait to see if a patient has side effects before they start prescribing drugs. I’ve had no side effects. I ran seven kilometers tonight without any problems. In fact, it was my fastest time yet. No side effects. I’d been taking seven side effect drugs that I didn’t even need. That’s about S$500 worth of drugs each time I had chemo.

That brings me to a big problem with doctors and drugs in Singapore. Here, doctors dispense the drugs they prescribe. So the more drugs they prescribe, the more money they make. That kind of collusion would be considered illegal in the U.S.

The nurses in Sydney were more knowledgeable, articulate, and communicative than any doctors I’ve had in Singapore. In Singapore I have to fight for every bit of information I get. In Sydney, the nurses were amazingly well informed and very good at explaining every aspect of my treatment with me. I’ve gotten answers to questions I’d been asking my doctor for months without getting clear responses.

When a nurse came to me and introduced herself to me, I hesitated for a second before responding because it was such a new experience for me. Since my diagnosis almost two years ago, no doctor, nurse, or technician in Singapore has ever introduced themselves to me. A simple “Hi, I’m so-and-so. I’ll be doing this procedure for you today” is something I’ve never heard here in Singapore.

On the other hand, the oncologist in Sydney was very impressed with my scans. I don’t think she’d ever seen a whole body MRI before. So technologically, Singapore is ahead of Australia. But in the human touch, Singapore is greatly lacking.

Where does this leave me? As my situation deteriorates, I’ll be getting into more complicated drugs and surgeries. The thought of going through another surgery in Singapore, especially something as risky as brain or spinal surgery is scary. Not that the doctors here aren’t qualified and skilled, but I can’t imagine having a satisfactory conversation with a doctor here about the surgery or after-effects. Not being able to talk about this stuff with your own doctor due to communication difficulties adds so much stress and worry to a situation already loaded with anxiety.

My choices are to either move to Australia for the remainder of my treatment or try to change things here. What’s that serenity prayer… Give me the serenity to accept the things I can’t change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Courage and wisdom, I can muster. Serenity is too tall an order for me.

Vacation to Australia

I’ll be away from my Blog for the next ten days because we’re taking a family vacation to Australia to see some very good friends.

While I’m there, I hope to get some more opinions on my cancer diagnosis so I’m taking all my scans with me. Maybe a doctor there will know of a procedure to get rid of the tumors in my lungs at least.

I’ll keep writing my Blogs but I won’t be able to post them until we get back, so stay tuned. I’ll be back in ten days!

P.S. Yes, I’m afraid that if I don’t update my Blog for too many days at a time, some of you will think my condition has deteriorated or I’ve died.

Echocardiogram Results

I had an echocardiogram yesterday and got the results today. My heart is good. My oncologist wanted me to get this test because the chemo I had last year does some damage to the heart. She’d told me I should have an echocardiogram every three months, but the first few showed no damage so I hadn’t done one since July last year.

This is an easy, non-invasive test. The technician uses an ultrasound machine (similar to the ones for pregnancy) to look at the heart’s function. Everything was normal.

My doctor also wanted me to do an echocardiogram now because she’s thinking about putting me on a new drug that has heart damage as a potential side effect. This drug is called Tykerb (Lapatinib) and it’s only been approved by the FDA in the U.S. for patients for whom Herceptin no longer works. I assume this is for cost reasons.

I’m on Herceptin now, but I think I should be on Tykerb. Herceptin IS working for me now, according to my doctor, but it doesn’t go to the brain and Tykerb does. She says that for women who are on Herceptin, 45% of the time that the cancer spreads, it spreads to the brain. That’s my biggest worry. I can handle my cancer spreading to other parts of my body, but I’d really like to keep it out of my brain for as long as possible.

Luckily, we’re in Singapore and they don’t care here what the American FDA says, so my doctor says I can have Tykerb next month when it becomes available here. That puts my mind at ease somewhat.

The goal now is to keep both my heart and brain strong and cancer-free. These are the two most important parts of the body – physically and metaphorically.

What Makes Us Irreplaceable?

This is something I wonder about because when I die, I’ll leave my kids and husband motherless and partnerless. But Tony can marry again and my kids can have a new mother.

I’d like to think nobody else could bring up my kids as well as I could. I’d like to think nobody else could make Tony as happy as I could. Actually, no I don’t. I sincerely hope there is somebody else out there who can do my job as mother and wife even better than I can, after I’m gone.

That might seem sad, but I think we’re kidding ourselves if we think we’re so special that we can’t be replaced. Everyone is replaceable. Maybe not exactly the same as the original, but passable.

But there’s one thing that makes me irreplaceable and therefore makes me sad to leave Tony and the kids behind. Nobody can love them the way I can.

I don’t mean nobody can treat them with more kindness or caring. I don’t mean nobody can make them happier, compliment them more, nag them less, buy them more toys, praise them more. Of course somebody can do all of those things better than I can. What I mean is, nobody can just LOVE them like I do.

I truly believe that no woman can know and appreciate everything about Tony the way I do. I know he’s not perfect, and maybe I do complain about and chide him for his failings a bit too much. But there are certain character traits, mannerisms, habits that most people either don’t notice or don’t appreciate as much as I do. I’m sure there are women out there who would value many aspects of Tony, and many who would even treat him better than I do. But they can’t do as good a job of just loving him for who he is.

And Josie and Toby… nobody could love them as much as I do. Not even Tony. That’s not meant to be disparaging about Tony. That’s the innate arrogance that all parents should have – because we love our kids so much, it’s just not possible for anyone else to love them as much as we do.

I’m not saying another mom couldn’t be more patient, kind, or understanding than me. Far from it, since I’m greatly lacking in the patience department, especially. But when Josie is in the middle of a tantrum, being horrible to her brother, banging on doors and screaming that she hates me… who’s going to love her then like I do? Nobody. Absolutely nobody will come close.

And that’s what makes me irreplaceable. That’s what makes us all irreplaceable to the people we love.

Keeping People Alive

Last night, I learned that one of my Dragon Boat teammates (and fellow breast cancer patient) just died. Sue found out her cancer had come back for the third time, just after I found out about my own recurrence. But she continued to paddle for the Breast Cancer Foundation Dragon Boat team because she didn’t have any symptoms. She told me she was going to miss the World Championship Regatta in Australia at the end of the month because she was flying to the U.S. for the birth of her first grandchild.

She died on the plane ride over three days ago, not from cancer, but from a blood clot that traveled from her leg to her lung.

I decided to take up Dragon Boat racing again so I went to training tonight. I kept thinking about Sue while we were paddling. And they weren’t sad thoughts. I was thinking about her counting in Spanish, about the special glasses she used to wear to keep the water from splashing in her eyes, about her coy smile and her American accented voice. All small things that made up Sue.

Then I turned to the guy next to me – an older man who has taken his wife’s place on the team since her death. I realized I didn’t know anything about him or his wife, whom I’d never met. So I asked him about her. Turns out tomorrow is the second anniversary of her death. I hope he didn’t think it was disrespectful of me, but I wanted to get to know her. I wanted to keep her alive for him too. I think he appreciated it.

I began to think about how most people live in memories. Often, they’re little, seemingly inconsequential things, not big moments in history. I wanted to keep Sue alive in my mind and picture her smile as I paddled. I wanted to keep talking about her and thinking about her even though she wasn’t with us anymore.

So as we paddled back to shore at the end of training, I began counting aloud in Spanish. In our last training session together, Sue had said, “Let’s do something different!”

I’d like people to smile and laugh when they think of me after I die, not cry and be sad. That’s something different.

Chemo Brain and Fatigue

I need to write about two side effects of cancer treatment that I’ve tried to pretend weren’t happening to me. For folks who don’t know a lot about cancer, this little primer might be helpful in understanding cancer patients. For those who know all this already, have patience. (I can still pull out the puns, chemo brain or no!)

Chemotherapy kills cells everywhere in the body. The drugs don’t zero in on just the cancer cells; it’s more like a blietzkrieg that carpet-bombs any cells that are fast-growing. Chemo kills brain cells and this leads to things like memory loss, difficulty concentrating, and slower thought processing.

This might seem like a trivial side effect compared to losing body parts and hair, but for me, this is far more serious. I can do without breasts and hair. But without the sharpness of mind, ability to multi-task, and general mental flexibility and strength, I’m not me.

And then there’s fatigue – the kind of tired you just can’t get rid of with sleep. It’s down-in-the-bones tired. I didn’t have this the first time around, but I’m feeling it now. I have to admit that there are times in the day when I just want to lie down wherever I am – on the floor in the supermarket, in the car, anywhere.

And much to my surprise and disappointment, not everyone is understanding about these sides effects. I don’t really blame them. Many people just don’t know about chemo brain and fatigue. They’re not visible like baldness and vomiting. I guess it’s my job to educate my friends and family. But the reality is, the world moves on and people will not stop their lives or be inconvenienced because I have cancer.

So to all our friends and family reading this Blog, if I forget your birthday, if I forget to turn up for your dinner party, or if I don’t seem to be listening to you while you’re talking to me, it doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you or what you have to say. It may be because I have fewer brain cells than I used to. That, or I’m actually asleep.