Changes

The other major thing (the only MAJOR thing) that happened was that chemotherapy finally ended. No more treatments for now. My PET scan is June 26 at 7:30 am, and I get the results on July 3. (In the past, I would get my results the following day. I guess my charm ran out.) This last round was more physically and emotionally draining than ever. Treatment began at 1 pm May 28 and went until 1:30 pm (I ended it an hour early) on May 30. It wasn't really all that bad, but then again, it hasn't been all that bad for a few months. It's the week and a half post-treatment that really kills. For example, during treatment I would lie awake (because the only things I really wanted to do were sleeping and nothing) and think about things like permanent treatment, disability and death. I didn't really do much of that this time.

This time, though, something strange happened. On Saturday, May 31, I started to feel physically the same way I felt at the end of October, barely 2 months post surgery. I had the same pain penalties I had while eating. I felt weaker than I would normally after treatment. Julie (formerly Rose), also had a strange feeling. She felt a certain way while I was in the hospital. She felt a particular kind of worry and anxiety associated specifically with the health of a loved one. So you could say that I regressed physically.

One thing that was not the same as it was in late October was my optimism. Chemotherapy wasn't the only thing that ended; my faith in it has ended as well. Completely. I don't believe in it anymore. I feel as though I went through torture for the last four months for nothing. For fucking nothing at all. Because for all the good that doctors and the medical establishment do, it seems to me that they only do what they know how to do, which, when faced with a life-threatening illness (or treatment, as it were), isn't all that much in the end. The feeling of complete faithlessness has somewhat relaxed a little with my recovery, but it is mostly still there. I know that it is possible that I may receive a clean bill of health, but this much is certain:

If I don't receive good news, and there is little change from February, then there is no way in hell that I will go through chemotherapy again. Not fucking happening.

The most obvious reason is that it is pure hell. However, findings show that not only does chemotherapy often does permanent damage to the body, but that when cancer cells survive the treatment, they become stronger. And I am supposed to put all my faith in this?

There are other ways of fighting cancer. It has mostly to do with diet, exercise and inner peace. I was too sick to return to work on Monday, June 2 (my dad's 74th birthday), but I was well enough (actually I wasn't, really) to take a trip downtown to Happy Tree Yoga, where they have free classes for cancer patients. I watched a bit of the class, had some chai, and spoke to the owner/chief instructor, Melanie. We talked about my physical and emotional situation, specifically my disillusionment. From what she told me about her yoga, it seemed to be exactly what I needed, particularly the respiration since one of my goals is to increase cellular respiration. I vowed to try it at least once. After all, I considered it alternative cancer therapy.

Another thing that I wanted to begin was to eat better. And I mean a lot better. This means snacking on nuts, seeds and dried fruits (which are delicious, in my opinion) to start. It also means figuring out practical ways to prepare good food, which for me is a challenge. Another aspect of this is the detoxification of the body through a mild detox that I picked up at Rachelle-Béry. The biggest parts of all this are 1) controlling inappropriate cravings late at night; 2) getting more sleep, although I appear to be fine without much of it; 3) starting something approaching the Budwig diet. This last is the most difficult of all, but the great thing about it is that there are may testimonials involving people far worse off than me.

That reminds me, I am probably not very sick at all. The mets were pretty small, almost as small as you could get. Hopefully the chemo actually did do some good, and at least kept the cancer from spreading so that the treatment I give myself won't have much work to do. I need to keep this in mind: I am "sick", but at least 1000 km on foot from death's door.

As I said, doctors only know how to do what they were trained to do, and are unwilling or unable to do more. But I would think that an oncologist would come across supplemental information about cancer treatment during his training that would include information about proper diet. But not once was I ever counselled about changing anything in my habits. Not once. Just treat funny side effects with some funny drugs and come back in two weeks for your next physical, mental, emotional and spiritual abuse. This is another reason why I can't believe in that stuff anymore.

This summer I hope to attend at least two conferences revolving around cancer for young adults (whose needs are unique compared to the more served cancer populations of children and the elderly). The first is next month sponsored by Young Adult Cancer Canada. Five fun-filled days in Jouvence, Quebec, about 2 hours from here. Julie is coming, too, but we can't sleep in the same bed. I find that quaint. The second is sponsored by my favourite cancer support group, Cansupport/Faire Face, which is August 15-17 at Camp Maromac. This should be AWESOME. All services provided, and expenses paid, with good friends. I actually met everyone at last year's retreat, three weeks after my surgery. Physically I should not have gone, but emotionally, I needed to go. I am glad that I did.

So that's a summary of the past little while. The changes in me are subtle. I can't say that things have changed a hell of a lot in the last month, but there have been some changes. It remains to be seen how profound these changes are. And now that my blog is up and running again, I will be able to talk about this more, as well as other things, including the odd racial entry.

Until next time...