Cancer

Just ten days ago I received an email from a girlfriend of twenty years. Dagmar was one of my first contacts when I arrived in Los Angeles. Seventeen years ago she was one of two friends who were with me when my little baby girl was born in water at a birthing center along with music by Mozart and some screaming.

Her email stated simply that she had a bit of bad news. Her past, had caught up with her, so she said. She had been told that her stomach bug was actually liver cancer in an advance stage along with Hepatitis C. It didn’t sound good so I decided to see her two days later. When she opened the door and I saw her for the first time in about a year I was shocked. She was a bit yellow and looked thin, frail and weak. I had never seen her like this and it scared me. But I wanted to be upbeat and positive so I tried not to show how worried I am. I brought pictures and we went back twenty years and I filmed it. I want to document this journey. Watch the video, it’s about five minutes and we had some goofy moments there.

This week I took her to the hospital and without health insurance let me tell you – it is not pretty. For five hours we sat in an old building with another hundred other cancer patients on wooden benches waiting for someone to tell us something. After two hours I asked what was taking so long as we had an actual appointment. The nurse said it usually takes 3-4 hours. So I cracked a joke and said, wow, that means we are rushing through the system.

Sitting like a waiting duck with people who are ill and often with no insurance and finally listening to a pretty devastating prognosis was a spiritual challenge.

When you feel the looming presence of death – how do you suppress that feeling and be a pillar of support and positive energy? I want to be one thing yet I feel the tight grip the disease has on her tiny body. I feel her fear of what may happen to her and how little time there might be left. But she is not like me. She is not a roll-up-your-sleeves and declare the war person. For my part I’d be on the internet and research what there is, find ideas, forums, post things and and and. I did and at first I emailed her the links and then I stopped because she isn’t like me. She has her own way of dealing with it.

But first let me finish the hospital story. Finally after four hours we see an Oncologist versus medical students (one of which told us that students see the clear cut cases and only the complicated ones go to the doctors -geez, thanks for that!) and a nice one. For the first time in the three weeks that Dagmar has been in and out someone actually TOLD her what is going on. I think she brought me along as she knows I think and do well under pressure and don’t mind asking uncomfortable questions. The real diagnosis came down on us like a hammer. She has bile duct cancer and it is a very large tumor. It constricts the bile flow so her tummy is bloated like a balloon. The poison can’t go anywhere and it has to be drained occasionally to ease her discomfort. It is stage four cancer and has infected the liver so she has liver cancer, too. They can’t operate on the tumor or give her a transplant because the Hepatitis C is taxing her system further and on top of it she has liver cirrhosis. All there is for her is an experimental treatment. The sign up form to one of the sought after spots literally states on the form that you are offered this treatment because there are no other options. Improvement is unlikely but at least you’ll help other cancer patients that come after you… Or her other option is – nothing.

What do you say to that? After my questioning why someone would want to be a guinea pig for no benefit the doctor said that the drug actually does help many patients. That the lawyer language is unfortunately a little inhumane but they don’t want to make people to hopeful to avoid litigation. What to think and what to say now?

So I take my shaking yellow friend (term of endearment) and drive her back home. I am thankful she picked me to take her because I realize how much time I have missed with her. I feel her leaning on me and I am OK to be strong for her. Somehow she seems to know when she needs someone like me to fend for her. It is clear to me that her fight will not be the fight I would be fighting simply because her journey is different. She goes inward.

I have to leave and go home and immediately fall asleep for an hour. I am drained and I am the healthy one.

The next day Dagmar is back with another terrible five hour ordeal with a different friend thought and she signs up for the clinical trial which I am happy about. But knowing her fear of the side effects of the drug I worry that she might stop. I want her to fight  but something tells me that she might not want to or maybe her way is so different from anything I know that I grossly underestimate the power of her thirty years of spiritual work. She’s done and knows a lot about spirituality, god and the powers that there are. Maybe I just need to shut up and let her be. So I am.

But, the universe works in great ways. During a Las Vegas conference I happened to hang out with a wonderful woman Dr. Marilyn Joyce. Take a look at the video we did during lunch. With my new vice, the video camera and my always being ready to take action we tood this little video where Marilyn advises the blond (me) how to make better lunch choices!

Marilyn is a cancer survivor and wrote a book about it. She counsels cancer patients on nutrition, exercise and mental preparation. So three days after I got back from the trip I get Dagmar’s email the logical next step was to get Marilyn involved. The holistic approach works for Dagmar. She is not threatened by it and it ties in with her spiritual belief.

So here is some info about Marilyn and here is a link to this great book she wrote. If you know anyone with cancer or with cancer in remission I recommend you to get this.

There is no end to this story because it just begins. The lack of concept of how much time there might be makes me uneasy. The feeling of the inevitable scares me and my not being able to muster up enough hope and positive energy for her makes me angry at myself. I want to believe that she can beat this and be a cancer survivor. But deep down I am scared, too. I sense the presence of the disease and this one is a nasty one. All I can do is spend time with her and be as positive as I can be. But then I need to pull away to recharge so I can be supportive and hopeful for her again. It takes a miracle to heal her now, but they do happen and we need one now.

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