Post Number 32 - And So It Really Begins

How do I even start to explain how things have changed in the last 10 days? My life is a blur and my brain is struggling to keep up. I hear people say all the time, "Wow how time flies!" Well, let me enlighten you on how fast time can pass and how dramatically life can change in just a few short months.

On Thursday the 5th of February 2015, we were given the news that Mark's tumour had returned and that it was bigger and more aggressive than before.  Modern medicine had little more to offer, with the exception of chemotherapy as an unlikely chance to maybe slow things down slightly. But we collected ourselves, found alternative treatments and options and moved forward.

Since then our lives have been wonderful, joyous and relatively stress free. Mark could potter in the garden, do short bursts on the computer, meditate, relax in the hammock, cook and look after himself.  I could study and attend college by arranging company for Mark in my absence.  I could go to the shops, take Sebastian to and from school, all in the knowledge that Mark would be ok. How did this all change so quickly?

It took just 10 weeks!

On the 10th of April (6 days before our official wedding anniversary) we attended a special event called the "Village Market Feast".  Mark was looking forward to this event as it was to be a 3 course dinner, planned, prepared and cooked by Callum Hann (those of you who are Masterchef fans will know who he is). So we spruced ourselves up and prepared for a special evening, including Moet champagne on arrival.  So keen were we that we arrived 15 minutes early, so we sat in the car and chatted about what culinary delicacies we may encounter over the evening.  And then it happened...

Mark had a partial seizure.  I held his hand tight as he let the wave flow through the left side of his body.  It took only 2 minutes, but it was all the information we needed.  Despite all our efforts, the tumour was growing.  We took a moment to acknowledge it but then quickly moved on.  We entered the venue and enjoyed the evening as if it were our last. And in a way...it was.

10 days later and I was loading the car for Kangaroo Island, a family holiday I had booked many weeks before. Realisation really kicked in when I had no choice but to organise, pack and load the car by myself as Mark had not slept well and was feeling particularly weak.  Suitcases, boxes of food and activities needed to be correctly arranged to ensure they all fitted into the car.  Our desire for healthy Indian food (Ayurveda), meant I needed to cook as much food as I could to take along with us.  So on Monday night, after a day at College, I cooked an Indian feast and packaged the left overs, along with a sweet potato soup (laced with turmeric & ginger) and other delicious and healthy treats.  My sixth sense was obviously working, because we soon learnt that healthy food on the Island was impossible to come by and any shops required significant driving to access.  No such thing as the local IGA or corner Deli!

We all travelled reasonably well including the boat ride.  My anxiety about driving the car onto the boat soon vanished as it wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be.  Our accommodation at Emu Bay was nice, although not directly on the beachfront as I had imagined, but still, the view was beautiful.

With a better sleep and some sunshine, we seized the opportunity to do some sight-seeing and headed for Seal Bay.  I faced my fears and drove on an unsealed road for the first time in 15 years.  The last time I was driving a 4WD with two passengers and managed to roll the car three times, with it landing upside down.  Everyone survived the crash, however, I have never been able to travel on dirt since. But I knew I needed to face this and I am proud to say that I did it with ease and I again showed myself just how capable I am.


The "Raptor Domain"  Birds of Prey and Reptile Park was positioned on the turnoff road to Seal Bay and boasted a gourmet hamburger café.  We entered and looked forward to a nicely brewed coffee (as I had forgotten to pack coffee...doh) only to receive a badly made pod coffee with un-frothed cows milk. Thankfully the Birds of Prey followed by the Reptile show soon overshadowed the bad coffee and we managed to get many great photos including me holding a Wedge-tailed Eagle and Mark and Sebastian holding snakes and lizards.  It turned out to be a really fun morning and I would highly recommend it to any KI tourist.  The gourmet burgers were not so gourmet, but with absolutely no other options for lunch, we were grateful for what we had.

With Mark still determined to experience the day, we drove on to Seal Bay.  I asked a thousand questions to assess if Mark would be able to make it to the beach and he decided he would push on.  As our tour group consisted of only us plus one other person, we made it with ease (even the 40 steps down onto the beach).  The 45 minute tour went fast and soon we heading back up the steps and the path.  We rested halfway on some seating, only to be escorted back to the top of the hill (apparently although there is seating, you are not actually allowed to stop and use it!)

The following day brought a bad night's sleep for Mark and he was in no shape to go out.  Reluctantly, I left him home armed with enough supplies for lunch, a cup of tea and him sitting outside on the balcony admiring the view and the fresh air, while Sebastian and I headed into Kingscote for food supplies and lunch.  The rest of the day was spent at the house as we watched the bad weather come in and remind us that winter is almost here.

While we enjoyed some lovely moments together, the picture I had in my mind of a perfect family holiday was not to be.  But we did the best we could and we still managed to get to the Marron Farm (seafood platter with Marron) and Dudley Wines (gourmet pizzas) for the only culinary lunches offered on the Island.   Overall, under the circumstances, Mark did famously well as did I with all the driving under sometimes trying conditions.

Arriving home Sunday evening left me no time to purchase food or prepare for a week of school and college, but I managed to scrape together enough for a healthy dinner and enough for Sebastian and Mark's lunch the next day.  That night I fell in to bed exhausted, but again, proud of my achievements, Sebastian blissfully unaware of his father's diminishing condition.

As I packed for college the next day, I decided I would prepare and pack everything for the day, so Mark had little to do.  Once in the city, I took my time, knowing I would be late, but also making sure I had what I needed such as a healthy breakfast and good coffee.  Arriving to class 10 mins late, I enjoyed my breakfast in class rather than taking notes and I was unusually quiet.  After only an hour, the lecturer stopped the class and called an early break.  She immediately approached me and asked if I was ok and how my husband was.  I had advised her very early on of my situation and she understood as she had lost a husband to a terminal illness many years ago.  Her kind words touched me and I could no longer hold back my devastation.  She quickly took me outside and my two college friends soon followed.  The more they hugged me the more I cried.  This was all so new, I had only spoken to one person about it last night.  So many thoughts rushing through my mind, my assignments, only a few weeks of study left for this semester, needing carer support, wheelchairs, ramps, showering aids....OMG, is this really happening?

My lecturer insisted I leave the class immediately and she would not allow me to stay.  She had all my assignments extended and told me I was to spend the time with my husband and not at college.  So I left, made a trip to Hahndorf to get some homeopathic medicines for Mark, quickly visit my Mum, food shop and be home in time to make Mark's lunch!  That was yesterday and today I refocus with a new set of goals and a new set of needs.  With the pressure of study off my shoulders, I can focus on what I need to do next to ensure I get the professional support I need, that Mark's needs are met and that I don't burn myself out. Onward and upward...

Post Number 31 - Learning to Change

“I wanted to share this chapter from the book “AntiCancer: A New Way of Life”, which I have recently read and have learned so much from. This chapter is titled “Learning to Change”, and shares the story of one medical professional diagnosed with “incurable” cancer who learned that healing doesn’t just happen through medical intervention, but through helping the body and mind to work together to bring peace, happiness and gratitude into his life. I think this chapter applies equally to everyone, not just someone facing a life-threatening illness. I hope you enjoy reading it and gain something from it.” - Mark T


CHAPTER 12 – Learning to Change

As we have seen, while cancer can be triggered by any number of factors, it can only develop and spread if the terrain is favourable. There is no way to prevent cancer or slow down its growth (once it has already taken root) without changing this terrain in depth. Basically, seeing our response to cancer as a war or even a combat may not be the right metaphor. Rather than fighting insurgents, we may be better off changing mentalities. Our guiding principle, above all, should be to bring more awareness into our lives in order to change our attitude and that of our cells. But to what extent can we really change? One of the world's greatest cancer surgeons, William Fair, MD, experienced this inner revolution against his will.

Dr. Fair's Transformation

A specialist in prostate and kidney cancer, Bill Fair was head of the prestigious Department of Urology at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Hospital in New York when he learned he had colon cancer at a very advanced stage. After two operations and a year of intravenous chemotherapy (which didn't prevent him from operating several times a day), his tumour returned. This time it was even more aggressive, so aggressive that his doctors, chosen from among his hospital colleagues, told him sadly that his cancer was now "incurable". In their opinion, he had only a few months to live. Bill Fair was too "emotionally shattered" to react, as he later recounted. His wife, a former nurse in the armed forces, took things in hand. She told him the time had come for him to look after his "terrain." Spurred on by his wife, this workaholic, who was on deck seven days a week and often worked thirty-six hours at a stretch, took up meditation and yoga. Instead of grabbing a bite to eat at a fast-food counter in the hospital cafeteria, he was initiated to the benefits of a vegetarian diet. As a prominent member of the Western medical elite, he had never taken an interest in what the worlds other medical traditions had to offer. Now he asked to meet researchers who had started a program investigating traditional Chinese medicine at the National Institutes of Health in Washington. This transformation was anything but easy. With his sharp mind, his biting tongue, and his characteristic surgeon's arrogance, Bill Fair had long cultivated a profound contempt for all these "alternative" approaches. His son remembered his former references to "touchy-feely West Coast nonsense."  Summoning up her courage and a great deal of patient kindness, Fair's wife finally convinced him he had nothing to lose. He could approach these other ways of looking at life with the mind of a researcher. He could keep what worked for him and leave the rest. He could preserve his critical mind and at the same time listen to his explorer's instinct. Bill Fair went along with it. Very haltingly. For example, after a training program in California on relaxation, he jumped on the red-eye to New York the same night because he wanted to be back at work early the next morning. But little by little, with yoga, meditation, a careful diet, Bill Fair changed. From the overbearing surgeon, from the authoritarian researcher and self-assured author of more than three hundred articles published in international cancer journals, he calmed down. He became a gentler, friendlier man. He learned to carefully choose the people he would spend time with, and in turn he would give them all his attention. Impressed by what he found out about himself, about his new relationship with his body, his mind, and the people around him, in a few years Bill Fair became the person he basically would have always liked to be. He was asked three years later what he thought of the benefits of this approach focused on improving the "terrain." Benevolently, he answered, "I've already lived three years beyond my colleagues' prognoses. As a scientist, I know that doesn't prove anything; it may just be luck. But there is one thing I'm sure about: I don't know if I extended my life, but I certainly expanded it."

His whole life Bill had been under pressure to be the best among the brightest, and to hold on to his hard-won place at the top of one of the greatest medical and research institutions. He had loved his work, but, at heart, he hadn't liked that brutal, intense style of practicing it so common among surgeons of his rank. He had girded himself with a sort of armour so as to function in an environment where categorical judgments are tossed around like so many blows and where you learn to give as good as you get.

His disease had given him the opportunity to discover approaches he had long despised. They had brought him peace and well-being. These mattered a lot to him now. He felt as if he were unloading himself of whole facets of his former personality. He learned, like many other patients, to pay more attention to what really mattered to him, independently of others' judgment. He no longer had to play the role of "brightest in the class." Bill Fair never renounced his passion as a physician or his scientific rigor. He continued to underscore the importance of conventional cancer treatments. He insisted that complementary approaches had to undergo strict evaluation. But, month after month, he became more genuine, more patient, and gentler. More receptive to the mystery and the richness of life.

Little by little, Bill Fair became a defender of these new approaches. He wanted them to be integrated into teaching and treatment programs. He organized a dinner for several deans and some of the principal oncologists of New York medical schools, so that they could meet one of the most respected American activists, Ralph W. Moss, a science journalist and an ardent promoter of complementary methods in oncology. In the course of the dinner, Fair leaned over to Moss and said: "I imagine ten years ago you would never have dreamed you would one day find yourself at dinner with these people." The activist answered: "Ten years ago, I would never have dreamed of finding myself at dinner with you, Bill. Bill Fair had indeed changed a great deal.

The path Dr. Fair followed is open to whoever may decide to take it. Hemmed in as he was in a culture that systematically denigrated that personal quest, this change was more difficult for him than for anyone else. If Bill Fair was able to transform his attitude toward life so radically, we must all be able to follow his example.

Changing Personalities?

At the University of Toronto, the psychologist Alastair Cunningham, PhD, has been looking after groups of cancer patients for thirty years; he teaches relaxation, visualization, meditation, and yoga. He helps his patients find the strength to become themselves, to draw as close as possible to their deepest values. He often works with patients considered "incurable," who have been given only a few months to live. By following them systematically, he has identified the attitudes that help predict which patients will have a chance of living far beyond their prognoses. Some of the patients he has followed from this group have outlived their prognosis by more than seven years. His studies suggest that these are people who, perfectly calmly, have asked the fundamental questions "Who am I really?" and "Where do I want to go?" Then they have drawn the consequences. One of his patients put it this way:

Cancer sort of shifted the way I was developing in life and the goals I was pursuing… I was totally focused on building a “bigger me.”… I was sort of following what our culture says is the approved path and then when I faced the fact that I might not live very long, I realized that all of that would die ... and I started to question who I was really, if all that went.... It seemed like the whole focus of my life then shifted. [And now] I think I would be able to experience life today more fully [and]… to accept life as it comes to me and be part of that and just enjoy.

The closer Alastair Cunningham's patients got to their true values, the less constrained they felt to act only for the sake of propriety, or out of obligation, or for fear of causing disappointment and losing the affection of others.

Another patient says:

I was one to follow the rules quite a bit and please everybody; I think I feel more comfortable with my place in the world now than I did before I was diagnosed. Definitely.

Most of them then discovered a real pleasure in making choices they hadn't allowed themselves up until then, and even in saying no. A third patient whose survival was exceptionally long:

Now I even say no, but before I would've been paranoid to say no. Now I can say, "No, not today, that doesn't suit me." … And there was no guilt when I made the decision not to go back to work next year… It's not what I want to do… I'm very happy with what I do now, and it's much easier to make a decision on the spur of the moment, and go to see a movie because you feel like going to see a movie, or sitting down and trying to sketch even though you know you're not good at it but it's so peaceful and pleasant. That's all.

What these patients have succeeded in doing in their lives, Cunningham comments, is ridding themselves of their "type C personality", of always trying to avoid making waves (see chapter 9). Rather than going through life passive and submissive, little by little they have learned to appropriate their freedom, their authenticity, and their autonomy. Cunningham calls that "de-type-C'ing" themselves.

This change is also visible in the way these patients approach their treatments, including their way of stimulating their natural defences. I asked Dr. David Spiegel what was different about the three women in the support groups who had survived their metastatic cancer for more than ten years at a time when available treatments had little effectiveness. He described them this way: They didn't stand out; they often remained calm and silent. But they had very specific ideas about what they would or wouldn't do to help themselves. They accepted certain treatments and refused others. They seemed imbued with a quiet strength.

This attitude of awareness and freedom of choice applies to natural methods too. Whether it's a question of diet, or yoga, or psychological support. These approaches are not all equally valid for everyone or at all times. On one day the most beneficial method will be meditation; on another, keeping a diary; the day after that, exercise. What we recognize in these exceptional survivors is their clear-eyed capacity to say "This is what I need now" and, firm but flexible, to move forward in their lives.

This change often amounts to more than learning to say no and asserting personal choices. Patients who have managed to survive for a substantial length of time have a strength buttressed by another attitude that is also often new to them—gratitude. They have become capable of perceiving another dimension to life that had escaped them earlier. As if a sort of x-ray enabled them to see the essential through the fog of the ordinary. One of them explained, for example, that one evening at dinner his wife and children started to quarrel. It was a familiar scene that never failed to exasperate him. But on that particular evening, instead of feeling angry, he saw all the love that was flowing around the table. If their feelings flared up, it was basically because they each cared so much about what the others thought. The affection that sustained this family suddenly seemed so palpable that tears came to his eyes and he was overcome with gratitude.

I experienced some of this same gratitude years after my separation from Anna. We had settled our painful divorce, after the legal process had dragged on for three very difficult years. We were sitting, again, at the kitchen table in the small blue wooden farmhouse we had lived in together in Pittsburgh. The crackles of a fire in the cast iron stove filled the silences when we could not find words or even really look at each other. Sacha, now eleven, was playing by himself upstairs. I had loved this kitchen, this fire, the garden outside where I planted almost all the trees with Sacha looking on. And I had loved this woman. Then the words came. I was able to say that if that divorce had been so difficult, it was perhaps because a big part of me still loved her and loved what we had created together. That behind what I may have done in anger there was mostly my pain. As I could imagine hers too. And that now I was grateful for this love that remained between us, a love that would help our son grow. She did not say much, only wiped a few tears that had started to roll down her face. As I left the house —again— she put her hands on my arms, smiled shyly, and said, "I love you too." We had parted.

You found it! If you are reading this, let me know something in your life that you are grateful for, or that you have learned from this chapter. Leave a comment below, or send me a message directly. - Mark T

In the end, the best protection against cancer is a change in attitude arising from the process of growth valued by all the great psychological and spiritual traditions. To describe the very foundation of the life force, Aristotle speaks about "entelechy" (the need for self-fulfilment that starts with the seed and comes to full fruition in the tree). Jung describes a "process of individuation", transforming the person into a human being different from all others, capable of fully expressing his or her unique potential. Abraham Maslow, the founder of the human potential movement, refers to "self-actualization". The spiritual traditions encourage "awakening" by developing the unique — in other words, the Sacred — in the self. It is very important that we define our most authentic values and put them to work in our conduct and in our relationships with others. From that approach springs a feeling of gratitude for life as it is—and our body, and its biology, basks in its grace.

* Bill Fair's ideas and his transformation have been discussed in several publications. One of the most noteworthy was a piece in the New Yorker by Jerome Groopman, MD, a professor of medicine at Harvard Medical School and a writer.3 1 met Bill Fair myself in Washington in October 2001, three months before he finally succumbed to cancer. He had survived four years longer than his doctors' prognoses.

Don’t forget to send me your thoughts. Mark