Sunday, December 22, 2013

Another maybe...


   I guess I was lucky! I did not have to wait for Friday the13th to get the bad news. I already got it on Thursday the 12th.
   It also wasn't entirely bad – in fact: the therapy has worked, the muscle invasive cancer has disappeared. So I should be happy because the cancer I got rid of is the type that can unexpectedly lead to a quick death. But a new cancer at a different location showed up in the biopsies. It is what is called “superficial bladder cancer” and will, untreated, turn into a more deadly variety.
   So, no clean bill of health, no time to recover physically or financially.
   Dr, Chamie, the urologist in charge, was rather cheerful because, in his eyes we had won, defeated the muscle-invasive cancer and now all we needed to do was to get rid of this pesky superficial intruder. He suggested a course with BCG, the tuberculosis vaccine, that works by putting your immune system in high gear, hoping that it will kill any cancer cells that are left after surgery.       Statistically it decreases the chances of a recurrence by 60%, and it is commonly done. I don't think Dr. Chamie knew that I had two treatments with BCG already. The first treatment did not work well enough, the cancer returned, and the second time the side effects were so grave that it was clear that we should not repeat this.
   In 2008 I wrote about medical mushrooms and bladder cancer.:

   I found three studies with control groups comparing the Zhuling mushroom in it’s effectiveness for a bladder-cancer prophylaxis with BCG, Mitomycin C and others. The Zhuling mushroom was infinitesimally more effective than even BCG, which itself has the best results among all the other maintenance-therapies. One of the studies says: “The effect of Zhuling was similar to that intravesical BCG. Zhuling was cheaper and convenient in usage, and no side effects.”

   These studies were conducted at the “General Hospital of Jian Unit of People's Liberation Army” in China between 1991 and 1999. The largest group studied, consisted of 313 people, which isn’t a huge group, but to be considered.




   When I read about this mushroom that was equally potent as BCG, but without side-effects, again, I expected to find dozens of studies trying to find the principle behind this achievement, but there were none!!!

   Since 2008 a few more studies on bladder cancer and medical mushrooms exist, which seem to support the anecdotal evidence. For example: In Vitro, in Hong Kong:

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/18444142

   My own anecdotal evidence for the healing power of mushrooms stems from the time when the BCG treatment had left my bladder in a pitiful state. It was permanently inflamed, and I had to pee every 30 minutes with a painful chronic urethritis. It lasted over a year. I hardly ever got decent sleep and I was pretty hopeless. Then after drinking reishi tea (reishi-extract), within weeks my bladder normalized. That may just be coincidence and I treat it as such, but I'm looking at all the other coincidences and I'm sure there is something there.
   I used to buy zhuling in bulk -- It is affordable this way. I would simmer zhuling tea in an old Chinese ceramic teapot. Now I have run out of zhuling. It seems difficult to get it currently now I take reishi extract.
   More interesting, and lately all over the media – the cannabis products! I have been smoking cannabis since I was 18. Then, people did not worry about the masses of tobacco that went into a hashish-joint – they were worried about the few black clumps of resin. Ha Ha!
   When in 2003 I was first diagnosed with squamous head and neck cancer I stopped smoking anything. Nevertheless, when several months into chemo and radiation, one day I came home from a treatment and was in such pain and lethargy that I decided to make an exception, smoke some grass with my vaporizer, go to bed, and watch TV. I did. 5 minutes later I had the urge to get up, and next, I sat at the computer, typing away. The cannabis, almost like a pain-seeking missile, had not only deleted the pain I was aware of – it also got rid of pains that I was so used to I wouldn't notice them anymore. Now I noticed them, because they were gone. I never made a big thing of it because who would believe a lifelong marihuana- and hashish-smoker...
   It is just utterly amazing how well it worked, since I had only bad experiences smoking cannabis to deal with acute pain. I would inhale a joint and the toothache would not disappear, but rather get more intensive -- now in screaming psychedelic colors!
   But with chronic pain – unbelievable!
   On the other hand, cannabis and cancer are lately much studied and reported, but there still is no large double blind study on humans even though we find many studies in vitro, with the standard oncomouse, rats, etc... And hours of testimonials. Sometimes I wonder if there is a magic number that determines how many people have to tell you they got healed before a placebo effect sets in.
   As I understand: According to Rick Simpson, the inventor and spokesperson for “Phoenix tears”,
one needs 60 grams of oil and nine weeks to take it. But many years of cancer made me lose my job and bankrupted me. Social Security barely pays for my rent and I'm living by the mercy of others.
   So, there is a problem!
   But Christmas is coming and people are busy with their own lives, and not much can be done before the new year. So I will spend the holidays with my computer, looking for a cure for my cancer.
   Right now: I'm alive, everything else pales, when your life is on line.
   ...and, naturally, I will keep painting and animating and writing until they “Peel My Cold Dead Fingers From Around My Mouse...”

I guess I was lucky! I did not have to wait for Friday the13th to get the bad news. I already got it on Thursday the 12th.

It also wasn't entirely bad – in fact: the therapy has worked, the muscle invasive cancer has disappeared. So I should be happy because the cancer I got rid of is the type that can unexpectedly lead to quick death. But a new cancer at a different location showed up in the biopsies. It is what is called “superficial bladder cancer” and will, untreated, turn into a more deadly variety.

So, no clean bill of health, no time to recover physically or financially.

Dr, Chamie, the urologist in charge, was rather cheerful because, in his eyes we had won, defeated the muscle-invasive cancer and now all we needed to do was to get rid of this pesky superficial intruder. He suggested a course with BCG, the tuberculosis vaccine, that works by putting your immune system in high gear, hoping that it will kill any cancer cells that are left after surgery. Statistically it decreases the chances of a recurrence by 60%, and it is commonly done. I don't think Dr. Chamie knew that I had two treatments with BCG already. The first treatment did not work well enough, the cancer returned, and the second time the side effects were so grave that it was clear that we should not repeat this.

In 2008 I wrote about medical mushrooms and bladder cancer.:

I found three studies with control groups comparing the Zhuling mushroom in it’s effectiveness for a bladder-cancer prophylaxis with BCG, Mitomycin C and others. The Zhuling mushroom was infinitesimally more effective than even BCG, which itself has the best results among all the other maintenance-therapies. One of the studies says: “The effect of Zhuling was similar to that intravesical BCG. Zhuling was cheaper and convenient in usage, and no side effects.”

These studies were conducted at the “General Hospital of Jian Unit of People's Liberation Army” in China between 1991 and 1999. The largest group studied, consisted of 313 people, which isn’t a huge group, but to be considered.


 






When I read about this mushroom that was equally potent as BCG, but without side-effects, again, I expected to find dozens of studies trying to find the principle behind this achievement, but there were none!!!



Since 2008 a few more studies on bladder cancer and medical mushrooms exist, which seem to support the anecdotal evidence. For example: In Vitro, in Hong Kong:






My own anecdotal evidence for the healing power of mushrooms stems from the time when the BCG treatment had left my bladder in a pitiful state. It was permanently inflamed, and I had to pee every 30 minutes with a painful chronic urethritis. It lasted over a year. I hardly ever got decent sleep and I was pretty hopeless. Then after drinking reishi tea (reishi-extract), within weeks my bladder normalized. That may just be coincidence and I treat it as such, but I'm looking at all the other coincidences and I'm sure there is something there.

I used to buy zhuling in bulk -- It is affordable this way. I would simmer zhuling tea in an old Chinese ceramic teapot. Now I have run out of zhuling. It seems difficult to get it currently now I take reishi extract.

More interesting, and lately all over the media – the cannabis products! I have been smoking cannabis since I was 18. Then, people did not worry about the masses of tobacco that went into a hashish-joint – they were worried about the few black clumps of resin. Ha Ha!

When in 2003 I was first diagnosed with squamous head and neck cancer I stopped smoking anything. Nevertheless, when several months into chemo and radiation, one day I came home from a treatment and was in such pain and lethargy that I decided to make an exception, smoke some grass with my vaporizer, go to bed, and watch TV. I did. 5 minutes later I had the urge to get up, and next, I sat at the computer, typing away. The cannabis, almost like a pain-seeking missile, had not only deleted the pain I was aware of – it also got rid of pains that I was so used to I wouldn't notice them anymore. Now I noticed them, because they were gone. I never made a big thing of it because who would believe a lifelong marihuana- and hashish-smoker...

It is just utterly amazing how well it worked, since I had only bad experiences smoking cannabis to deal with acute pain. I would inhale a joint and the toothache would not disappear, but rather get more intensive -- now in screaming psychedelic colors!

But with chronic pain – unbelievable!

On the other hand, cannabis and cancer are lately much studied and reported, but there still is no large double blind study on humans even though we find many studies in vitro, with the standard oncomouse, rats, etc... And hours of testimonials. Sometimes I wonder if there is a magic number that determines how many people have to tell you they got healed before a placebo effect sets in.

As I understand: According to Rick Simpson, the inventor and spokesperson for “Phoenix tears”,

one needs 60 grams of oil and nine weeks to take it. But many years of cancer made me lose my job and bankrupted me. Social Security barely pays for my rent and I'm living by the mercy of others.

So, there is a problem!

But Christmas is coming and people are busy with their own lives, and not much can be done before the new year. So I will spend the holidays with my computer, looking for a cure for my cancer.

Right now: I'm alive, everything else pales, when your life is on line.

...and, naturally, I will keep painting and animating and writing until they “Peel My Cold Dead Fingers From Around My Mouse...”

Monday, December 2, 2013

YES NO MAYBE

   This was supposed to be the cystoscopy that should have told me if the treatment did work or not.
   I did not want to see any tumors or any other irregularities in my bladder. Because if there is cancer – all bets are off, I will have lost and I will have to figure out how to retreat gracefully.
   The procedure was done in the office of my urologist Dr. Ramin, where, without anesthesia, I can watch the inside of my bladder, and since we did this already numerous times, I'm fairly familiar the environment. I was not happy with what I saw. There were two distinctive bumps under the mucosa.
   Not very big, but one looked like it was going to burst any second. Dr. Ramin scratched his head and said that it looked strange, not like cancer – maybe a benign cyst from the radiation? A biopsy needed to be done, but since one of the bumps looked so explosive that a lot of blood could be expected. I had biopsies done before – without anesthesia – it does hurt, but a cystoscopy is not much fun to begin with. So, to deal with the blood, and the pain a second cystoscopy had to be arranged.
   This was not a YES or a NO – it was a MAYBE! Which is a bummer anyway...
   Then the next day my radiologist Dr. Kamrava called, and he had a different take on this. Before the Brachy-radiation they had placed “Markers” in my abdomen, to more precisely target the suspect tissue. I thought these were little pieces of gold leaf or something similar, which can be placed in the body, and are always visible on x-rays etc... Working with markers has the advantage that you are aware of any movement or displacement of the marked tissue within the body, so, if necessary, the treatment can be adjusted.
   Now I found out that these markers were not what I thought they were. I was injected with something like a saline gel, that is commonly used in plastic surgery to inject under wrinkles or scar tissue. In my case it served to distance the bladder from other organs, to reduce the collateral damage of stray radiation. The use of the saline gel is not experimental – the particular procedure – the HDR Brachy-therapy for the bladder – on the other hand is! Dr. Kamrava was sure that what we saw were the markers, and since the method is so new – my urologist would not be able to recognize this.
   So, there is hope, and tomorrow after the MRI, I should know more.
   And the cysto next Thursday should provide a final result about the effectiveness of the procedure.
   Then I can, or cannot make plans for the next three month.
   In the meantime I am learning how to wait! Not very successful, I'm afraid -- because with all the training in my life – I should be world champion in the “patiently waiting” discipline.
   I'm not.

Sunday, October 13, 2013

CANCER THERAPY AS A PSYCHEDELIC JOURNEY

NOTE: To avoid misunderstandings: I'm not writing about people who take psychedelic drugs with the goal to cure cancer, nor about those who take psychedelics in therapy to cope with the cancer diagnosis and a conceivable death. Questions about claims I make, I will gladly answer, and there is a list of links at the end.


1. THE SIDEFFECTS OF RADIATION/CHEMO ARE ALTERED STATES


Monday, the 19th of July, the prophylactic part of my therapy started: Five weeks of external beam radiation and two adjuvant doses of chemo (Cisplatin) – There were only two days of chemo at the beginning and and two more days at the beginning of the third week.

(About myself: I'm a digital designer in Los Angeles, 68 years old, in 2003 was diagnosed with squamous head and neck cancer, survived chemo and radiation, and have been cancer free until 2008 when an unrelated bladder cancer showed up. Surgery and BCG kept it away until 2013 when the cancer became muscle invasive and was treated with the currently most progressive method: HDR Brachy-therapy, which is practiced only at three locations in America, and, by a lucky coincidence, at UCLA. After surgery and Brachy I should have been fine, but bladder cancer tends to return, and so far only prophylaxis is the key to survival. So I had to endure another round of external beam radiation, combined with two additional chemo-treatments.)

The therapy started simultaneously with radiation and chemo, which complicates my attempt to describe the effects of the therapy, because it is difficult to differentiate between the effects of the chemo and the radiation.

The first noticeable effect which told me that therapy had started was a sincere feeling of being poisoned at a very deep level, not organic, not cellular, but molecular.

Of course, they also load you up with anti-nausea medication – I don't know how well these first days would have passed without a heavy medication.

In my particular case the first effect is a short period during which my nearsightedness disappears. Nearsightedness is supposed to get better with old age, and presumably the chemistry and radiation that stops growth, aged me instantly, and now my eyes focused perfectly without glasses. This unexpected pleasant experience did not last, because even though I could focus, I didn't really see very well! It was a different problem – the refreshment rate of my retina seemed like it was down from an average of 10/12 images per second, to two/three per second. It almost felt like I needed to blink every time I wanted to refresh the image. Also, the image tended to get blurry, but not from lack of focus. It reminded me of a very exaggerated image compression that computer programs use to minimize the file size. The details, like a picture on a wall, are still clearly defined, but the empty wall between would be filled with some blurry random noise in the color of the wall. Like my brain was trying to cut down on the info load to save energy.

Sound problems were not that noticeable in a noisy environment, but at night when lying down in bed I heard a high pitched white noise, which at times would become so dominant that I wondered if there was a forgotten amplifier or some hidden gadget in the house that just needed to be turned off. Later in the therapy the sound varied, anything between ringing and hissing, sometimes stereoscopic sounds flying in from outer space directly into my head. Actually, it is really annoying and I'm not sure if it ever will disappear completely.

The most horrendous change in perception comes from taste and smell. At the beginning of chemo I indulged in a ferocious appetite, which made my oncologist happy, because he knows what is coming down the chute. So one day I wanted to take a happy bite from a banana -- and had to spit it out instantly!

It tasted like I had bitten into a piece of metal, and at that, an extremely metallic tasting piece of metal. Like the essence of metal!

It was as if the dial had moved from the safe green into yellow and red, and then it rotated a couple of times and would stop where everything smelled and tasted like shoe-polish with sugar. I wondered why it would stop at such a disgusting part of the dial, but I have researched a bit and it seems like most people have horrid (often metallic) taste and smell distortions, while a few just taste nothing at all.

There is a reason why I describe these unpleasant details: As an old psychedelic traveler it occurred to me that maybe I was experiencing the opposite of a psychedelic trip.

I imagined what would happen if I treated the radiation/chemo therapy like it was a mind-expanding trip, one that lasts five weeks?


2. A BRIEF DIFFERENTIATION OF THE EFFECTS OF RADIATION/CHEMO ON    THE MIND VERSUS PSYCHEDELIC DRUGS


It seems that the changes in perception caused by radiation/chemo are the opposite of what one experiences under the influence of psychedelics. I will lump all psychedelics together for convenience and simplicity.

Admittedly, we don't really know how exactly psychedelics induce the extraordinary changes in perception, but everybody agrees that all senses are woken up, all (protective?) filters are removed, the mind is flooded by sensations of a world that appears vibrant, bright and new.

Sober eyes see a fast motion as a blurry woosh. (which works so well that we can watch films and television due to the “persistence of vision”.) On LSD, on the other hand, the refreshment rate of the receptor sites located in the retina is so rapid that the blurry woosh turns into many strobe-like images, all superimposed, and each perfectly clear and detailed like a still photo. Not only are the details magnificently clear -- there are more details to be seen than you ever thought existed.

An abundance of energy seems to speed up the neurological computer which involves all senses. The hearing is flawlessly clear – one hears new sounds on familiar pieces of music that were never accessible before. Smell, taste, and touch also operate like it's the first day of creation.

Just the opposite of the radiation/chemo experience!

Now, one might ask, if the perceptual experience of psychedelics is just the opposite of radiation/chemo – what's so interesting about that? Well, there are similarities between both events that are not so obvious. For example, we have to admit that from a scientific point of view, either approach is relatively primitive and not too well understood.

To ingest 100 micrograms of LSD is like throwing a bomb into your mind, your ego, your brain. Most mental routines and programs don't work like they used to. You experience yourself as fragmented into a million little pieces and you can but hope that somehow, with time, all the pieces will reassemble – and maybe this time in a better constellation! This describes roughly how it should work.

As Tom Robbins said: “It is never too late for a happy childhood!”

On the other hand, enlightened or easygoing oncologists will admit that hitting the body with deadly radiation and/or extremely toxic medication is like trying to drive out the devil with the Beelzebub. The patient's body is turned into such a toxic environment that the (more or less) targeted cancer-cells, presumably more sensitive towards radiation/chemo than the rest, will hopefully die five minutes before the rest of you goes. This is the time when your oncologist has to be there, to bring you back, to fix your failing immune-system before a harmless bacteria has you for breakfast. This is the moment when Western medicine does show how effective it is – they have batteries of chemicals that will bring you back to life and keep you there.

The therapeutic claim of this grim procedure is, that this fragmented, not very well performing body, will somehow find a way to reassemble itself – this time without the cancer!

3. SET AND SETTING


In the Sixties of the last century, while still a professor at Harvard, Timothy Leary introduced the importance of set and setting, when planning a psychedelic excursion. “Set” stands for the current state of mind of the experimenter, “Setting” describes the locality, the environment where one intends to stay during the experiment.

The set:
--- understood as mindset, does not demand a perfectly healthy body and mind, but somebody stable enough, to withstand the temporary demontage of the ego. You want to exclude people with suicidal tendencies, or ulterior motives, like punishing somebody: “It serves my mother right when my hands freeze, if she doesn't buy me gloves.”( Or like: “Look everybody, I'm so desperate I take drugs!”)

Fritz Perls on ego-death: “To die and to be reborn is not easy.”

The setting:
--- can come in many varieties, natural environments like the forest or the desert, or a pleasant house with art and music, with understanding friends, and windows with sunsets...

For the relative short time-span of a psychedelic trip all these suggestions are relatively easy to arrange. If we want to apply these rules to the time-span of a radiation/chemo therapy we will find that not many people live in such supporting environments.

One explanation for this problem is the compartmentalization of all the departments of a hospital – they do have nutritionists, and psychological help, but set and setting? There is no therapist that right from the beginning will check your mental state, with which you will enter a therapy that might bring you closer to death than you have ever been before. People who just got a cancer diagnosis are usually not too happy, but depressed, and/or guilt-ridden, because they think they are being punished for something or other.

It has been proven though, that a sunny, optimistic state of mind does not necessary increase survival chances – miserable, angry, mean-spirited creeps survive just as long as nice people.

There is of course no department in the hospital that is obligated to create a life-supporting environment for the patient. The hospitals themselves are often trying hard to create a warm atmosphere by friendly colors on the walls and pleasant paintings. Particularly when children get cancer all stops are pulled. But for all one knows – they might be living in a car and use the bathroom at McDonald's.

There certainly is no budget to provide services like intensive counseling and decent housing for cancer patients, but in an ideal world, it surly would improve the effectiveness of any therapy.

But to be clear, there is no proof that an ideal set and setting ever saved one cancer-patients life, but we can tell with certainty that to neglect set and setting will decrease one's chances of survival.


4. FRAGMENTATION AND DEFRAGGING


If we ignore the length of chemo and radiation, compared to the time a psychedelic trip takes, we find parallels. In both cases the perception is regulated – either up or down, either pure energy is blasting through your synapses, and you feel dramatically alive -- or you feel the absence of life energy, which now manifests as a reluctant drip, just enough to keep you breathing, but not enough to fight off the intensity of pain.

As much as the cancer patient would like to ignore the symptoms of the therapy and distract himself, it is very important to observe all these slow changes closely. How they build up, and how they climax close to the end of the therapy. Even every pain, particularly if it is a new pain, should be observed and only helped with a painkiller, when it becomes unbearable. Every new pain is a message from a body that wants your attention. So, like a good detective, you will follow the pain – and maybe find one of the hidden causes of your illness.

During the time of the build-up, towards the maximal accumulated dose of radiation or chemo-therapy, the body is slowly regulated down, all systems seem to run on empty. Not only the immune system is down – hormones, glands – even the saliva glands are on unpaid leave. But glands play an important role in your psychological state. The will to live, the optimism, the desire to exist, are impacted. To not be depressed under these circumstances would indicate a diminished emotional capacity.

Another, easily overlooked symptom is the breakdown of the synchronization between the different organs. This might be because we know comparatively little about the way organs communicate with each other. Some communications are of a physical nature and seem to be easily understood, like the production of saliva when you put food in your mouth. Then when we look closer we realize that we still don't know how it exactly works – how a stimulus – the food – creates an electrical signal that, via several changes into biochemical messages at the synapses, makes it's way to the appropriate part of your nervous system, from where a signal returns that starts salivation. I'm sure we do not understand every detail of this simple communication.

Known, but little understood, are the mysterious “Interstitial cells of Cajal”, which are found in the gastric smooth muscles. They are the pacemaker cells that generate slow waves, that we experience as peristalsis, and we would not have much of a digestion if they were out of sync.

It takes some courageous multidisciplinary scientists to explore, for example, two neighboring organs and their function, and then find out how they are communicating with each other.

And indeed, progress is being made, often to the advantage of the corporations rather than the patient. When scientists understood the concept of beta-blockers the corporations realized that instead of treating ulcers with antacids, they now had a tool to prevent the production of acid in the first place. This works really well! The acid is reduced and the ulcer can heal. The long term side effect is malnutrition because the acid is necessary for a functional digestion.

It seems to me as if we know a lot about the functions of each organ, but the subtle directives that the organs exchange to work in sync, are not well understood. Chemo and radiation appear to diminish this ability, and are perceived by the patient as a fragmentation, as a body completely out of sync with itself.

Here a fable by Aesop that illustrates the situation:

The Belly and the Members
 ONE fine day it occurred to the Members of the Body that they were doing all the work and the Belly was having all the food. So they held a meeting, and after a long discussion, decided to strike work till the Belly consented to take its proper share of the work. So for a day or two, the Hands refused to take the food, the Mouth refused to receive it, and the Teeth had no work to do. But after a day or two the Members began to find that they themselves were not in a very active condition: the Hands could hardly move, and the Mouth was all parched and dry, while the Legs were unable to support the rest. So thus they found that even the Belly in its dull quiet way was doing necessary work for the Body, and that all must work together or the Body will go to pieces.

Another metaphor would be to compare the body to an orchestra, where every instrument has it's function and when everybody is in sync they can play beautiful music. After being hit with the chemo/radiation wrecking ball the musicians don't sound like much anymore, because they lost not only their notes, but also their instruments, and their conductor...

The physical fragmentation increases slowly, over time, but unless one pays attention, the symptoms can drown unnoticed in the various other pains and irritations. Whoever is familiar with psychedelics – particularly 5MEO will know how it feels when one is mentally fragmented from one second to the next. That is the precious moment when one hopes that all the parts are numbered and will later relocate at their proper place.

Defragging is a computer term, where fragmented parts of large files are distributed all over the hard drive and under temporary suspension of activity, will be reunited with each other for a more economic and efficient access.

And that's how one should begin therapy, with the knowledge that all will fall apart, but it will rearrange itself and reunite, because that was the intention in the first place.

As John Lilly once said: “There are no mistakes, there are only correctable errors.”


5. WHERE THE BOTTOM LINE ENDS...


There will come the time when you hit rock-bottom. The (side ) effects will hit you as hard as they ever will, and your resilience will be at an all time low. You're occupying a disgusting piece of meat that doesn't even look like you anymore and you can't find any justification to continue this painful existence any longer. No gland is still active that could produce a molecule needed to see something positive in this perverse test. You think of the doctors, the nurses, of all the people that have invested in you, and the guilt of betraying them weighs heavy, but do you need to compromise... even if it's your life and death?

It is amazing when you realize that people will clearly miss you – how important this suddenly has become.

Because everything, everything becomes meaningful and beautiful when you have to accept that this might be your last time... and maybe this is all there is, for you...

My life lasted many years, and maybe it is time to throw the towel, and make room... Why be greedy?

But then again, there are so many unfinished things, so many uncorrected mistakes, so many people, who need to know that you love them. And why me, why do I have to be the sick one, why do I need to be taken care of? What have I done to be punished this way? Why do I hurt the ones I love?

You don't just question authority, you question everything!

So I got cancer, a disease without reliable cure, then, like many others I lost my job, then I lost my girlfriend of 18 years. What else do I need to lose to understand I'm not welcome anymore?
---------------------- IT'S JUST SO HARD TO SAY GOODBYE!
I've gotten used to this little planet, crammed full of life, in all shapes and forms – so unique in the large emptiness of outer-space. From this far away even pain seems attractive, compared with the freezing dead nothingness of the empty space between the stars.

Now, somewhere deep inside, a decision will be made: are you going to die along with your cancer, or will you choose a new life without? Sings King Crimson:
 
                                                               it's alright, the rumble in your ears
                                                                 it's alright to feel a little fear
                                                              an' don't fight it, it's over your head
                                                              it's alright, you wake up in your bed...
 
You wake up in your bed!” That is of course the deciding factor. We have to understand that like after any other psychedelic journey – you will wake up in your bed!

If you don't wake up in your bed, you could be anywhere and you might be – dead!

But if you wake up in your bed, the healing can begin. Once your cancer understands that he can not demand anything anymore from you and your body – it rolls over and dies... or maybe it talks to you like HAL in 2001 when it is being switched off:

HAL: “Look Dave, I can see you're really upset about this. I honestly think you ought to sit down calmly, take a stress pill, and think things over.”

HAL has to go, just like any other occupying force, if it is your own private Al Qaeda in the prostate, or an isle of plastic-objects floating in the middle of the pacific...

Once the exorcism is proceeding, the damaged parts of your body need to be reconstructed from the original code, and you will get younger every day, until you reach your original age … and as disappointing as it feels at the time, “No, you're not getting any younger any more.!”...but there you are, you survived!

Remember, a certain amount of people have to survive to prove the statisticians right! Even if you have just a 20% survival chance – twenty of a hundred will live – and that is the group you want to be in!


6. ...YOU WAKE UP IN YOUR BED!


Once the radiation/chemo climax is over, you are still alive, and you're slowly noticing positive changes, like gaining strength – you breathe again, you eat, you take a walk, you remember how enjoyable simple activities used to be.

Was it all just a bad dream? A horrific nightmare, that is finally over, and now you can go back to the routines of your life? That would be a dangerous mistake! Ignorance is not bliss, but kills many, who believe it is now safe, to hide one's head in the sand.

You just have to accept that once you have had cancer, you are marked for the rest of your life. The cancer diagnosis leaves a scar to remind us how fragile the state of health is and gives us a solid motivation to observe the body closely -- at all times!

You see, when other people have a headache they say: “I hope I'm not getting a flu.” When cancer-patients have a headache, they hope they don't have a brain tumor. This is understandable, but is only helpful insofar it makes you go to all the tests, which most people like to avoid. Nobody wants to be reminded permanently how quickly a biopsy can change a life.

To sum it all up: There is no evidence that the attitude of the patient has any influence on the outcome of the therapy – there are no immortality-brownies for correct behavior!

But it is your last dance, or if you prefer, your last battle – You should give it all you have, because there might be an eternity waiting for you to regret all the missed opportunities...

Just like a psychedelic trip, or a vision-quest, this is entirely for you, to learn something only you need to know. Instead of your mind disintegrating – now it is your body falling apart, and you want to have a responsible oncologist on your side, because you might just get too close to physical death, and need somebody quickly, who has the whole instrumentarium of modern medicine at his disposal, to bring you back.

Because you will fall apart, and and then it will all come together, and you should reinstall the body you inhabited before. Why should that not work?

Because one thing you are not: You are not a victim! Like a samurai you have to experience the closeness of death as exhilarating, as inspiring. That can be difficult, particularly when you don't feel like it, when it is forced on you! You might have to dig up the emergency-samurai to help you cut through the BS, and activate your pet-vanity to look good while you fight for your life...

And if all this doesn't work – send a letter of complaint to: Santa Claus, North Pole.


7. WHAT NOW?

While I wrote this, I went through five weeks of radiation/chemo and had almost two months to recover. My current state is relatively pain-free, with spontaneous mornings when everything smells like chemo and my bones and joints hurt like I did a marathon the previous day. Mostly I'm tired for no reason, and my ability to concentrate is not up to snuff – I would say I'm 50% of what I'm used to be.

Besides daily physical exercise, I take Reishi mushroom extract and lately, while researching the aging of cells, and the immortality of cancer cells, I found information about the Reishi-mushroom, “Ganoderma Lucidum”. It seems like the mushroom inhibits the activity of telomerase, the enzyme that allows cancer cells to replicate forever. Sadly, even though Reishi is an edible mushroom, without critical side-effects, most of the studies are done in vitro or with mice. Nevertheless, I am surprised how many mushroom/cancer studies have been conducted since I complained 2008 in my “Medical Mushroom” article about the lack of interest in such a promising topic.

There are also a lot of news about marihuana, different alkaloids find spokespeople. Cannabidiol seems to gain popularity, because it contains so little THC that it does not get you stoned. For some people, unfamiliar with THC this might be a good solution. It nevertheless reminds me of Tim Leary, who loved to make fun of pharmaceutical companies by pointing out “how many millions they spent to find a painkiller that doesn't get you high.”

...and in spite of all the genius and effort that is put into cancer research – the prophylaxis is still medical mushrooms and Cannabis. So I'll end with the Ganeshian Prayer:

                                  “Dear God, if there is a God, help me, if you can help me.”


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Appendix:

UCLA:

Understanding Brachytherapy
http://radonc.ucla.edu/site.cfm?id=425
http://radonc.ucla.edu/site.cfm?id=424

KONING CC, BLANK LE, KOEDOODER C, VAN OS RM, VAN DE KAR M, JANSEN E, BATTERMANN JJ, BEIJERT M, GERNAAT C, VAN HERPEN KA, HOEKSTRA C, HORENBLAS S, JOBSEN JJ, KROL AD, LYBEERT ML, VAN ONNA IE, PELGER RC, POORTMANS P, POS FJ, VAN DER STEEN-BANASIK E, SLOT A, VISSER A, PIETERS BR.
Brachytherapy after external beam radiotherapy and limited surgery preserves bladders for patients with solitary pT1-pT3 bladder tumors.
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/22718135

THOMAS DJ, ROBERTS JT, HALL RR, READING J.
Radical transurethral resection and chemotherapy in the treatment of muscle-invasive bladder cancer: a long-term follow-up.
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/10210567?dopt=Abstract

IDO HARTOGSOHN
The American Trip: Set, Setting, and Psychedelics in 20th Century Psychology
http://www.maps.org/news-letters/v23n1/v23n1_p6-9.pdf

Interstitial cell of Cajal
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Interstitial_cell_of_Cajal

JAMES C. COYNE MICHAEL STEFANEK STEVEN C. PALMER
Psychotherapy and Survival in Cancer: The Conflict Between Hope and Evidence
http://dcscience.net/coyne-psych-bul-07.pdf

YUEN JW, GOHEL MD, AU DW
Telomerase-associated apoptotic events by mushroom ganoderma lucidum on premalignant human urothelial cells.
http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/18444142

 

Sunday, September 1, 2013

HOPE OR EVIDENCE?


   Lately I scanned an article about the benefits of an altruistic life style. The article claimed that altruistic people survived cancer at a greater rate than, I assume, a bunch of selfish patients. At the time I did not give it much attention because it seemed to be the usual Judeo/Christian propaganda – “Morally upright people are rewarded by God with good health...blah, bah.”
  Common sense and personal experience indicate this as a vicious fallacy.
  Not only have I been diagnosed with cancer, but now I also have to deal with a bunch of self-righteous smarty pants who suspect that there is something wrong with my psyche, my spirit, my mind, my karma! I obviously did something wrong, something really bad. I deserve the cancer!
   And to explain the cancer of young children, too young to accumulate bad karma – well, they were probably Nazis in their former incarnation!
   We do know that getting cancer is about as random as being hit by lightning, winning in the lotto or being run over by a car.
   There is nothing you can do to prevent cancer! Supposedly one in three people will get cancer during their lifetime, statistically.
   And we only have statistics, but they don't apply to specifically you, they apply to all people. If the estimated survival chance is 20% or 80%, it doesn't matter – as long as you manage to belong to the surviving group!
   I could not find the exact article mentioned. All I found was a study that was trying to determine if patients who participated in random controlled studies had altruistic motives. The study was inconclusive.
   Then I remembered, when in the seventies and eighties several cancer prone personality types were suggested. Particularly sad and hopeless are the personalities by Eysenck:
   Type A:
  Briefly, the cancer-prone personality type deals with stress through loss of the loved' object, or frustrative non-reward by the loved object, with feelings of hopelessness, helplessness and depression, retains emotional closeness with withdrawing objects, shows a tendency to idealise the withdrawing objects, and represses overt emotional reactions.”
   In its vagueness this reminds me a bit too much of astrological charts – I instantly recognized myself as cancer-prone:
   ...loss of the loved object... hopelessness...depression...
   Of course, after you have been diagnosed with cancer these feelings might be justified.
   So the question remains: How much influence has the psyche on the evolution of cancer?
   Psychologists would like to believe -- a lot!
   But that is not so. A meta-study from 2004 “Psychotherapy and Survival in Cancer: The Conflict Between Hope and Evidence” by Coyne, Stefanek, and Palmer.
    The study starts:
  The belief that psychological factors affect the progression of
cancer has become prevalent among the lay public and some
oncology professionals (Doan, Gray, & Davis, 1993; Lemon &
Edelman, 2003). An extension of this belief is that improvement in
psychological functioning can prolong the survival after a diagnosis
of cancer. Were this true, psychotherapy could not only benefit
mood and quality of life but increase life expectancy as well.”
   And it ends:
   “There is no good a priori reason to reject the assumption that
with appropriate tailoring to the demands of cancer and its treatment,
interventions that reduce prolonged or functionally impairing
distress in other contexts will benefit persons with cancer.
However, we are concerned that the necessary retreat from the
claim that all persons with cancer need or will benefit from formal
psychosocial interventions becomes more awkward and embarrassing
when it is accompanied by a delayed concession that such
interventions do not extend survival.”
http://dcscience.net/coyne-psych-bul-07.pdf
   So here we are again at the beginning. Isn't it reassuring – you can be a bastard, kill a million people and never get cancer, or a saint who is forsaken by his God.
   One in three people will get cancer, regardless who they are, what they think, where they come from and psychotherapy will not keep anyone alive – but maybe it helps dealing with life and death issues.
   And this is not to be underestimated.

 

Saturday, August 17, 2013

I have a diploma, I can prove I did it!!!

The wonderful technicians and nurses of  the UCLA made this Diploma for me after five weeks of radiation/chemo.

Sunday, August 4, 2013

My Battle with Cancer


   A short report from the trenches...
   My Surgeon General, Dr. Ramin, determined that my bladder had been occupied by a small group of terrorist cancer cells. The tumor had to be removed and Dr. Ramin did so with a surgical strike.       
   Even though the cancer was removed Dr. Ramin found in the neighborhood the presence of insurgent cancer cells, which had invaded my bladder muscle. This was serious, and Dr. Ramin suggested total extrication and destruction of the bladder and it's replacement with spare parts from my body.
   But there were alternatives: Nuclear and chemical warfare – weapons of mass destruction!
Starting with an extremely carefully targeted process, a nuclear strike on the proximity of the extricated tumor. It's a precisely guided attack and causes the least collateral damage to innocent cells.
   A chemical charge pinned down my pelvis to create a perfect target for the bombardment. Then tiny iridium-pellets at the end of an elastic steel rod were guided into the critical zone to have an effect -- not physically explosive like a nuclear bomb – more like a dirty bomb that burns its immediate surroundings with deadly radiation.
   Under the fearless leadership of Dr. Kamrava the team successfully finished the operation, and by now I needed a temporary cease-fire.
   After two weeks of recovery I was ready for the final strike that would get rid of all, so far undetected terror-cells in the besieged bladder.
   It started with a blast of very toxic chemicals, applied by Dr. Lieber, who intended to confuse and disorient the enemy, until he would be an easy target for the radiation, applied by Dr. Steinberg, the leader and coordinator of the radiation team.
   And this is where I am now, it's my last stand in the battle with cancer, and I veel be vicktorious! Jawohl! HURRA!

Monday, July 22, 2013

DOWN THE RABBITHOLE.

One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small
And the ones that mother gives you, don't do anything at all

Go ask Alice, when she's ten feet tall 
(Grace Slick, Jefferson Airplane)


   Now I had five weeks of external-beam/chemo ahead of me, and I didn't really feel physically stable enough to start without a break to recover from the Brachy-treatment, which after all, was harder on me than I expected. A week would do and I started watching the Zimmerman case on TV, and when the not guilty verdict came down, I – like many others -- scratched my head and mumbled: “Are they serious???“
   A short factoid: White elderly women are the group most afraid of becoming a victim of violence, while statistically they are the least likely to experience such. – Young black males, on the other side, are not that worried about becoming victims, which statistically of course they are!
   The last Sunday-afternoon before radiation Monday, Robin called from the road and said she heard on the radio that people were demonstrating at Martin Luther King Blvd and Crenshaw. That is about two minutes from were we live. Now I also heard the helicopters above and decided to see with my own eyes.
   Indeed, the crossing was blocked and policemen directed traffic. About a hundred to two hundred people, mostly but not entirely black, some with banners or with posters marched around in a circle, not quite sure how to go about it – these were not professional demonstrators. I watched a while and after some time they got organized and a whole group started to march North, where they later blocked the 10 Freeway. I decided to go home and hide from the helicopter noise.
   It was suggested that for the first two days of radiation/chemo I should not drive to the clinic myself. I was expected to show up by 8 AM to start the adjunct chemo. Two days of chemo at the beginning and two more after three weeks.
   The first day everything took longer than expected, but finally Dr. Lieber, my oncologist, was happy with everything, and I got my first dose of poison (Cisplatin) sneaked into my body between two bags of saline and an anti-nausea medicine. Then we had to rush over to the UCLA-complex for the administration of the external beam radiation. The process takes barely 15 minutes, but displayed a bit of Sci-Fi romanticism. In the middle of the room is a big white machine with different shaped heads and multiple joints that during the radiation circulate around you, and they look so big and heavy that before you lie down you just assume that they have to be safe. Because, if they would not follow the determined course they could easily squish you! Above the futuristic arrangement is a large ring of blue (mood)light, and nested within the blue light in the center, a black sky with glimmering LED stars that you can stare at while the machine does it's precise choreography around you and your troubled organ.
   When we came home the helicopters were back and there where demonstrations all over LA, specifically at Leimert Park – our neighborhood.
   Tuesday was very much a repetition of Monday – chemo and radiation were hitting me violently. Every part of my body that was not a 100% healthy hurt where it was the weakest.
   I first notice the cancer poisons when my visual refreshment rate goes down and I almost need to blink every time I want to receive a new image, and there is this ringing in my ears and I have trouble listening to higher frequencies. I will not dwell on more details – it just feels like I'm poisoned on a deep level where every molecule of the body has a painful electric halo that feels overloaded, circuits shrieking, shrill, and ready to explode; like a nuclear plant approaching meltdown!
   And I'm tired...
   ...and this is how it goes down the rabbit-hole: If you come out again you might be bigger, smaller, healthier, or dead. It is, of course, the job of your doctor to send you to the point where you almost die, and the body realizes that you can't afford a cancer sharing your resources – and just when you reach the point of no return – the medicine man brings you back...
Western medicine is really good at that!
   Dr. Lieber brought me back the last time, when I had about 300 white blood-cells left. They have fantastic stuff that brings your white blood-cells count up in no time – if it is applied in time
So I'm checking my temperature all the time, not to be caught by surprise, because it's a good hour's drive to the hospital and one never knows how capable I am to navigate L.A. traffic.
Meanwhile, I do enjoy food immensely because I don't know how long my taste-buds will work, and the memory of a half year of protein drinks (Vanilla, Banana, Strawberry) is not something I cherish.
Now, Monday-morning, I am ready to go in for the next round, and I'm enjoying the last hours of the short recovery that the radiation-less weekend provided.

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

A short report about my further adventures in the world of uncontrolled growth...

Brummbaer July 2013

FOUR DAYS IN THE BODYSHOP

I packed until the last moment, everything had to be in boxes or anything might happen to it on the way to our new home. Sunday noon was my cut-off time – starting preop with the usual unpleasant drinks to clean my bowels and to be safe in case somebody slips with his scalpel.
Today's joke: Something you don't want to hear in an operating room:
“Oooops!”
Robin continued packing.
Monday morning 4:45AM we arrived at the Ronald Reagan hospital where I should be ready for surgery by 7:30. Most of the time I filled out forms. Over and over...
I assume they are still working on streamlining the process, because redundancy for safety reasons is unavoidable, but too much redundancy creates drag and slows down the process. – Anyway. Suddenly, it was 7:30, I was in my hospital garb and was being introduced to half a dozen people, everybody wearing the unique costume for the event, the nurses, the Md's, the anesthesiologist, etc...
It was impossible to remember all their names, but the name tags were a great help... ...and three more times the same question: Was I allergic? No?
Then I was out, but still in a sitting position, while I heard people hammering and drilling at my spine. It was painless and all I remember is that it was obviously really difficult to get the right spot for the epidural.
Next I was in stirrups, still not really conscious, but aware that now the tubes were being implanted, presumably by Dr. Kamrava the head of the team. A little later I was aware enough to answer questions and now a mistake occurred that is hard to avoid: The question, of course, was: Between 1 and 10, what number is your pain? Mine was between 6 and 7, and when they increased the dose I did not respond. So they increased the dose again. I myself was not clear enough to differentiate between a really bad back-pain coinciding with the pain from the surgery. The epidural did nothing for my back-pain. So I  received twice the necessary dose, without anybody's negligence.
Dr. Demanes head of the Brachy department at UCLA was present, and since I was already pretty much under, they added a sedative and Dr. Demanes worked on me, for what seemed another three hours, tweaking the locations of the plastic-pipes.
Finally everybody was happy with the template between my legs and I was transported from “radiation” to the hospital. I was tied to the gurney, where I would stay for the next three days. I arrived around 8 in the evening at the Ronald Reagan Hospital, which was adjacent to UCLA radiation, but it was a complicated odyssey to get there.. The room was pleasant, with a great view of Westwood and the ocean. Even though I felt like a truck had ran over me, I nevertheless was terribly hungry. I was ready to eat and spend the rest of my consciousness vedging in front of the TV.
Mind you, I came with instructions: “Strict bed-rest! Turn every 2 hours.”
To eat I needed to be turned and the two nurses available, were willing, but had not the slightest idea how to go about it. They just thought, I – for whatever reason -- had an epidural and they tried to roll me on my side – not aware of the sensible template between my legs. Somehow they manipulated me into a 45 degree angle, that felt really wrong, even with an epidural. Five minutes later I touched something like a tree-trunk next to me on the gurney, which turned out to be my leg that was completely paralyzed and without any sense of touch. The left leg was perfectly fine, without pain and a limited range of movement due to the epidural. But the right leg was gone!
I freaked!
The night nurse did not seem too alarmed.
I asked for a doctor. The nurse nodded and left the room.
Too late I realized that he left the call-button out of my reach and now I was truly stuck to the gurney – helpless -- my absolute nightmare!
A good thing that Robin had called a short time ago and was on her way, so I knew I wouldn't be helpless too long.
Five minutes later I saw the nurse walking by. I yelled: “Where is the doctor?”
He looked at me and nodded: “Oh, yes, I will call the doctor right away!”
I didn't believe my ears.
Now Robin arrived and shortly thereafter a black nurse, who really knew her business. She very quickly determined that my epidural was very high and she also had the authority to turn the dose down and indeed, after two hours, feeling and motion started to return to my leg. In the meantime I had a doctor at “Pain Management” on the phone, who told me that this happened before, was rare and it all would be fine by tomorrow.
Which it was!
Mind you, I never saw a doctor all night – and I was in a hospital!
God bless the nurse, who knows her stuff!
They asked Robin if she wanted to stay, but with her workload – moving our”stuff”she needed to go home and rest.
Sleep didn't come easy to me that night – even though I was dead-tired – the weirdness of my body posture, the noises of the little pumps, turning on and of, and the pumps that served the leg compressors to avoid thromboses, left, right, left, right...but with the help of an Ambien I finally drifted into unconsciousness.
Day two:
I woke up, a bit disoriented but relatively painless – my leg was still lacking sensitivity but obviously recovering.
I ordered breakfast, but before it arrived I was whisked away to my first radiation treatment. Breakfast has to wait.
Two young men were responsible to deliver me at “Radiation” and gently warned me about every bump in the road. The gurney had no built-in suspension, but I had not much sensation in my pelvis anyway.
The radiation team consisted of two radiation technicians, who we shall call Tom and Al, and a young Asian nurse, with round glasses, a geometric haircut, and a pretty face.
Tom is an old hand at this and has years of Brachy behind him, a matter of fact attitude, like someone who knows what he's doing. Al was a little older and asked me if I had any musical preferences for the time in the radiation room. I didn't.
Meanwhile Tom had conducted a Ct-scan of my abdomen and a few things were not to his satisfaction. So suddenly my feet were raised by the stirrup, and between my legs I see three faces, lit from below -- blue like in a science fiction movie, looking at the area between my ass and my balls, poised and concentrated like they were expecting some great revelation any moment now. I understood how science can help us to love our not so attractive parts. It trumps revulsion!
A few Ct-scans later I was ready and Tom attached the tubes to the after-loader, the part of the construction that housed the radioactive pellets. Al had to double check, because mistakes are out of the question, regarding the damage that the high dose radiation could do, if the wrong tubes were connected. The room was well lit, not to fear, the heavy doors slid shut and Al chose “The Police” and more “Sting” to accompany me through the 45 minutes during which the radioactive pellets, mounted on elastic steel rods, would be guided into my bladder muscle with great speed to minimize the radiation of healthy tissue – you could see the tubes vibrating. Then the door on the opposing side opened and a little later I was back in the hospital in front of my breakfast, a plate of meanwhile cold scrambled eggs, that I wolfed down anyway, because I was starving after all these turbulent events.
I had another treatment late afternoon and felt pretty familiar with the procedure by now.
That night I had all my three sleeping aids lined up. A Lorazepam at nine, amitriptyline at ten, and between 11 and 12 an Ambien, By midnight I was out like a light, gurney or not, the little electric pumps that sounded like a defunct CD Rom drive, muffled laughter in the corridor, nothing came through – I was pleasantly gone.
I woke up early, ready to do my morning exercises – but only half of my body was under my jurisdiction. I started planning my escape...
This morning I had time to have breakfast before the radiation.
Then the usual procedure, double-check, all numbers matched – Al played the Rolling Stones for me. For my fourth and last treatment later in the day I suggested he should play “Last time” by the Stones.
...and so he did. It emphasized the emotion that everybody that said “Good bye” at a dentist office, or while being released from jail – carefully avoiding a “See you soon”, or “Later...” Because the extraordinary circumstances the hearts have opened up and you feel like your saying goodbye to friends.
Miss Lalaine, the physician's assistant, arrived to remove the tubes from my perineum and I have to admit that it was a strange situation to have a beautiful woman leaning on my thigh, bending over my abdomen, to pull 19 plastic tubes painlessly out of my ass.
She did great! – Now even the epidural was turned off, but my escape plans still had to wait 'til the next morning, when they would remove the epidural hardware from my spine.
Thursday morning “pain-management” sent somebody, who extracted the epidural in 20 seconds, and now my last attachment to the hospital was the bladder-catheter. – Which was permanently checked for it's blood content. They would only let me go, when there was very little, or no blood to be detected.
My urine – to my delight – was almost clear, the nurse called the doctor that I was ready to be released, when I made an unfortunate move, and a big red blob flooded the urine bag. The nurse was almost canceling my release, but the doctor calmed her down, it is expected to bleed for a while, as I also knew from other bladder surgeries.
Then the catheter was gone! I made my first steps, a little wobbly, a little weak, but I was moving all by myself, and all I needed now, was transport. Robin had problems picking me up – mind you – she had organized the whole move ( a couple of trucks) while I was in hospital, and was momentarily stuck in the new house with some plumbers and the cable company. Luckily my friend Matt was not busy, and jumped right away into his car to take me to Baldwin Hills.
Our new house – the power was on, there was my bed, close to the bathroom and the TV worked. I was in a elated manic state, could not find a robe and started running around naked – looking for light-switches – locating towels, etc...
I felt great – but after an hour the pain set in, and a night of torture started, oscillating between bath and bed – until I finally fell asleep around 3 or 4.
Since then I got better every day, with occasional slip ups.
The day after I came home I managed to attach my computer, but it took another week before I had the energy to read my email...
Now two weeks have passed and I finally wrote this chapter.

Saturday, May 25, 2013

MUSCLE INVASIVE BLADDER CANCER

Alea jacta est, as my Latin teacher would say "The Die Is Cast", the Rubicon is crossed, rien ne va plus, nothing is more ...the decisions have been made:
The third of June, I will be taken to the UCLA Department of Radiation Oncology and begin a therapy that promises to kill the cancer and preserve the organs with a minimum of side effects.
HDR Brachytherapy, until now, is not widely practiced, and when it is, it usually is for prostate cancer. Very successful though!
HDR – Stands for “High Dose Radiation”, because it operates with high doses of radioactive iridium. The tumor is radiated only for minutes, but several times a day. After three or four days, I will be finished - and that's it!
These three, four days, however, are frightening. On the first day my legs and pelvis will be constrained, and small plastic tubes are passed through the scrotum into the invaded bladder muscle. These tubes are adjusted with a template and cannot move during therapy. For that purpose my lower body is anesthetized and immobile due to an epidural lasting three or four days.
The next day, after a computer has calculated the movement and retention of the radioactive pellets with the requirement to radiate the cancer and not the healthy tissue, I will be moved to another building, where the radiation takes place.
This goes on for a few days until the desired amount of radiation is reached, and after removal of the plastic tubes I may go home.
I have to admit that this seems to be a torture designed specifically for me.
I wish I could feel heroic, like for example, Tim Leary, who would turn it into a great spiritual adventure, and have everybody line up for a three day epidural in no time!
Despite my horror being tied down, the situation has the advantage that, because of the novelty of the procedure, the people conducting it seem way more enthusiastic than your average hospital personnel. I will try not to disappoint them and make it through and get better.
And what would be the alternative? Pout?
Because we also have to move (the house has been sold), we will be packing until Saturday, and Sunday I will have to start the preop rituals, and Monday Robin will deliver me to UCLA.
I will try and report from the place of chemistry and healing, of magic and mystery..?