Judge DD Speaks

Cancer, A Spiritual Journey

PLEDGE

“In the face of adversity, uncertainty, and conflicting sensory information, I hereby pledge to remain ever mindful of the magical, infinite, loving reality in which I live, a reality that conspires tirelessly in my favor.

I further recognize that my living within space and time, as a creation among creations, is the ultimate adventure, because thoughts become things, dreams come true, and all things remain forever possible. As a being of Light, I hereby resolve to live, love, and be happy at all costs, no matter what, with reverence and kindness for all. So be it.” Deborah Judge (1.22.2007)

Intro

On Wednesday, August 30, 2017, I was awakened at about 3:30 a.m., to a voice telling me to check my left breast. I live alone, except for my cat, but I did not doubt the voice or hesitate and went directly to my left breast. Without having to search, I found a large elongated lump on the right underside of my left breast. It was so hard that I knew it was cancerous. So, at 8:45 a.m. that day, I made a 10:45 a.m. appointment with my gynecologist, who felt the lump, was unsure of what it was, and told me to get a mammogram. She gave me a list of labs, and the only place that would take me that day was St. Luke’s clinic. I had the mammogram in their dank, dark, and dingy offices, nothing inviting there. After the mammogram, I waited for the radiologist to give me the reading. He called me into his office, which was dark and no more than 6 feet by 4 feet. There was no room to walk freely in that room. I inched my way in behind his chair as he apologized for the tight space. He told me that the mass, which was 3cm, looked suspicious and that I could get a biopsy right then on the tenth floor or I could get it done somewhere else at another time. I opted to go upstairs to have it done. The biopsy was a painless and pleasant experience. I had no pain at all, and I liked the doctor, a beautiful and friendly woman, who made me feel safe. I had no swelling or marks that I could see when I took the bandage off the next day. Two days after the biopsy, the doctor called to tell me it was cancer. I had no particular reaction. It was not news to me. I just asked what the next step was. She said to see her the next Wednesday, which I did. She explained that they were waiting for a test to ensure that the cancer was or was not HER2 positive. They had already ruled out estrogen or progesterone receptor breast cancer, a slower growing cancer that, depending on the stage, may or not may not require chemotherapy. I had stage 2 triple negative breast cancer, the most aggressive type, but it had not spread to my lymph nodes or anywhere else in my left breast; and, after a sonogram and another mammogram, I learned that it had not spread to the right breast either.

For treatment, I opted to go to the Iris Cantor Women’s Health Center, which is part of Columbia Presbyterian/Weill Cornell Hospital. The facility is light and modern and very comforting, a far cry from the clinic at St. Luke’s. I managed to see a breast surgeon and oncologist within a week’s time, which I understand is unheard of. Usually, you wait at least two weeks to see a breast surgeon and another two weeks to see an oncologist. Then you wait about another two weeks to start chemo. The unseen forces of light were working overtime. Because they were unavailable, I did not get the oncologist or breast surgeon I thought I wanted from researching bios on the Internet, but I got the ones I needed and who needed me, both women, whom I liked immediately. The surgeon is chief of surgery at the women’s health center. She and the oncologist were knowledgeable, informative, personable, and upbeat. I was set up for chemo within a month of my diagnosis thanks to both of these women.

About a week before chemo was to start, a port to facilitate infusion of the drugs was inserted into my chest on the right side. Placement of the port requires minor “surgery” and only twilight consciousness. After the procedure, I felt sick to the stomach, because they used fentanyl, which I do not tolerate well. I developed a burning sensation and a rash where the port was placed. When I meditated that night and the following morning, I realized that the burning sensation and the rash that was starting to appear on my chest was the release of stress energy through the site. Thanks to the meditation, by late the next night my chest looked and still looks as normal as ever. I slept well last night, probably the best sleep I’ve had in ages.

First Week of Chemo Infusion—Tuesday, September 26, 2017

The morning of my first chemo session I did what is called the five-breath self-healing meditation. You place your hands in five different locations on the body and follow certain protocols for each. I included the tumor and the port site in the meditation. Afterward, I visualized the tumor getting smaller and smaller with each breath every day. I did another “regular” meditation, and an auto-write afterward. I usually write about a past life related to something relevant in my life at the time, and then I did the numerology using the year and age I was in that life. I’ve learned a lot about numerology over the years. There’s much more to it than we realize. One size does not fit all. If you know the basis of the number, you can tailor it to fit any situation, and, as always, intention and passion play an important role. Finally, I healed the past life with the channeling of colors. As you may already know, all of creation has a color, sound, and geometric pattern (or sacred geometry). The colors include all of that and are generally sung. I sing them in my head and then program my higher self to sing them aloud in sleep state. It works. The colors have a nonlinear meaning. I don’t know the meaning on this level of consciousness, but I know it on a higher level. That’s why I can channel them. To most of you, this probably sounds like mumbo-jumbo. Who cares? It works for me.

The first round of chemo involves the infusion of a drug called Taxol, an anti-cancer ("antineoplastic" or "cytotoxic") chemotherapy drug classified as a "plant alkaloid," a "taxane" and an "antimicrotubule agent." Taxol is made from the bark of a pine tree. Along with the Taxol, steroids and Benadryl are infused into the port. After all is said and done, the Benadryl and the steroids did what they were supposed to do. I was fine with no side effects. Of course, I had cleansed my body of that energy fairly quickly. Thus, even though they told me that the steroids would make me hyper and would probably make it difficult for me to sleep, they did not, not at all. As for the Benadryl, I simply had to wait for the loopiness to leave my body. By evening time, that had completely worn off. This morning I feel wonderful and can’t stop smiling.

Those spiritualists in the group will know what I mean when I mention some of what I did energetically before and after the first infusion of Taxol. Before the actual drug was infused into the port, I pink-lighted it and ran it through an energetic golden screen to filter out anything that was not beneficial to my overall healing and sent that energy back to the Creator’s Light. The first treatment is a shock to the system, so it really had me going for a while (chills, clattering teeth, severe itching at the port site, thirst, and needing to pee a lot from the saline solution they gave me), but it all resolved and now they know how to administer the drugs (slowly for me). All that said, this morning I feel like a “normal” me in every way. The port site is comfortable. Even I am in awe that it is not irritating me. I had the port in for about a week and neglected to do anything about it spiritually, until I got that first chemo session. I am realizing that my spiritual practice has to be more routine, an every day thing, not something that I think about or do haphazardly or when something happens. After the session yesterday, I had absolutely no nausea and no need for any medication to treat it. My body seems to be moving along nicely, evacuating as it should with no problem at all (that’s the politest way to say I’m not constipated, which I understand can happen).

I realize that this was only the first treatment, but I have set the intention that they only get better or no worse with each passing day. This chemo is cumulative. How I feel after the first infusion is no barometer for how I will feel with each successive infusion. I am hoping that by the time I get to the second round of drugs, called AC, which will start in a few months from now, I will be prepared not to suffer, but to know that I can handle it and that my body will cooperate with what I ask of it. I have gained a new respect for this big, beautiful body. It has always served me well and it is serving me well now, even though I have at times neglected it by not asking it what it wants before I put something into it. Now I ask all the time. I actually feel love for this body, like it is a good friend. I find myself smiling at it when I look in the mirror, a great departure from my usual reaction. It is too bad that it took cancer to get me to this point.

Love,

Dee Dee

The Day After the Day After Chemo—Thursday, September 28, 2017

Well, the day after the day after chemo was certainly different from the day after chemo. Did you get that? The second day after chemo I woke up to pain in every joint and muscle of my body. It was like night and day compared to the day after chemo. I could barely walk and I could feel the pain sucking the joy out of my body. I gave in to it and it dragged me down with it. But then I went to bed and had that quiet contemplative time that comes just before sleep, and I saw the light. I could step outside the pain, which was still there, and observe it and see what it was trying to show me. I saw that I had created this grand and glorious journey to learn something about me and my ability to heal. I was able to tolerate the pain with a smile. The pain is still there and it doesn’t seem to want to leave, but I am not unhappy because of it. I feel sort of giddy and silly, like I have created a way to find a higher plane for everything in life that wants to bring me down. I feel renewed and happy. I have no idea what the next chemo session will bring, but I will bring what I have learned to the session and hopefully add to it.

I just finished vacuuming and changing the kitty litter and doing all that other stuff one does in the morning. Then I returned to this writing because I could feel a thought coming. As I am writing this, I can feel the pain starting to subside, to move out and away, leaving just a trace behind to remind me to move on to a higher plane in life. Today I have a friend called pain. I made a friend of pain in the same manner that I make other friends in life, by being authentic and accepting the other unconditionally. I’m excited for this journey. Go figure . . .

Second Week of Chemo—October 3, 2017

I had my second chemo session today. My white blood cell count was very low, so they infused only half the amount of the Taxol. Also, my port looked like it might be compromised, which means that they had to infuse the chemo into my arm. That was a wee bit painful, because the Taxol hurts when it goes through the vein. I had to call the technician twice so that she could hook up some saline solution with the drug so that it would go in easily, which it then did. Tomorrow I have to get a shot to boost my white cell count and then I have to head to another building to have a port test. They will put me out and shoot dye into the port to check for leakage or to see if it moved. I have a nasty rash on my neck, which makes them think that there might be leakage. I felt sick to the stomach the last time they put me out, so I have to remind them not to use Fentanyl. All that said, it was a pretty good day. I feel okay. I am just a little loopy still from the Benadryl they infused prior to the chemo, but it was not as bad as it was the last time. Physically, I can’t tell that my white cell count is down. I feel fine.

This is an interesting journey. I am trying to control what happens by consciously creating what I want. Again, I feel oddly happy and kind of giddy. Perhaps it is because at times like these you find out how strong you are and how loved you are and who among your friends is capable of being present who is not. Some friends can handle the journey and some cannot. Either way, nothing changes in the relationship, except that you add new information to your knowledge base. You know who people are and you know that you can accept who they are, because we can only do what we can do. I don’t want people to live up to my expectations. I can hardly live up to my expectations. You need to live up to your own expectations whatever they are. Some people I've known for years cannot acknowledge this journey at all. I can accept that. Who is to say what is the “right” way to respond to someone having cancer. I tend to dive in heart first when friends are in crisis. That is just the way I am, but that does not mean that I am “right” or “better” or “more evolved” than they. It means only that I operate in the world differently from them. We can’t second-guess someone else’s journey, because we have no idea what has shaped that individual, what experiences have formed that person’s emotional body. I feel love for all of my friends, even the ones I haven’t heard from. They’re doing the best they can. You can’t ask for more than that. I am grateful every day for every encounter with every person who graces my life. I include the good, the bad, and the ugly. They all have value, something to give that I can learn from.

Perhaps cancer forces one to take stock of one’s life. In that way, it is a gift. Sorry, but I can see it no other way. It is a gift. For instance, one of my friends uses her day off to spend it with me during chemo. She could be home relaxing, enjoying her day, but instead she spends that time with me. I spent part of the afternoon with another friend who just kept me company while the Benadryl ran its course. I was loopy, and instead of sleeping, I was chatty. This was the first intimate conversation we ever had. I guess I can’t call it a conversation because I did all the talking, but she now knows more about my life than most of the friends I’ve known for a much longer time. She just wanted to make sure that I was okay, but I got to take our friendship to another level. I don’t know that that would have happened without this disease. It might have happened anyway, but not this fast or at the level it went to today. I feel tremendously lucky. Other friends have shown up at the last minute when I needed them or provided or paid for the car service that I need to get back and forth to chemo. Others who live out of state call to check in and see how I’m doing. Still others have let me know that I could count on them. None of these are empty gestures. All have equal value, appreciation, and love. I have to ask myself every day, “How does it get any better than this?”

I am so grateful to my inner voice for directing me to the tumor in my left breast and for pinpointing it for me. Your guides do not wake you up at 3:30 a.m. and push you to check your left breast for no reason. That is why I knew that the mass was diseased. I did not need a biopsy for that. So, I was prepared. There was no shock when I got the result. With my guides at my side, things moved along quickly and I felt good. Again, I am blessed. I am also blessed because my view of the world does not incorporate fear into this journey. I do not have time for fear (Fear is False Evidence Appearing Real). I have a journey to do and I want to do it well. Stay tuned . . .

Love you all for caring,

Dee Dee

Addendum

I forgot to tell you yesterday that the doctor told me that the chemo is working. The tumor feels smaller and the breast tissue is much softer, very good signs. That was probably the best news I could have gotten, because if the tumor were resistant to the chemo, I would need a mastectomy. I am not wedded to my breasts, so if I did need a mastectomy I would be okay with that, but I am happy not to need it, because who wants major surgery. Not me.

I went to the clinic today to get the shot of Neupogen to boost my white blood cell count. After that I went to get the port study done. It was a quick and painless procedure that required no anesthesia because the problem was exactly what I thought it was. I had an allergic reaction to the Tegaderm bandage that covered the wound when the procedure was first done. I was told to remove the bandage after three days, but I removed it after two days because it was driving me nuts. The next day I was itching in that spot, and had a rash, and some red bumps. I told the doctors that during the chemo session, but they wanted to be sure that it was indeed the Tegaderm, so they would not inject the chemo through the port. I had no problem with them wanting to cross all their “T’s” and dot all their “I’s,” but my gut feeling was that today would be a breeze, and I was right. After they confirmed my assessment of the problem by running dye through the port, they put a different bandage on the site, but I came home and put my own bandage on, because the tape on theirs was pulling on my skin. So, everything turned out just peachy. I was out of there hours earlier than expected.

I learned some things about the chemo that I did not realize before. I feel great today, because it is the day after chemo. The day after the day after chemo is when things start to heat up. Now that I know that, I can take prophylactic measures, which is what I will do for the Neupogen too. A possibility exists that the Neupogen will cause joint pain because it is asking the bone marrow to make more white blood cells. The fix for that is, of all things, Claritin. I guess it is the antihistamine effect, although I do not really understand how that works. Anyway, I have Claritin on hand. I still have to go to the drug store to pick up my other meds for the possible side effects of the chemo. I am very optimistic. I’m in the moment and today is a good day. I plan to make the most of it.

XXOO,

Dee Dee

III

Week Three of Chemo Infusion—October 10, 2017

Hello my Little Chickadees,

Well, it’s the day after my third round of chemo and I’m feeling great, as usual, and I’m taking advantage of the time. I went to bed at 2 a.m., much later than I had planned, but that was because I dozed most of the day and evening on the couch. I was up chipper and ready to go by 7:19 a.m., to be exact. I had all these plans to rearrange some things in my closets but found that my assessment of the measurements of some of the spaces was off, so I had to put the cabash on that venture. I am a little bummed about that. It was a great idea that is now just that, only a great idea.

I decided to tweeze the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin, as I do every morning, and lo and behold, they just kind of fell out. I was thrilled. My chin feels smooth and lovely like a woman’s chin should feel. Usually, mine feels like a road that has weeds growing in the cracks. I was grinning from ear to ear. Then it occurred to me to check the hair on my head. I did. I found that I could pull it out with two fingers. Again, I was thrilled. I couldn’t stop smiling. I see this as a new adventure. I don’t have that much hair up there anyway. As most of you know, I keep it very short. I am excited about having my hair stylist, Mino, cut it off for me at my next visit. I do not plan on wearing a wig. I don’t see the point. Interestingly, my eyebrows are just fine. What little I have of them is stubbornly in place, which is probably a good thing. I couldn’t pull that hair out at all.

Before I go into chemo, I say a particular prayer that I crafted, asking for what I would like the chemo to do. So far, my guides and my body must be listening because the prayer seems to be working. I don’t ask for anything too unreasonable, just that the chemo kills only cancer cells, and that any side effects be diminished or well tolerated. Tomorrow and the days that follow will be the test. When you pray for something, a healthy dose of passion should be evident in your energy otherwise your guides tend not to believe you. I have a lot of passion here, because this is an adventure I’ve never gone on before. Luckily it does not include fear, just trust. That’s a much better formula for me.

I actually look forward to Tuesdays, chemo day. I like the nurses, doctors, and the woman who massages my feet. In some sort of weird way, it’s like a spa day. The focus is on me, not only by the folks at the chemo clinic, but also by me. I’ve never been so focused on myself before. I don’t even think about the things I usually do. I completely forget about television at times that I would not normally. TV is my one addiction. Everything is about me now. But I also think about two people I know who have cancers that are, unfortunately, more serious than mine. I pray for them and I think only good thoughts about them because I feel love for them and want them to get better. The funny thing is that I’ve never met one of them face to face because she’s a Facebook friend, and another who I just met about a month or so ago, lives in my building complex. I feel real love for those two ladies. One of them knows it for sure, because we do not hesitate to express it, but the other is more reserved, so I just send the love her way quietly and let her know that I am thinking of her all the time. I want all of their dreams to come true. I want them to be happy and healthy and to gain something positive from this experience. I want to be there for them too, but the only way to do that is by written word. It’s hard to be there any other way when you are tired all the time, and that seems to be the only major side effect I have so far. It’s a side effect I like because I’m an insomniac normally, and I’m now getting some of the best sleep I’ve ever had as an adult. Go figure.

As for yesterday’s experience, I slept through most of it and got high on the Benadryl, as usual. I may have a big sturdy looking body, but it is sensitive, and I react to the Benadryl like it is marijuana (I’m guessing, as I’ve never done any illicit drug, and I do not know how to inhale). I actually enjoy the effect of the Benadryl because that loopy feeling doesn’t make me feel sick, just loopy, and I sleep well the day it is infused.

Priscilla was with me for the chemo infusion, and then Charles, a friend and an ex-colleague, was there to take me home, as Priscilla had an appointment. I’ve been traveling to and fro in a Via car. The cost is outrageously inexpensive. It is $5 to go anywhere in the city. One time I took a car service. What a mistake. With the tip, it cost me $40 one way!!! A regular cab can run anywhere from $20 to $25. Via, with tax and 20% tip comes to about $6.44; and one week I got a special rate. For 8 days, I paid $2.95 to go anywhere in the city. With tax and a 20% tip, the cost came to $3.95. It’s a shared ride, but never a packed one, and I’ve met some lovely people in the process. I’m hooked.

Anyway, yesterday, after my chemo session, I was entering the backseat of the Via car, trying to get to the seat on the far side, because Charles was getting in after me. As I was trying to move into that seat, still loopy from the Benadryl, I fell into the space between the seats. It was a large space because it was a van. I looked really silly and wondered if the driver thought I might be drunk. I don’t think he did. Charles had to give me a hand to get me up off the floor. So, he told me to stay in the seat nearest me and he sat in the front seat. I was talkative the entire ride home, which wore off some of the effect of the Benadryl, but not as much as you might think. I was still unsteady on my feet most of the day, and I was loopy all night. Yeah!! By the way, Charles and I were the only passengers.

I feel lucky, because, as a spiritualist, I see everything as part of my lesson plan. I know that this is an opportunity for me to learn something about myself and to heal anything else that needs healing. So, even when I am in some discomfort, I don’t feel particularly down, unless I forget that this is a lesson plan playing out. That happened the first time I had the joint pain. But then that was the lesson. I let that pain completely take over. I gave it power over me without ever questioning it. It was only when I realized that it had sucked all the joy out of my system that I took control of it. It wasn’t that it miraculously went away. It was just that I took control of my perception of it and changed it to something that worked for me. That’s not an easy thing to do. I’ve been at this spiritual journey for over twenty-five years, and I am only now having to put what I have learned to work. A lot of people think that I am a little weird or crazy or different, and that makes me happy too. There’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t want to be like everyone else. I want more than the status quo, but I have to then do the journey to get there. That particular journey never ends. So, I do prayers, affirmations, prana breathing (deep breathing with a direction in mind; I pull the photon or light into my body and send it where I want it to go), meditation, and I talk to my guides and higher self out loud all the time. With the advent of the cell phone and everyone being plugged into their devices, I can talk to myself in the street without anyone noticing. I just put my earplugs in and pretend I’m on the phone. I get a lot of feedback these days from the unseen forces of light. I never feel alone or abandoned or hurt by anything anyone does or doesn’t do, because I can recognize that we all have journeys and no two are the same. Each person has had experiences, not just from this lifetime, but from past lives, that I know nothing about. I don’t just believe in past lives. I know they are real. I have had memories about many of mine, things I never talk to people about, because it isn’t relevant to anyone but me. But each time I experience something that obviously needs healing I do an automatic writing about a relevant past life. That’s where meditation and prayer come into the picture. They are the prelude to automatic writing.

I pray to ask my guides and higher self to send me the information I need to memorialize the past life, and then I meditate to get the answer. It always comes. The trick is not to doubt what you get. Just go for it. My prayers are not religious prayers. I’m not a big proponent of organized religion, never have been, even as a kid. My mother made us go to church for a time and then gave us the option of opting out if we wanted to when we were old enough to decide for ourselves. Not one of us ever went to church again after the age of 13. It was easy as a kid to recognize hypocrisy (I’m talking about my experience only). Also, I have never liked turning my power over to anyone else. It doesn’t feel good. I know good from evil and right from wrong, and I hope that I always make the best choice for me, and that never includes fear, which is what anything other than love is all about. That’s just my take on things. I’m not proselytizing. I was a very obedient kid, unless an adult, and that included my mother, wanted me to do something that I felt was unreasonable. I rebelled and was willing to pay the price, whatever it was. I’m still that way. I live a charmed life. I am not afraid of death or dying. Without the fear of death, life can be pretty interesting. After all, there is no reality, just perception. For those of you who know Mike Dooley, I say, "Thoughts create, so think the good ones."

Well, I have to get into my day. I like to take advantage of these Wednesdays. They’re great. Stay tuned . . .

Love,
Dee Dee

Addendum—Friday, October 13, 2017

Hello my Little Chickadees,

It is about 5:17 a.m. at this writing. I went to bed at 11 p.m., unheard of for me. I clearly do not require eight hours of sleep, which seems to be consistent with what happens as we age. Oh well. This leaves me plenty of time in the mornings to relax with my thoughts and just let them flow.

It is now several days after chemo and I’m feeling great and still losing my hair. Instead of it being some monumental thing of terror, I am joyfully anticipating the new experience of having either no hair or very little hair. I have a big head, so I don’t imagine that I will look very attractive. Yet, I feel as if I am on some sort of ride through a new and unfamiliar world that I can either embrace or resist, and if I know anything about life, I know that resistance is futile. So, next Thursday, I will have Mino shave my head, because whenever I dry my hair all this “white” hair is embedded in the threads of my black towels, and it’s unsightly.

My toenails, like my fingernails, are turning black. The oncologist suggested that I see my podiatrist for a pedicure, or a “medicure," I guess. It was really nice. He has interesting instruments that can gently grind your toenails into shape and smooth down your calluses. He has strong but gentle hands too, so his massaging of my feet was a treat, and I even got a lesson in where not to put lotion on your feet (between your toes, because it opens you to a fungal infection). My appointment was at 10:00 a.m., but I overestimated the time it would take to get there and arrived at 9:15 a.m., which turned out to be perfect, because his 9:30 a.m. cancelled. Most people would think what a lucky coincidence, but I know that the Universe was just looking out for me. I wanted to get in and out of there earlier than my actual appointment and I did. Practically speaking, I did not overestimate the time. I got there exactly when I was supposed to.

My mind is racing with thoughts this morning. That usually means my guides are knocking at the door of my ten percent brain wanting to open me up to my ninety percent brain, the part where all the magic is. I will have to let them in after this writing. I know some of you probably don’t believe in a lot of what I am saying, but that is okay with me. I adhere to an open belief system. The salutation at the bottom of my emails includes a saying that goes: “I’d rather have a mind opened by wonder than one closed by belief.” I see beliefs as the bowling pins of life. They should be amenable to being knocked down by the bowling ball of experience. To me, beliefs are by nature ephemeral. They should be something we cling to for the time being until something better comes along. I am not wedded to my beliefs, thank God, because my world would be so much smaller if I were. There’s a whole world out there that we know nothing about, an unseen universe filled with wonder. I am not even wedded to scientific belief, because that is just one of the bigger bowling pins of life. After all, there was a time when we thought the world was flat, until Pythagoras proved otherwise. Maybe this world is not even round. Maybe it’s just an illusion. But, for now, it’s round.

The way I see it, when people marry their beliefs, they probably fear change. They need the belief to sustain what is familiar. I like the mysteries of life. I don’t want to marry my beliefs. There are things I know that cannot be proven because they are based on my knowing. I’m not speaking about scientific knowing. That’s just a belief based on ephemeral empirical evidence (sounds contradictory, doesn’t it?). I’m talking about those “gut” feelings, those things that propel us forward when no explanation is available, like out-of-body experiences, near-death experiences, the existence of life on other dimensions or planets, or like the time my cat, Spirit, appeared out of thin air right in my foyer. My mother was with me when this happened. We both saw her just show up like she was beamed down out of a space ship. She had been lost in the apartment (or some other dimension) for about eight hours that day. I have a small apartment and I could find her nowhere. I checked behind furniture, in closets, in drawers, even in the oven. My mom and I were sitting on the couch facing the foyer when she just popped in out of thin air. My mom said, “Did you see what I saw?” “Yes,” I said. She said, “Don’t tell anyone. They’ll think we’re crazy.” That’s how magical that moment was, too magical to share with people wedded to their beliefs, because the latter folks want to take your experience, put it in a box, and label it something it was not, as it was something they know nothing about. You miss out on a lot of thrills that way. I like being open to everything. It’s why I never get lonely, or bored, or really angry. I wasn’t always this way. I had to slowly peel away the layers of my belief system. It comes with age, experience, change, and the willingness to suspend belief.

I never expected to have breast cancer or any cancer for that matter. Until my mother got breast cancer late in her life, I didn’t know anyone in the family who had ever had breast cancer. When mom was diagnosed, I was shocked. It seemed so foreign, an experience that was not in my universe. She was the most unlikely person to have cancer. She was so happy and filled with light. She was close to 90 years old at the time. She had the same aggressive cancer that I have, but when the doctor said, “It’s cancer,” the first words out of my mother's mouth were, “I’m not scared.” She was more concerned with the fact that when the doctor told her to extend her arm and put her hand on his shoulder so he could examine her lymph nodes, and she said, “I’m going to hug you,” he did not respond. Later she commented that he probably had "too much schooling and not enough spooning.” She called him a “stiff.” She was also preoccupied with having lunch in the hospital cafeteria, where she got to flirt with some of the men. But I digress.

Mom had a lumpectomy at first (the doctor wanted to do a mastectomy the first time around, but I said no), and then a mastectomy, because the cancer had returned. She never had chemo or radiation, because she had congestive heart failure, and I just didn’t see the point. I had the power of attorney over her health issues and she trusted me implicitly. The doctor agreed that chemo was out of the question, but he thought we should at least do the radiation because then “she could live to be 100!” I remember thinking at the time that my mom, not the cancer, would decide how long she’d live. The doctors thought that the cancer would inevitably return and kill her, because, scientifically speaking, the odds were definitely in cancer’s favor. It may have been the aggressive type, but mom did not have a belief or worry about it, and it never returned. Now, some might say that perhaps had she lived longer the cancer might have returned. Maybe, but that is neither here nor there. The fact is that it never returned, and ultimately, she was to have that experience just as it was. She lived to be 94 and she did not die from cancer. She died from C. diff (clostridium difficile), a bacterial infection she picked up at St. Luke’s Hospital, where she went for pneumonia, which she contracted almost every winter. Go figure!! I took her to St. Luke’s that one time, because I thought I would be able to visit more often as it is right in my neighborhood. It was a mistake. She cried every day, asking me to take her home. My mother never cried about anything. She knew what being in that hospital meant and wanted out of there. Her usual hospital stay was at Weill Cornell. She loved that place and felt safe there. I thought that I never should have taken her to St. Luke’s, but it was meant to be, because it was her time to leave this plane of consciousness and St. Luke's would get her to that ultimate destination. It's your higher self that makes that decision. By the time I signed my mother out and took her to Weill Cornell it was too late, but she died where she wanted to—in a huge private room on the East River, where one day I got to see a catamaran sailing along the river. I was there, as was Priscilla, another friend, and a niece and her husband. I saw my mother take her last breath, as a puff of smoke escaped through the top of her head.

My mom’s memory was evanescent. She lived in the moment. She could not remember that she had cancer, so she never related to herself that way, just like she never related to having that triple bypass and valve replacement. Some of you know this story already, but she used to look at the scar on her chest and say, “Dee Dee, what’s this scar?” I’d say, “Mom, you had heart surgery. Don’t you remember? With great surprise and disbelief, she’d say, “Get out of here!” Then she’d go on to something else. The doctors said that she had mild dementia. She never had dementia. She had short-term memory issues, which meant that each day was a new experience, nothing like the day before. She was happy because she was not wedded to the past or the future or to anyone else’s beliefs, not even her own.

As for me, I don’t feel like I have cancer, because I don’t feel sick. When people said to me, “I’m so sorry that you’re sick,” I said, “I’m not sick. I have cancer.” But, when I thought about it I got this feeling of heaviness, so now I say, "I'm not sick. I’m being treated for breast cancer.” I do not want to own the disease and that is what "I have cancer" sounds like. I don’t really think about cancer most days. Even on chemo day I’m more into the interaction with the nurses and doctors and the reflexologist who massages my feet than I am cancer. I’m not sitting there thinking that I have cancer. I’m sitting there wondering when the Benadryl’s going to kick in so that I can enjoy some sleep. I’m more preoccupied with all the new experiences I’m having and the things that I can’t control, like my hair falling out and how exciting that is because it’s never happened to me before. I’m definitely into the experience. I can’t think of a moment when I had real fear about this journey.

Someone mentioned that my feeling that chemo Tuesdays is like a spa day reminded him of my mom’s experience after knee replacement surgery, another story worth repeating. She was about 88 years old then. I went to visit her the day after her surgery. She was sitting up in her hospital bed speaking on the phone with her best friend from the old days. I heard only her end of the conversation, which went like this, “Yeah girl, I deserve this. I paid my dues. I get three meals a day in bed, and every morning someone comes to get me and takes me down the hall, hoses me down, dries me off, powders me up, puts a clean gown on me, and wheels me back to my room. I get to watch TV in bed, and later on a nice young man from Australia comes to take me for a walk (her physical therapist).” I love that story, because she turned that hospital stay into a spa experience. She was happy and in no pain at all the day after knee replacement surgery. If I learned anything at all from my mom, I learned that you could make life whatever you want to make it if you just suspend belief.

It’s now time for me to do my five-breath meditation, my regular meditation, and an automatic writing. Then, I’m off into my day, whatever that brings . . .

XXOO, Dee Dee

Week Four of Chemo—10.18.17

Hello my Little Chickadees,

Week four of chemo has come and gone and I feel like a million dollars. My blood work was normal, so I received the full dose of Taxol. This time the Benadryl, which is part of the pre-chemo infusion, started wearing off about ten minutes after the chemo session was concluded. It was kind of like a miracle, but I think my body is getting used to it and quickly absorbing it. By the time Priscilla brought the car around to take me home, I was able to run outside to get into the car without assistance. I hopped into the front seat. Priscilla noticed right away that this was not my usual reaction to the Benadryl. Instead of feeling knocked out and drowsy, I felt fabulous the entire day and even asked Priscilla to drive me to Whole Foods since she had to pick her cat up from the vet’s office which is two blocks from Whole Foods. I went into Whole Foods, bought my food, and walked over to the vet’s office to meet Priscilla. That’s a boring recap, except for the fact that I could not have done that at any other time that I received the Benadryl. On Tuesdays, I’m usually out of commission, too loopy to do anything but sleep. So, that was a red-letter day!!

I got a shot of Neupogen again this week because the doctor was afraid that my white cell count might drop again after a full dose of Taxol, which is what it did the first time I received a full dose. My feeling was that it would not have, but I agreed to the shot anyway, because I had absolutely no side effects from the drug. My oncologist said that her patients absolutely hate getting the Neupogen because it causes severe joint pain, but not this “juicy” body (she commented when I first saw her that I was “juicy.” She has a heavy Greek accent and “juicy” was her Greek way of saying, “You have a hefty body,” which she thought was perfect, by the way, for someone with cancer). She thought I would tolerate things well, so she was surprised that my white cell count dropped so low the first time. She said I may be juicy, but I am very sensitive. She had no idea. My body is my barometer. It tells me everything I need to know about anything I am about to do to or put into it.

As I’ve said, there are no mistakes or even coincidences. Everything that happens really does happen for a reason. I am going with the flow. I am still amazed at this journey and how astounding it has been so far. Someone asked me what the most negative part of the journey is, and I honestly could not think of anything other than that I am being treated for cancer, and the flip side of that coin is that it is also one of the most positive things that has happened to me. It has gotten me out of the apartment and caused me to meet people I never would have met. Nothing has changed internally for me. I am a solitary person. I do not like crowds, big parties, or family reunions. But I enjoy meeting people and helping them when I am able to. I love to have conversations one on one, but that is it.

I have very little hair left on my head and am having it shaved off tomorrow. I bought baseball caps, and two fleece hats for when the weather gets cold. I hate wearing hats. I usually sweat like a demon if I even think about wearing a hat, so this will be an experiment. I have a feeling that I will not perspire the way I usually do, because right now nothing is as it usually is and the weather is cooler. The upside of this is that I will save $135 per month in haircuts. So far, I have had only positive things happen—no pain, no nausea, no more chin and mustache hair, no more haircuts for a while, low appetite, a one-pound weight loss so far (I learned that people generally gain weight with this type of cancer. So, one pound is better than nothing), and the best sleep I’ve ever had. I really can’t complain. My friends have been wonderful, extending offers to help wherever they can (luckily, I haven’t needed a lot of help, except for the car service, which is taken care of by one of my very best friends, and someone accompanying me to chemo, another one of my very best friends). So far, I’ve been able to do everything for myself. Fatigue seems to catch up with me on the weekends. By then, I have no energy to go shopping, so I try to do my shopping while I am feeling energized, which is usually Tuesday and Wednesday (not bad). That way I do not have to impose on anyone.

Sometimes I feel guilty talking about this experience because it is nothing like what some others have gone or are going through. But, it is my truth and my experience. I have no judgment about anyone else’s experience. Mine is just mine. I am lucky enough to be only stage 2. When I think about the second round of chemo drugs, I look forward to a new experience and perhaps even more fatigue. Sleep is a big item on my agenda. I want to enjoy it while I can. I expect no other side effects from the drugs. That is not to say that there will be none, but I will not actively engage in creating them. So, perhaps if they do occur, they will be minimal. I don’t want to know what the side effects are for the same reason. I decided as soon as I found the lump that I was going to embrace this experience in the most positive way, the way my mom did. I know that I have created this journey for a good reason and I do not question why, I just go with the flow. Without that resistance and fear that comes from a diagnosis, things tend to flow. I am convinced that that is why I got everything done in one day—saw my gynecologist and had the mammogram and biopsy.

Most of you won’t know what I’m talking about, but I believe that I got cancer because my higher self downloaded a splinter of energy into me. Sometimes, when you move to another level of consciousness or need a shove to get there, your higher self will download a higher-vibrating splinter of itself to move you along. That splinter is energy that can change everything about you or just some things that you need to work on. You can embrace it or you can resist it, but you can’t change it. This was a big splinter and it activated cancer cells. Yeah, I know, this sounds hokey, but that’s okay. I know what I know. You have no idea how interesting my world is. It is an inner rather than an outer world, so much more interesting than the outer world.

Anyway, I know two people who got major splinters and had strokes afterward. Strokes and cancer are extremely rare after a splinter. Both of those guys were told that they would be paralyzed on one side or the other and that their speech would be affected. One was not supposed to make it and even flat lined twice during the night. Both walked out of the hospital without paralysis. One healed himself and walked out on his own in three days. The only thing he had to work on was his speech and his eyesight, both of which have improved beyond what the medical world predicted. He was being asked to do the journey in this dimension, because he was constantly hanging out in the higher dimensions. Those of you who know him (and I know you know who I’m talking about) know what I am talking about. His son was the other person and he came out of his stroke without one impediment as far as I know. His father, who is a healer, was at the hospital every day doing energy healing on his son. Splinters generally bring you cold symptoms, the body’s way of asking you to rest. Those splinters move you along your path in a gentler way, but theirs and mine were the kind that change you, like a walk-in. I am suddenly more open generally in that I am speaking to strangers in the shared rides I take to and from my appointments, something I would not have done before. I feel more at peace (not that I didn’t before, but this feels different), most of my vanity has gone out the window, not much bothers me, and I am more forgiving. Go figure.

Last week I was waiting on a corner in Chelsea when a woman ran up to me with her arms outstretched. She was about to hug me and I stepped back, because I didn’t know her. Hesitating, I said, “Do I know you?” She started laughing and pointed to my chest. I looked down and realized that I was wearing my “free hugs” T-shirt. She gave me the biggest hug. I hugged her back and thanked her and she said, “No, thank you!!” When I first started wearing that T-shirt, it was summer and people came up to me a lot to hug me, but this day I had a jacket over it, and I haven’t been hugged while wearing that shirt in about a year. So that was a big surprise. That “free hugs” print was not easy to see that day. At most, “free” was the only word showing, but somehow that lady knew what the rest of that shirt said. I hoped that her reaction had more to do with the energy I was emanating than the shirt itself, because I feel more open. The big change is in my spiritual practice. I am deep into it, not forgetting to do the things I need to do to keep myself on my core path. I had not been very disciplined in that area, but that has changed, at least for now. I’m using my third eye more, meditating more, prana breathing more, and I’m auto-writing more regularly.

I didn’t think I would have much to say this week, because I had a feeling that everything would go along smoothly, but then I started writing and it all sort of flowed. I feel fabulous and expect to feel that way until the next session and the next and the next and so on. Stay tuned . . .

Love and Peace,
Dee Dee

V and VI

Chemo Update Weeks Five and Six—October 23 and 30, 2017

Hello my Little Chickadees,

I just finished week six of chemo. I didn’t send out an update for week five because I was too out of it that week. Week five of chemo started out beautifully. I had that happy high feeling on Tuesday and that superwoman feeling on Wednesday, but Thursday was a different story. I awoke feeling hellish. I experienced fatigue like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I was so tired that I felt “sick” and could find no strength to feed myself or even make a phone call to get some help. I also drank nothing, because I just couldn’t muster the strength or the desire. I slept and slept and slept. Needless to say, I got dehydrated and my body declined. I brought the “sickness” on myself. I could have avoided the episode or at least its severity had I just not gone out into a crowded store that week, and had I just pushed myself to eat and drink something. I gave in to the “sick” feeling. I know better than to do that. I let a lot of social conditioning get in the way too. I did not want to impose on anyone. I should have. I also needed to change my thoughts, my perception of what was happening. I needed to find my “I am” and exercise it. I needed to say, “I am okay. I am not sick, only my body is. I am strong.” I did not do that until early Friday morning. It worked. I was still weak, but I could feel the energy change. I was able to call someone to walk with me to get food. I walked nine blocks to a local store, something I really did not think I could do when I went to bed Thursday night. By Saturday morning I was feeling almost normal, and by Saturday night I was about 85% back to my optimistic self. I allowed myself to rest Saturday and Sunday, because my body needed it. I was even able to walk around the building up to the eighth floor, taking the stairs, and then do the return walk. I felt great, but when I tried to do the same walk on Monday, I thought I would die. I wanted to turn back several times. My body felt so tired and depleted. Moving my legs felt like lifting logs. I did the walk but was exhausted and sweaty afterward. It was at that time that I realized that I had gotten some sort of “bug.” The fatigue and sick feeling were not from the chemo, or a splinter, which would have brought on congestion and cold symptoms, but nothing more. I thought about where I’d been that week and decided that the doctors are not kidding when they say do not go to public places, like restaurants, movies, etc. I took the bus a couple of places, disregarding any admonition that I should stay out of public places. After all, life is a public place. How does one avoid life? Well, you do the best you can without being reckless.

I was prescribed drugs I could take that would get me through some of this, but, as I said, I avoid most drugs, because if a rare side effect exists, I tend to get it. I recall once being on Nantucket with my significant other at the time. I had a degenerated disc in my cervical spine and my internist had given me a nasal spray that controlled pain. I took one puff up my nose because the pain was so extreme that I could neither walk, nor stand, nor lie down. I was in horrific and agonizing pain. That spray took the pain away immediately, but it also sent me to the emergency room. I passed out immediately after taking the drug. My blood pressure was 270/200, a rare side effect. There I was in Nantucket’s little boutique hospital. They had no idea how to treat me. They kept giving me orange juice and cookies. Meanwhile my blood pressure was soaring. I had to take an airplane off the island (so dramatic and embarrassing) and be driven home in the fully reclined front seat of our car. I ended up having surgery about three days later. There was no disc between C4 and C5 in my cervical spine. It was completely degenerated so that there was bone on nerve. But then I digress . . .

Today’s session, number six, was sweet, as usual. Priscilla could not make it for the entire journey today. She was not supposed to be there at all, but she surprised me by showing up with my usual cup of ice. She remained until they determined that I did not need to return tomorrow for a Neupogen shot, as my white blood cell count was perfect. Yeah!! Then she was off to work. Maire went with me that morning and things went as usual. I got my infusion of Benadryl and the other pre-infusion drugs, and just as I asked why the Benadryl hadn’t kicked in, it did. I went to sleep and apparently the Taxol infusion was finished in 45 minutes, not one hour. I was thrilled. I staggered out of there with Maire’s help and we got the Via car and were home in no time at all. I recovered from the Benadryl in the car on the way home. The effect no longer lasts all day. Now within less than half an hour after all is said and done I am recovered.

I look back on the last week and realize that I really have to remind myself to treat myself with kid gloves. After all, triple negative breast cancer, being the most aggressive kind, is treated aggressively. So, even if I don’t feel “sick,” my body is working overtime to heal, and I have to respect that. I have to stop worrying about putting on the weight I’ve already lost, and eat like a reasonable person, stay out of crowds, and not be around people with colds, or the flu, etc. I don’t think like a sick person, so I don’t automatically take precautions. For instance, today I was opening a box I received from Costco for some online shopping I did, and I cut my finger with the razor blade I used to open the box. Not smart. Luckily the razor was clean. I immediately put hydrogen peroxide, some triple antibiotic cream, and a band aid on my finger. I remembered not to suck the wound, which is what I did the first time I ever sliced my finger with a razor: all the bacteria from my mouth got into the wound and it was headed toward serious infection, which I managed to ward off in the nick of time by going to an urgent care clinic. I could have ended up with sepsis. Now I have to remind myself that I can get sepsis, so I should keep my saliva where it belongs—in my mouth. I suppose that I will have to be careful around razors too.

I think I feel good most days because I listen to happy music—Girls Just Want to Have Fun,I am Woman Hear Me Roar,Fight Song, etc. I like to dance too. When I think about it, this journey has still been magical. I’ve really only had four days of true discomfort so far and that was because I caught a “bug.” I really was sick that time, but it wasn’t the cancer. Go figure. I can live with that. I tend not to hold on to negativity. I do my best to change my perception of my reality. That usually means not listening to negative people or eliciting sympathy from anyone. When someone says, “Sorry you’re sick,” that energy creates sickness. I can’t subscribe to that. I allow the doctors and other people to think that and treat my vessel accordingly, but I know that I am not sick. I’m just on a journey through sickness. I still can’t say that I wish it had never happened. I still do not hate it. I am embracing the perks—no more facial hair, the fading of the melasma on my temples, the falling off of all my skin tags, and the complete absence of any knee or hip pain. I am so grateful for all that. Steroids are the reason for the absence of the knee and hip pain.

I am doing the journey of creation, creating my reality, and it is really good. As soon as I felt better from this recent “bug attack,” I was on to something else. Today I am prepared to have a great rest of the week. I will see to it in the only ways I know how—by creating the reality I want, staying optimistic, listening to happy music, and eating sensibly for the circumstances. In other words, by loving myself enough to heal. Go figure.

Love,

Dee Dee

VII

Chemo Update Week Seven—November 7, 2017

Hello my Little Chickadees,

This is late because I have not fully conquered the “sick” feeling that overcomes me on Thursdays. I had my seventh chemo session on Tuesday. This week when they took my blood, all was well. The truly good news is that the tumor seems to have dissolved almost completely. Neither the doctor nor I could find it. That was certainly one of my intentions during my meditations, but I did not think it would happen so quickly. I am thrilled. I knew from week four that it had gotten very tiny, and by week five I could barely find it. This week it seems to be completely gone or so small that it is undetectable upon examination.

My white cell count was normal, as was all else, so I got the full infusion of Taxol, and no Neupogen shot to boost my white cell count was necessary the next day. Also, the Benadryl wore off rather quickly again too. They did try to “push" the steroid infusion (pushing it means that they rush it through the IV rather than infuse it slowly), but that caused a lot of burning in my private areas, so they had to slow that up and dilute it with saline solution. I slept like a baby through the treatment, primarily because of the Benadryl and the fact that I had not slept the night before. Another side effect of the chemo seems to be lesions and discoloration of the skin. My arms, back, and head have sores that scab over and leave a little ring, scratch marks, and a scar. The discoloration and sores on my skin make it look as if it is healing from being burned or scalded. In areas, it is scaly and unsightly. I have to see a dermatologist for that. For one thing, the sores itch and I scratch, causing them to bleed. I’m just glad they aren’t on my face. Vanity hasn’t completely escaped me.

My goal was to feel good from Thursday to Sunday, a period when I usually feel lousy. I was feeling like a million bucks early Thursday, but by Thursday afternoon I could feel my energy waning. I took my walk to the eighth floor and back, but it was not as pleasant as it could have been. I was exhausted by the time I got back. I probably should not have even attempted it. I slept all afternoon Thursday and lived on a green smoothie, Muscle Milk, and edamame noodles. I ate celery and hummus in between meals. By Friday morning, I was feeling extremely exhausted, the kind of fatigue that makes your head swim and your limbs feel like they weigh 400 pounds. My taste buds went to sleep too. I could not taste most of what I ate, which isn’t exactly great for your appetite. Nowadays, I eat what feels like it will stay down or what doesn’t turn me off. That’s the best I can do. The steroids are causing me to gain weight despite not eating much.

Today is Saturday and I’m congested but feeling somewhat better. In the big picture, there are only two days during the week that my body caves in to the chemo—Thursday and Friday. After Friday, I slowly start to come back. So, in keeping with an optimistic outlook, that’s not bad. I have to admit that those two days probably feel like two weeks of being on a very bad drug trip. Again, I’m guessing here, no drugs for me ever. I’ve never had that curiosity or sense of adventure where I wanted to turn my control over to something outside of myself. I grew up seeing too many fatalities and a lot of chaos surrounding siblings and a stepfather who were addicted to drugs or alcohol. The only time I remember feeling a sense of absolute freedom from limitations, a true “high," was once when I was meditating. I closed my eyes and quieted my thoughts, and at some point, I felt completely free, exhilarated. Then I realized that I was looking down at myself from the ceiling. I could see myself sitting in the chair meditating. I don’t think you can get that feeling with drugs. It was expansive beyond human words to describe. I felt too big for the room I was in. I was the entire Universe in one small particle of light. It made me understand why, when people have so-called near-death experiences, they do not want to return, because in that moment you are pure love, pure light. In that moment, you realize that you have everything you will ever need or want—LOVE. It must be the way the Creator’s energy feels. You cannot know that kind of freedom any other way. You have to be outside of the body. I suppose you can achieve something similar to that with LSD or some other hallucinogen, but then it is only a hallucination. This was real, without artificial prompting from an external source.

The only other time I ever felt that way was when I was a kid. I’d sit in my bedroom window, staring out into the world and suddenly I’d go into this trance-like state. It was a sublime feeling. I think about that all the time now because I can no longer do that. My veils seem to have thickened over the years as an adult. That is not what I wanted to happen. I wanted the veils that separate me from my higher self to thin so that I could achieve that sense of freedom any time I want. I believe that my veils have thickened because I have become less passionate and more involved in earthly matters than is really necessary. But now this journey through cancer is giving me an excuse and an opportunity to recapture that passion and to be less involved in earthly matters so that I can spend as much time as necessary meditating to venture outside the limits of physical existence. These “sick” days (Thursday through Sunday) are perfect for that. So, when I finish this, I will head out into the great unknown and see what I can accomplish. I will put no expectations into the mix. Stay tuned . . .

One last word. About a year ago, I found out that a friend had rectal cancer. It was a sudden, serious, and swift diagnosis. That got me to thinking that I should have a colonoscopy. After all, the last time I had one was about fifteen years ago, and at that time I was told to return in five years, because the colonoscopy revealed a benign polyp. I never went back for that colonoscopy. My friend was fine until she wasn’t, so I thought I should have that colonoscopy. I did and I was fine, although the doctor found another benign polyp, which he removed. Here’s the important part: when that doctor found out that it had been fifteen years since my last colonoscopy, he asked me when was the last time that I had a full physical and a gynecological and breast exam. I laughed, and said, “About six years ago.” He urged me to have that checkup, but I did not. Then, one night several months later, at about 1:30 a.m., I fell out of my bed and hit my head on the edge of my night table, severing a portion of my upper ear, a bloody mess. I had to see a plastic surgeon the next day to have my ear stitched. It was a freak accident. It felt as if someone had pushed me out of the bed. I felt the shove, but of course no one was there, just I. When I saw the plastic surgeon, we chatted some and I again mentioned that I had not seen a doctor in a long time. He asked me when was the last time I had a full physical, including a breast exam. I asked him if there was something about the way I looked that made him think that I needed a physical, and he said no and smiled. I said that it had been years, and never thought about it again.

I was asleep at the wheel, because, as a spiritualist, if I had been paying attention, I would have realized that each of these experiences was a nudge by my higher self to get me to have a breast exam, as there was a tumor growing in my left breast. I ignored each nudge. Finally, my higher self, desperate to get my attention, pierced the veil to tell me in a loud and very clear voice to check my left breast. All this to say that nothing that happens in our lives is for naught. Life is an adventure that involves paying attention to the unseen forces of light and looking at every experience as an opportunity to learn something. Your higher self, guides, angels, or however you want to think of them, are always guiding you along your path. You can choose to listen or not. There’s never judgment around what you choose, but listening is a whole lot more fun than not listening.

XXOO, Dee Dee

VIII

Eighth Week Chemo Update—November 14, 2017

Hello my Little Chickadees,

I had my eighth chemo infusion this week. After the long siege of feeling lousy on the weekend, I thought that my white cell count might be compromised, but it was not. In fact, all of my blood work was normal, so I got the full infusion of Taxol. Since the hurricane hit Puerto Rico, where our hospitals get their saline solution, there is a shortage of saline solution, which is why they wanted to “push” the steroids the last time. That means they give you the steroids with very little saline solution in the mix. When they push the steroids, it causes a burning sensation in the body, especially in the genitalia. That’s true for some, like me, but not all. This time, they slowed the infusion to reduce that burning feeling, and I slept through most of it, thank goodness. I recovered from the Benadryl even faster than I did the last time, which meant that I felt pretty good right afterward and for the rest of the day. As usual, I slept only about four hours that night, because I was still a little pumped up on the steroids. Wednesday, my red-letter day, was as wonderful as always. I even managed to go to Costco to pick up a few things.

I mentioned to the doctor that each weekend, starting on Thursday some time, I feel as if I have the flu and a cold. I have never had the flu or pneumonia and I have never had the requisite shots for either. I have even been around people who have had the flu and I have never gotten the flu. I do not have a lot of faith in the vaccines, as I do not have faith in the pharmaceutical institutions that develop them. But the doctors insisted that I should get them because my immune system would be compromised by the chemo, so I did. I went against my gut, which is not something I am prone to do in the normal course. But I stepped into a little fear without realizing it. My left brain told me it was the most logical thing to do because I might get the flu or pneumonia, and I bought it. I am convinced that the flu shot was the cause of my weekend dips. Tuesday night, I did an automatic writing, which said that the vibration of the vaccination throws off the chemo infusion and my own vibration, because the vibration of the vaccination adds to the chaos that the chemo brings to the body, and is lower than my vibration, creating even more imbalance. I trust my auto writes. They have never failed me. I should have written one when I was told to get the vaccines. I thought I would not have gotten the vaccines had I done the auto write, but the auto write said that I would have gotten the shots anyway, because I had stepped into a modicum of fear about getting the flu or pneumonia and that I needed this experience to remind me to always consult my higher self before making any major decisions and to never decide anything in fear. I was given clear instructions on how to deal with the disruption in my body after the chemo infusion. I did exactly what the auto write said (an energy healing and a change of perception). You have to know what to do when something interferes with your energy vibrationally. You can’t get that from a doctor or from any logical reasoning. Because I now have an entirely new perception of what is happening on the weekends, I can change my perception and improve the way I feel. My perception is that I was not really feeling sick. I was feeling the enhancement of the chaos and imbalance in the body. I can absolutely change that sensation by changing my perception to create what I want, which is a balanced feeling all week. I will know just how well I did when I get up on Thursday, but at the moment, I am feeling very self-assured and confident. When something is not understood, you have nowhere to start from to change things. But now I know where to work from. I know I can do this, because the remedy is energetic, and I know how to work with energy.

It’s a day later, Thursday, and I’m feeling fine, no hint of being sick at all. I changed my perception of what was happening to me and everything changed. I normally would not be able to make it to an appointment today, because I would be too fatigued to get myself up and out. But I was able to see my Internist today with no hint of that exaggerated type of fatigue. He reminded me that the appointment was for the pneumococcal vaccine. I forgot that I hadn’t had the pneumonia shot yet. In fact, I was pretty sure I had it. Go figure. I was happy. I refused it and we had a nice chat. He’s an osteopath and never pushes anything on me. It turns out that I was feeling the effects of the flu vaccine only. All looks well for the weekend.

This Taxol running through my veins messes with every little thing in my body. For instance, I’ve developed some new and interesting symptoms. My toes are sore and swollen and the lunula, or moons, over the cuticles of my toenails and fingernails are purple. The foot thing is not good because I can’t walk without a lot of discomfort and soreness. Today I was limping the short distance to wait for the car service to take me to my doctor’s appointment. I also tried to get to the drugstore at one point and had to turn back. It was too painful on my feet. Luckily, I ran into a neighbor who was good enough to go to the drugstore for me to pick up some nasal spray for my dried-out nasal passages, another side effect of the Taxol. I don’t mind these side effects too much because they can be handled and they don’t make me feel sick. Today, instead of feeling totally wiped out and lightheaded, I feel slightly tired and want to take a nap, a much nicer, milder feeling. Yeah!!

I have felt very fortunate and loved during this journey. I have friends who accompany me to chemo, neighbors who bring me food when I don't have the strength to buy or cook my own over those fatigued weekends; neighbors have run to Costco and the drugstore for me, and one neighbor even gave me some really warm, soft, and comfy socks to caress these achy feet. I feel cared for and safe. Thank you all very much. You know who you are. This journey has been interesting so far. I cannot say that I want to do it again, but I would not give it up either. I can feel where I am changing for the better, healing some unlearned lessons perhaps, broadening my spiritual gifts, and seeing the world through more experienced eyes. Every new experience is an opportunity to age your soul. I am grateful for that opportunity.

XXOO,
Dee Dee

Addendum

Hi my Little Chickadees,

I got through Thursday just fine. On Friday, I woke up at 2 a.m. or thereabouts to the sound of a voice telling me that my body is being poisoned and that I need to drink at least a gallon of purified water a day to put the weekend blues away completely now that I have handled the flu-like symptoms. The energy was so urgent that I got up and drank what water I had, which was not purified. I was in and out of the bathroom all night. In the morning, the biggest evacuation came, leaving me feeling all cleaned out and better, but weak. I had a podiatrist’s appointment at 9 a.m. but felt too weak to make it on my own. I called Priscilla at about 7 a.m. She met me at the doctor’s office. It seems that the toenails and skin on my feet are dying. According to the podiatrist, I might lose some or all of my toenails. The podiatrist trimmed the dead skin and nails on my feet and told me to watch them closely, because I want to avoid getting paronychia, a nail disease that is an often tender bacterial or fungal infection of the hand or foot where the nail and skin meet at the side or the base of a finger or toenail. The infection can start suddenly (acute paronychia) or gradually (chronic paronychia). No one told me about that side effect, but I do have a history of always getting the rare side effect, so I am diligently caring for my feet. I won’t be walking any time soon though. It hurts to walk, because my toes, which are still tender, rub against each other as well as against the front of my shoes.

Priscilla stayed with me all day Friday. It took me all that day to get my strength back, but here it is Saturday and I feel like a renewed woman. I have finished off one twenty-ounce bottle of purified water already and have another waiting. I will get through a gallon each day. As it turns out, the purified water tastes much better than our tap water. I know that there are a lot of heavy metals and who knows what else in our tap water, because each time I try to bake bread using tap water, the bread never rises and comes out flat and heavy. Whenever I use purified or distilled water, the bread rises beautifully. I’m talking about a 100% correlation between using tap water and the inability of the bread to rise, and using filtered, purified, or distilled water and the ability of the bread to rise. I feel so much better now that I have switched to drinking purified water that I will not go back to tap water, which was a lazy choice on my part anyway. I guess this is no time for lazy choices.

So, for me, this is a red-letter day—waking up on a Saturday feeling good. Given the state of my feet, I will stay off of them as much as possible, relax, and enjoy the feeling of wellness. Stay tuned . . .

XXOO
Dee Dee

Ninth Week Chemo Infusion—November 21, 2017

Hello my Little Chickadees,

Happy Thanksgiving to you all. Well, I seem to have conquered the weekend downturn. Unfortunately, my ninth chemo session on Tuesday was not so hot. The clinic was going to be closed on Thanksgiving and Friday of this week so they had to reschedule all of the people normally scheduled for those days for either Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. It was a very long wait before anyone got called for chemo infusion. My wait was made longer because I arrived early. That’s what happens when I don’t check in with my guidance before leaving the apartment. Most times I don’t, because usually if I get there early, they take me early. Oh well. I got a little irritated about the wait, well over an hour and a half because no one explained the backlog. I didn’t find out why they were running behind until I was in the chair waiting to be infused. Even that took long because the clinic area where the blood work is done was backed up too. I didn’t get home that day until almost 5pm. We are usually out of there before or by 2pm. On the upside, I came out of the Benadryl in a flash and had a fairly lovely Tuesday evening, and, of course, Wednesday was wonderful, as I was still feeling like Steroid Sally. Because of my stellar efforts at energetically cleansing my system of the flu vaccine and the physical aftereffects of the chemo and changing my perception of what is happening, today, Thanksgiving, feels like a Wednesday. I have no hint of the usual downward turn. I feel that I can carry that forward into the weekend better than I did last weekend, when I still had some dips and dives.

I went to see a dermatologist about the discoloration and lesions on my arms, legs, back, and head. He called them several names that I cannot recall and prescribed some ointment. He also did a full body scan, and I’m melanoma free, which I already knew. He assured me that all the discoloration would disappear when I stop the Taxol infusion.

After I saw the podiatrist last week, inflammation showed up on the soles of my feet just below the balls of my feet, making it even more painful to walk on these tootsies, especially given the neuropathy in my toes. Walking is bearable around the house without shoes on. I just ordered some fur-lined winter clogs by Skechers so that I can slip them on and off easily. I can’t wear an enclosed shoe comfortably. Now I’m all set.

Priscilla got me a really soft, fleece blanket for my birthday. My cat, Light, has taken ownership of the blanket. She waits for me to give it up and then she either wraps herself in it or crawls under it and sleeps there all night. She’s so comfy in that blanket that she doesn’t even bother to come into my bed in the morning to wake me up to feed her, which I really appreciate. Thanks Priscilla!!! My neighbors, Vicky and Mark, who don’t know each other, have offered to bring me some Thanksgiving dinner today. Vicky said she would bring enough for two or three days, so that’s a nice birthday present too. I think that I will be freezing more meals than I realized. I feel very fortunate and grateful.

When I did my meditation the other day, I was told that the tumor has almost completely dissolved or that I no longer have cancer. That doesn't necessarily mean that the cancer is totally gone, just that it has dissipated to the point where, probably after surgery, I will be entirely cancer free as far as testing is concerned. Radiation will heighten the probability that the cancer will not return. As I mentioned in another writing, the doctor confirmed that she could not detect the tumor, which was pretty easy to find at one point. My auto-writes say the tumor dissolved quickly because this was never about the cancer, but about the journey to healing it. The cancer progressed just far enough to serve my highest good. Living in the world from a spiritual perspective means nothing is a complete mystery or scary. If you dig deep enough into your meditations, you can find the answer to just about anything, and the big picture is really what it’s all about. The rest are just details. Of course, that also means that you have to suspend all belief, something I have always found it easy to do, even as a child. Perhaps that is because I never thought I belonged on this planet. I never understood the way the people around me behaved. My mother used to say, “I like the Earth and the people on it.” Who says that? She always gave me the impression that she was not from this planet either but was just visiting. I understood my mother because she was like me in that respect, as was my brother, Barry. They had unconventional and unwedded belief systems and lived unconventional lives. I intend to continue to live an unconventional life. My life looks conventional on the outside, but if you start to ask questions, you will be shocked at what you hear. Those of you who like me, but think I’m crazy, always make me smile, because crazy is where it’s at. I live by the seat of my pants and I like it. I knew that the cancer was offering me something bigger and better, and I grabbed that something without a clear picture of what it was, but I trusted my guidance. That is why every time I have a “bad” weekend I get something out of it that makes the next weekend more bearable. Up to this point I believe that I have accomplished my goal. It’s Thursday and I feel better than I did last Thursday, and last Thursday I felt better than I did the Thursday before that. My weekend is looking promising.

I have only three more infusions of Taxol left and then I start a new journey with two other drugs, abbreviated AC (doxorubicin, also known as Adriamycin, and cyclophosphamide). The side effects sound about what I expected, but I will program my body to accept the drug in a way that does not take me into territory I don’t want to go into. You can do that, you know. Of course, if my higher self decides that is an experience I need to have nothing I do will change that, but I can try. Anyway, I’m as prepared as I can be. I’m ready to now have some breakfast and watch a movie.

Enjoy your day all . . .

XXOO
Dee Dee

Tenth Week of Chemo Infusion

Good Morning my Little Chickadees,

Last Friday I woke up at about 3:30 a.m. with my throat on fire. I had never felt such fire in my throat. It was painful beyond measure. I couldn’t understand what the issue was, as I hadn’t been around anyone who was sick. I looked down my throat in the mirror but could see nothing that remotely looked like a sore throat. Later in the day I emailed my friend in Hawaii to ask for a long-distance healing, as I could not speak at all and did not want to bear the pain all day. He quickly accommodated me and did the healing at around 1:00 p.m. my time (8:00 a.m. Hawaii Time). It was about an hour later that the fire in my throat started to cool down, and by the end of the day on Friday my throat was completely healed. It was as if I had never had the sore throat. After that, I contracted laryngitis and still have it, but no pain at all. I know that that sore throat was energetic, rather than physical. My automatic writing indicated that it was the opening of my throat chakra. When that energy settles, the vibration of my voice will be different.

My tenth chemo infusion was much like the last one. They were running late, so late that I got really hungry and irritable and had to eat one of Priscilla’s protein bars, which she so generously offered me. The chemo infusion was uncomfortable because of the saline shortage. It did not feel like a spa day at all. I just wanted to get out of there and go home. Once I got home, I felt fine. Priscilla stayed for a while and we watched TV together.

I have a metallic taste in my mouth, which makes everything I eat taste metallic, not fun. I get hungry, but nothing is appetizing, so I end up eating eggs, seaweed, celery, hummus, oranges, and bananas. I have a freezer full of soups, some store bought and some homemade, but I have no appetite for any of it right now. All things sweet are too sweet and all things salty are too salty. That’s probably good. I used to drink a healthy protein smoothie every morning for breakfast, but I can’t even think about one now. For breakfast, I have a banana, an orange, and some muscle milk. My diet reflects what I can tolerate rather than what I actually want, and, at this point, I do not know what I want.

Besides healing my throat, my friend in Hawaii healed the inflammation in my feet almost instantaneously. That felt like a miracle, because my feet were so sore and had been for about two weeks, preventing me from walking or doing my own chores. Along with the neuropathy in my fingertips and toes, the lunula on my fingernails and toenails has turned even more purple. Overall, not a pretty picture, but an interesting one.

After the cessation of the Taxol, I start the other drug cocktail that will be infused every two weeks for two months. That’s only four infusions. After that, the journey will be less involved, just surgery (not sure what that will involve since the tumor appears to have already dissolved) and radiation, which will probably be a breeze in comparison to the chemo. I’m headed for the home stretch.

I can definitely appreciate this journey of self-discovery. I have learned a lot about myself on this path. I can find the silver lining in just about any situation, and I have learned some patience, which has always been one of my biggest challenges in life. I could have become a victim to this diagnosis, but that would not have served me at all. Instead, I chose to look at the big picture, knowing full well that we create everything in our lives, the good, the bad, and the ugly. That means that I created the cancer to learn something. As a spiritualist, I am constantly observing what is happening to and around me, because everything has meaning. Nothing is an accident or a coincidence. With the advent of this splinter of energy from my higher self, my physical body is finally getting the attention it deserves. It is also working more smoothly in conjunction with my emotional, mental, and spiritual bodies. This journey has forced all four bodies to unite as one. My physical body has always been my barometer, warning me about everything. It lets me know whether or not it is all right to put something in my mouth, whether or not I should trust someone, or whether or not I should avoid a situation. But now, it is reinforced by the other three bodies. They are all in sync, no longer operating separately. I have noticed too that the voice in my head during meditation is louder, clearer, and more instructive. In the end, I will hopefully come out of this a kinder, more forgiving, and much more centered individual, and for that I will be most grateful.

XXOO, Dee Dee

Eleventh Week of Chemo Infusion

Hello my Little Chickadees,

This has been one interesting week so far. Last Friday I got so sick that I cried, something I hadn’t felt the need to do up until then. It was a good cry. I allowed my body to cleanse itself that way. I was intensely nauseous, light-headed, and very weak all that day. I could not eat and hadn’t eaten in a day, which only made things worse. I do not do sick very well. When I get “sick,” I get really “SICK.” I felt as if it had always been that way and that it was going to flow into the future. I couldn’t see relief in sight. Again, I made the grave mistake of not living in the Now. You know what they say, “When you live in the past, you have regret. When you live in the future, you experience fear and anxiety.” I was living in the future that day. When you live in the Now, you realize that what is happening is only happening in the Now, one day; that’s all. By Saturday, I felt better, not 100%, but maybe 70%, because the lesson still hadn’t dawned on me. I was grateful anyway that I was at 70%. Sunday, I felt even better, but still not 100%, maybe 80%. On Monday, I felt about 95%, and on chemo Tuesday I felt about 100%. So, I felt intensely “SICK” for one day only. When you embrace the sickness and sink into it, you lose your sense of time; things loom large and insurmountable. Today I smiled, because I got the lesson by realizing that I felt “SICK” one day only. I also know how to heal that: live in the Now.

Some wonderful things happened that one day too. My friend, Rosa, did my laundry, went to Costco for me, and made me meals. Another friend, Martha, ordered me a wonderful meal from Isola, a restaurant in the neighborhood. The next day, still another neighbor, Vicky, brought me some homemade black bean soup. I ate those meals over two or three days and they restored my strength. Now I am sitting on my couch feeling immense gratitude for this journey and the people who have graced my path during this time. Yes, I feel blessed, despite the reality of the bad days, because it is wonderful to look around me and realize not only that I am loved, but also that I love myself enough to heal, and that I have a unique perspective on life that works for me. I can speak about it freely, because I have no fear of judgment. I know who I am and I am not afraid to be who I am. If you feel loved, you probably love yourself, because it is difficult for people to love someone who does not love herself. I have said it before and I say it again here: I Love myself enough to heal. To those of you who have been supportive, including those who have accompanied me to chemo, given me words of encouragement, have inquired regularly, provided or paid for services, provided meals, and most importantly showed me love, you have my undying gratitude and love.

Now, about today. A friend and ex-colleague, John, accompanied me to chemo. It was a wonderful experience. I do not get to see John that often, as he is still actively sitting on the judicial bench. So, having someone I love, but do not get to see often, spend the day with me, including sitting through my consult with the doctor, sitting for an hour and a half while I received the chemo, and going to the drugstore to get a prescription for me was especially generous of him. He accompanied me home and we spent a few hours chatting and even ordered food in, a treat for me. He made my day in more ways than one (not that Priscilla doesn’t make my day; she does, but I see and talk to her more often). I love you, John.

The doctor was so pleased with my progress and the seeming disappearance of the tumor that she lowered the dose of Taxol by 25%. I was thrilled. It was what I had prayed for. She told me that it will remain lowered in the next infusion, which is the last infusion of this drug. After that, I will have a two-week hiatus before beginning the next drug. That means that I get Christmas and the New Year off!!!

The oncologist also reassured me that the skin lesions and discoloration, dead skin, and neuropathy in and blue lunula on my fingernails and toenails will slowly disappear with the cessation of that drug. Since learning that Taxol is made from the bark of a pine tree, my perspective on this drug has changed. I realize that I now have a part of nature running through my veins. True, it is a probably a bastardized part of nature, as I am sure chemicals were added to whatever was extracted from the tree bark, but still nature is present. I am a good tree communicator. I have never communicated with a pine tree, but I have certainly communicated with some of the trees in Central Park, and especially one tree that is the overlighting deva on the north side of the Meer (the Harlem lake) on 110th Street. Through that tree, which I call Luisa, perhaps I can reach the Creator Pine Tree (all tree species have a Creator tree that is the oldest of their species on the planet). All trees communicate with each other through their root systems. When you speak to one, you speak to all. I can ask the Creator pine tree to balance its vibration with mine so that this and the next infusion are completely smooth. I will need to auto write to determine the best course of action to accomplish that. I have neglected my tree communication for some years, but I can still feel the connection, and I know that Luisa has been asking for my energy to speak. So, I anticipate no problems. About a half hour has passed. In that time, I did an auto write, which suggested that the best way to balance the two dissonant vibrations is to ask my body to get the drug’s vibration to match my body’s vibration and then augment that with a communication with the Creator Pine Tree. I will have to go into a meditation to do this. Stay tuned . . .

It is now Wednesday, and, as usual, I feel like Wonder Woman; even my feet do not hurt as much. Of course, that could be a combination of the steroids and the reduction of the Taxol dose, but who cares. It’s just wonderful to feel wonderful. I am confident that things will improve. Time will tell. I am not thrilled with the discoloration on my skin, especially on my arms, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I apply the prescribed ointment, some Aquaphor, coconut oil, and vitamin E oil and hope for the best. At least I know that the discoloration won’t last.

Every week, I wonder if I will garner anything new to share from this journey, and each week some new lesson pops into play. This time it was about a deeper understanding of staying in the Now. I have to learn not to respond to the bad days as if they are eternal, because that creates a mindset that is hard to escape and it prolongs your misery. It took me three days to pull out of it, but when I recognized it, it ended instantaneously. Go figure.

XXOO, Dee Dee

XII

Twelfth and Final Week of Taxol Infusion

Hello my Little Chickadees,

When I left for my chemo session on Tuesday, my equilibrium was way off. I was walking crookedly, bumping into walls, and was even unable to zip my parka. I had to ask one of the handymen in the building, who was cleaning the hallway rugs, to help me zip my jacket. I rested my hands on his shoulders for support and he drew the zipper up, looking concerned. I assured him that I was all right (liar, liar, pants on fire), just a little dizzy. I needed to get the car service when I got downstairs. I knew I was being guided, because not only did the Via car arrive within five minutes right on the southwest corner of Central Park West and 110th Street, where I live, but it was also scheduled to pick up only one other person and she and I were going to the exact same drop-off location. By the time I got to the clinic, the fog was lifting and I was feeling somewhat better. I will have to work on not projecting “sickness” into the future. It’s not so easy to do when you are actively engaged in the “sickness,” as I was. Had I remembered the lesson about not projecting into the future, I would have reminded myself to stay in the Now, in the moment. I didn’t and that “sick” feeling dragged on till Monday.

Priscilla arrived at the clinic at the usual time, but missed the doctor’s consult because it came out of sequence. My oncologist wanted to see me before my vitals were taken. That has never happened before. I was anxious to see the oncologist, as I had been debating whether or not I would even continue with the last dosage because I felt so awful that Thursday through Monday. I was in resistance to any further infusion of the Taxol. I was prepared to tell her to forget it. I was going to refuse the dosage. But, on either Saturday or Sunday (I can’t recall), I woke up at about 2:00 a.m. to a woman’s voice saying, “Hi,” in a friendly sort of sing-song way, as if someone had just popped in to say hello. That’s all I heard as far as her voice was concerned, but my wind chimes went off even though my windows were closed. The ceiling fan was on, but the chimes hadn’t been moving from any air pushed by that fan before that. Yet, I do not doubt that an occasional breeze from the fan could have found its way to my wind chimes. In this case, however, the chimes sounded like cathedral bells. They were loud and sonorous, like an organ, not at all like wind chimes. At that moment, my mind was flooded with information about completion. I was told that there are valid completions and not so valid completions and that it was important for me to choose a valid completion to the Taxol infusion. That meant that if my white blood cell count was naturally low, I would probably not get the infusion or it would be lowered, or if my white blood cell count was fine, I would get the infusion with the possibility of the dosage being lower. The important thing was that I did not want a completion born of resistance, because, spiritually speaking, that was not a valid completion. That night I decided to release resistance and go with the flow. I would say nothing to the doctor about how I felt about getting the last infusion. Without my saying a word, the oncologist informed me that I could probably do without this infusion, but she said that she preferred that I do the infusion at half the usual dosage just to complete the sequence as planned. I happily agreed to do the lower dosage, feeling that was the most valid completion. After that I had my vitals taken and was whisked off to my chemo chair. The infusion took no time at all, and I came out of the Benadryl loopiness before I reached my apartment.

I am now on a two-week hiatus, no chemo, a drug-free holiday. Yeah!! On January 3, 2018, I start the second drug, the cocktail, abbreviated AC. AC chemotherapy is used to treat primary breast cancer that hasn’t spread beyond the breast or the lymph nodes (glands) under the arm. It can be used in combination with other anti-cancer drugs, and in my case, will be given before surgery, known as neo-adjuvant therapy (sometimes called primary chemotherapy). AC works by stopping the cancer cells from dividing and multiplying, which blocks the growth of the cancer. With AC, both drugs are given on the same day, as an outpatient, over a period of around one hour or more. This is usually followed by a 20-day rest period to allow your body to recover. The interval between each cycle of treatment may vary, depending on whether the number of blood cells has returned to normal between each cycle and also how you are feeling. Most people will usually have 4-6 cycles of treatment. I am scheduled for four cycles with a week off between cycles. I have taken a gander at some of the side effects of the AC and decided that I should keep them in mind, but not get too attached to any of them. I expect to tolerate that drug better than the Taxol. We’ll see. Thank God it will be only four infusions over a two-month period.

Here it is Wednesday, the day after chemo, and I am feeling my usual Wonder Woman energy, except that I notice that my fingertips, although still numb, are not as numb or painful as they were the day before, which is unusual and probably has little to do with the steroids, which make me feel energetic, but don’t usually affect those other types of symptoms. Because the drug infusion is cumulative, I wasn’t expecting the lower dosage to positively affect the neuropathy in my fingertips and toes. I figured the neuropathy would get slightly worse, but not too bad because of the decrease in the dosage. However, it seems that the neuropathy has gotten much better and my sense is that it will continue to improve. I think it will take several weeks for the symptoms from the Taxol to subside enough to make life more livable and up to a year before they disappear altogether.

Today I am off to have an eye exam so that I can renew my driver’s license. My eyesight has been affected somehow by the Taxol. I sometimes see double or blurry and see floaters so big that I was running around trying to swat what I thought were flies, before I realized they were floaters. I can barely see my computer screen, which I have to put right up to my eyes to read. I’ve seen people with albinism do that. Apparently, poor vision is a common side effect of chemo. Lots of people online who’ve gone through this particular chemo regimen complain of their vision deteriorating. Some got it back entirely and some did not, but all experienced some improvement over time. I expect to get mine back completely. Diminishment of my sight happened suddenly, so I am attributing it to the Taxol even though it was not listed as a side effect anywhere.

I am still pretty tired and have attempted to do my daily walk to the eighth floor but have not managed to complete it yet. I was, however, able to walk to 116^th Street, where the optometrist is located. It felt good to get that exercise. I didn’t wear gloves, because I never wear hats, gloves, or scarves in the winter no matter how cold it is. I live in a hot post-menopausal body. Not wearing the appropriate outerwear was a big mistake this time! The cold made my neuropathic fingertips unbelievably painful. It took about twenty minutes of constant rubbing to get them pain-free and warm. I kept them in my pockets on the walk home. I also wore my hood, a first. Oh well, onward and upward.

XXOO, Dee Dee

XIII and XIV

Weeks Thirteen and Fourteen Hiatus

Hi my Little Chickadees,

Needless to say, I am enjoying this time off, especially because it has turned out to be two full weeks. I have enough time to discover how good it feels to be detoxing from Taxol, no withdrawal, just relief. The skin on my hands is a little less wrinkled, and, overall, my skin is much less dry and flaky. I am in no pain from the neuropathy in my fingers and toes and the numbness and swelling in my fingernails is slowly dissipating. I have been eating everything in sight, though. I want to thank those of you who have either brought or bought me meals during this time, although I am not looking forward to getting on the scale.

I read about other interesting side effects of the chemo—irritability, mood swings, and argumentativeness. Some people said that they wanted to leave their mates because of the personality changes, which were drastic. I have had maybe two disagreements since this treatment started, which is not bad, but unusual. In my adult life, I can count on one hand the number of disagreements I’ve had, and in the last 25 years, I have had none, until recently.

Just last week, one person told me that something I said in an email was “smug.” I could not imagine myself being smug. I corrected something he said, even though I knew what he meant when he misspoke. A part of me is hypercritical of grammatical mistakes. It stems from not wanting to appear stupid or inferior. I didn’t want someone to say, “Oh, she’s black. That’s why.” I was once corrected by a boss in front of people, and I never forgot that. I used “less” when I should have used “fewer,” and he corrected me. It was the way he said, “Dierdra!!” That was over thirty years ago and I still remember it like it was yesterday. I did not miss a beat, though, and, hiding my embarrassment, asked when to use one and not the other. He explained it and I never made that mistake again. It also spurred me on to take a few extra-curricular courses in grammar and expository writing. I was already better than average in this area, but I wanted to be perfect (ha! I learned that that is an unachievable goal, but I was young then). The teacher thought I was too advanced for a beginner’s class. I have a tendency to correct people’s grammar or misuse of words, usually in my head, not out loud. I have only two friends who have given me permission to correct them, but I don’t do it that often, and when I do, I never do it in public. But I digress.

In another instance, I had a debate with someone over what I should do as far as my choice of medication in the second round of chemo. In the midst of that debate, I said something that pissed the other person off. We hung up and I knew she was pissed, but my surmise about what it could be was completely different from what she experienced. Without going into detail, she said that I said that I was more evolved and that I always say that. In my recollection, I said no such thing and had never said any such thing, although I was trying to explain the way I see the world spiritually—which means the possibility existed that I might have projected that I was more evolved. I had to own it, because that is what she heard, which means that somewhere in my words that message came across, either literally or vibrationally. It really doesn’t matter how.

In those two instances, because of who the people are, it was easy to work out the situation, and I gained some insight into the effect of my grammatical hyper-vigilance. Ultimately, my philosophy is, if you speak, even with the best intentions, and the other person hears it different from how you meant it, you have to take responsibility, not only for what you said, but also for how you said it. Maya Angelou was right when she said that people will not remember what you said or what you did, but they will always remember how you made them feel. Well, I did not make either person feel good. The energy in my email must have made me sound smug to the one person. To the other person, either I said outright that I was evolved or more evolved, or was thinking it so strongly, fearing that I am not evolved enough, that no matter what I said that energy came through. It’s easy to apologize when you take responsibility for what you emanate, even when you don’t mean to emanate it. To heal that completely, I can say that on some level, I meant to emanate it, because I emanated it. I realize that it could have been the other person's projection of something she was dealing with, but knowing this person, I doubt that. So, I took responsibility.

I decided that I have to keep Maya Angelou’s wisdom in the forefront of my mind when I interact with people. After all, I don’t want to leave anyone feeling less than love after I interact with him or her. In the two cases mentioned, I left neither individual feeling the love. What I know for sure is that an evolved person would never mention how evolved he or she is and would never leave anyone feeling anything less than love. So, clearly, I am not more evolved than anyone else.

Here’s what I know about communication. We have a Creator cell (that thing that Gregg Braden, the physicist, calls the God cell) that sends out our thoughts through our messaging system. Yes, we do have a messaging system in our brain, where our thoughts are filtered through our unlearned lessons. That means that your thought starts out pure (the energy of the Creator cell is pure love) but is distorted by any unlearned lessons related to that subject matter that attach to the thought as it travels through the messaging system. Your unlearned lessons attach to that thought through several different pathways, and each time they do, they distort the thought. By the time that thought comes out of your mouth, it carries all of that other energy with it, which means that even if you use the so-called “right” words, the energy of that thought is probably not what you meant it to be, and it may not be heard the way you want it to be heard. Add to that the fact that the individual receiving the thought is hearing it through his or her unlearned lessons, and you have a communication nightmare. The messaging system is deeply complex and worthy of a chapter in a book, but that’s the gist of what I have learned along my journey. So, when you say the sky is blue and someone hears you, but says to the next person, “Wow, she just said that the sky is never gray, or cloudy,” is he or she lying? Maybe not. He or she probably heard you through an unlearned lesson.

XXOO, Dee Dee

SECOND DRUG COCKTAIL

First Week of Chemo Cocktail Infusion (Jan. 3, 2018)

Hello my Little Chickadees,

I started the first infusion of the second round of chemo on Wednesday. The pre-chemo drugs, Emend and one other whose name I cannot recall, and then the chemo cocktail, were infused into my port. Emend and the other drug are supposed to help with nausea. The Adriamycin is red and is injected into a different part of the port through a syringe. That happens after the cyclophosphamide is infused into the port and takes between 10 and 15 minutes. After that total infusion was over, a Neulasta patch was applied to my right arm. Neulasta is a slow-release drug designed to keep your white blood cell count from dropping. I found sleeping with the patch on my arm unnerving, because I am a side-sleeper and I could not relax for worrying about whether I would turn over on my right side and dislodge it. After wearing the Neulasta patch for 27 hours, it is activated, and, for the next 45 minutes, starts to release the drug into your body. A beep sounds to let you know that the release has started and another beep lets you know that it has finished. For the first two days after this chemo, I take Decadron, which is supposed to keep any inflammation of the heart at bay. I have only four infusions of this drug cocktail scheduled, finishing on February 13, so the end of chemo is indeed in sight.

The nurse practitioner told me that this drug cocktail was much harsher than the Taxol, but that is not my experience so far. I hardly realize that I have been infused. The major side effects are more loss of hair (ha! I have none to lose), constipation or diarrhea, inflammation of the heart, and mouth sores. I was told to pay attention to my oral hygiene. My oral hygiene is superb, so I’m not worried about that. I use those gum sticks, floss, a Waterpik, and an electric toothbrush. I am regular and feel normal, except for the brain fog and slight (and I do mean slight) nausea. Where my heart is concerned, I have energetic protections around that. I’m happy!!

The brain fog is real. Yesterday I tried to put a piece of homemade bread in the oven while the bread was still in a plastic freezer bag. My inner voice stopped me in time though. Then I immediately tried to put lemon powder in some eggs I was getting ready to scramble, but again my inner voice said, “Stop!” I tried to turn on the TV with the phone instead of the remote and picked up the remote when the phone rang. I have to check in with myself to make sure that I’m not on the edge of dementia. I’m not. The rest of my consciousness is in good shape. I am taking care of a neighbors' cat for a few days and picking up mail for them and one other neighbor. It’s good to have something to do, although I am still working for my client without a hitch.

My appetite is good, but I am watching how much I eat just to try to maintain what I have already lost. So far, so good, except that over the holidays, once the Taxol stopped, my appetite went through the roof and I ate everything in sight for a few days and gained about two pounds. I am hoping to get some sort of exercise routine worked out. I haven’t exercised in months. I’ve been too tired and my equilibrium has been way off. I tend to fall to the side when I walk and then I get so exhausted that I have to turn around and go back to my apartment. I used to walk to the eighth floor in my building because those hallways go from the Central Park West side to the Manhattan Avenue side of the building. The entire walk is about a mile and a half or two miles if you walk up and then walk down. Walking the hallways in the winter means I am not exposed to the elements in this frigid weather. I walk up and down, using the stairs if I can manage it. Sometimes I have to take the elevator from floor to floor. I like it even in the summer because I sweat like a banshee (do they sweat?) regardless of the weather, and I like to be close to my apartment afterward. I haven’t perspired much at all since this journey started. I’m hoping that is a lasting effect. So, in my estimation, my world is looking pretty good these days, despite the lingering effects of the Taxol, which I expect to dissipate over time, and the other minor side effects of this new cocktail so far.

My nephew, who is now in his mid-fifties, called me at about 7 a.m. today, Sunday. He was checking up on me, but the conversation quickly turned to his journey in cancer land. About ten years ago, he called me to tell me that he had been in the gym boxing, when he got punched in the chest and passed out. He had gone into cardiac arrest. He was taken to the emergency room where they brought him back, and, after tests, discovered that he had non-Hodgkin’s B-cell lymphoma stage IV. The cancer had spread everywhere. To give you an idea of just how serious this was, the mass was 12cm X 11 cm and had invaded his heart via the pericardium, aorta, and pulmonary artery, located within the mediastinum from the sternal notch to the mid-portion of the sternum. The mediastinum is the central compartment of the thoracic cavity, containing the heart and its vessels, the esophagus, trachea, phrenic and cardiac nerves, and the central chest. Additional areas of involvement were the right phrenic nerve, left phrenic nerve, right ventricle, and right lung (right pneumothorax).

I remember our conversation as if it were yesterday. I heard that voice in my head say that he was not going to die, which I found hard to believe, given what he had, but I said, “Oh, that’s just a metaphor for your closed heart. You need to open your heart and let the light in.” That was all I said. That was what I felt without reservation.

He went into surgery immediately. The doctors removed what they could of the tumor. They couldn’t remove all of it, and the prognosis was beyond grim. Yet, I still had this incredibly calm feeling of peace. In the meantime, I spoke to a friend who is a medium, not a psychic, and asked about my nephew. My friend channels an energy called Kirael, who told me that my nephew would not die, that he had a “sort of golden heart,” and that he was a royal wizard, just like Kirael. He said that royal wizards come into this world with crazy life plans. That certainly described my nephew’s life, but that’s another story. After surgery, my nephew told me that while he was in the operating room, he was outside of his body, watching what was happening. He was high above his body, speaking to an energy that showed itself as a violet light. That energy told him that he had a heart that was energetically like golden fiber. He told my nephew that he should consider his new birth date February 2, the day of his surgery, because he was getting all new energy. His actual birth date is April 3. Several days after his surgery, I spoke to my nephew and told him to listen to the recording I made of my conversation with Kirael. I played it for him and he gasped. “Dee Dee,” he said. “That’s the voice of the energy I was speaking to in the operating room! And he told you what he told me!!” My nephew told me that he had a lot of doubt about some of the spiritual stuff I was into until that moment.

My nephew should have died. Not only was he in the fourth stage of this cancer, but the cancer was in an area that signaled certain death. The treatment was horrendous. He was on 24-hour chemo for one year. He spent five days out of the week in the hospital with two ports in his chest. He was sent home on the weekends with a pump that he wore on his hip. That pump dispensed the chemotherapy drugs for him into the two ports. At times, those ports got clogged and he had to go to the emergency room. When they got clogged, he would have to start the chemo all over again. He lost all of the hair on his body, including his public hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes, his teeth, his toenails, his fingernails, and most of his weight. The pain was unbearable, and, at times, he prayed for God to just let him go. He even asked the doctors to stop treatment, but they talked him out of it. To top things off, he suffered from cluster headaches, which are much worse than migraines. Sometimes those headaches were so bad that he would have to be flown to Walter Reed Hospital for care. He was in the Coast Guard at the time. The clusters came on with a vengeance during his cancer treatment. The pain from those headaches was so intense that no medication eased it. I encouraged him to meditate, which helped him tremendously, especially with the clusters. He said that the deepest meditation he ever did was the one where he became one with the pain from the cluster headaches. He became the pain, and, according to him, the pain just leveled out and disappeared and he has never suffered from a cluster headache again. As far as treatment was concerned, he did the chemo, radiation, and surgery and augmented that with daily meditation and Signature Cell Healing (an energetic 4-body healing modality) from my friend in Hawaii. My nephew now calls himself a spiritualist.

It has been ten years or more since that happened and he has been cancer-free ever since. He is a miracle. There is no way that he should be alive today. They never got all the cancer from his heart because it was wrapped around his valve, but it disappeared anyway. He told me this morning that if that cancer ever came back, he would not undergo the treatment again. He would rather leave this world than go through the pain and suffering that the treatment entailed. Once was enough. I agree. I doubt that I could have gone through what he did the first time, but then I wonder. I do not know for sure what I would have done in his situation, probably what I am doing in this one. When I place my journey next to his, I don’t compare them, but I do feel blessed. Everything is relative, but my nephew is a reminder to me that the allopathic and the holistic are not mutually exclusive. They can be combined to create a healing journey on more than the physical level. It can include the emotional, mental, and spiritual bodies too.

XXOO, Dee Dee

Week Two of Second Chemo Cocktail—January 16, 2018

Hi my Little Chickadees,

I had my second infusion of the drug cocktail this Tuesday at the usual time. I had the Neulasta patch applied to my stomach this time. It was less uncomfortable, and I was able to sleep better because I did not have to be concerned about dislodging it. When I was warned that this cocktail would make my hair fall out, I hadn’t considered any hair other than that on my head. Not only have my eyebrows and eyelashes disappeared, but my pubic and nose hairs have too. I remember saying in an October update that my eyebrows and eyelashes were just fine. Well, they are, just not on my face.

The fatigue is so intense that I fell into such a deep sleep this afternoon that I woke up forgetting what day it was, which caused some confusion for quite a few hours. My taste buds have gone to sleep again too. I have an appetite but have no desire for anything.

The brain fog has gotten even worse. This morning I made some organic decaf coffee and toast. I was grinding coffee in my Maestro coffee bean pulverizer but forgot to attach the part that catches the grinds. There was no reason for me to have taken it out in the first place. After I scooped the grounds up off the counter, I put them into their proper container, pushed the container back into place in the machine, and waited for my water to boil. After the water boiled, I spent ten minutes trying to figure out where the grounds were because they weren’t in the French press where they usually are at that point. Wow!!! I finally figured it out and made my coffee.

Another example of the escalation of the brain fog: I saved this update as “cancer journal,” and replaced my entire journal of updates with this one update. I never save these “as.” I usually just copy and paste them into my journal. I saw my finger going for that “replace” prompt after I chose “save as,” and I could not think why it bothered me, so I pressed it, and voila! my entire journal was gone. I was calm, because I thought, “This can’t be. I’m supposed to keep this journal.” Then I remembered that I do automatic backups of all my Word documents. I found a backup, but it wasn’t entirely up to date, so I had to re-edit this entire document. Spiritually speaking, I can only assume that there was something I needed to see that I did not see the last eight times I edited. I glanced over the document and saw some things that I missed and one big area that I overlooked. Maybe I would not have seen them had I not had to retrieve the backup. Who knows? I’m just grateful that I didn’t lose it.

I did a meditation this morning that sent me to the moon and back. It was powerful. I was listening to music that is supposed to increase memory, focus, clarity, and positivity. I felt pressure on my third eye, which is not unusual for me, but I also felt pressure over my head stretching from temple to temple. Then I felt eight waves of chills throughout my body. I have never had a meditation where I felt anything other than the pressure on my third eye. This was great. When I finished, I did an auto-write and it flowed like liquid gold. All of my questions were answered. I know what the pressure over my crown and temples was all about. It was about opening all of my sixth sense.

Well, that’s it. This journey looks as if it will be uneventful, as long as I move slowly and deliberately and continue to work on this brain fog. Hallelujah!!

XXOO, Dee Dee

Addendum

I like to add, “so far,” to my statements about the side effects of these drugs, because they are cumulative and you never know whether or not what you feel one week will be what you feel in subsequent weeks. Over the past week, I felt “sick” on two days, Saturday and Sunday. Extreme fatigue and weakness can make you feel “sick.” I put sick in quotes because I was not technically sick, but the need to sleep and rest along with my lightheadedness was so overwhelming that I could muster the strength to do nothing, including feed myself. I started to feel good on Monday, and I still feel good, yet, at the time of this writing, I am tired and weak, but not as weak as I felt on Saturday and Sunday.

It is now the following Wednesday, and I’m feeling fine. Apart from the side effects of the chemotherapy, this journey has been mostly about my interactions with people and my behavior and insights into my own healing. Chemo does not shut down your internal alarms or cause them to go on hiatus or recede into the background. They are alive and well and may even be more acute than usual. Recently, I had an eye-opening experience, both disappointing and revelatory. Without going into detail, I learned that when your internal alarms go off in the face of evidence that appears to be wholly inapposite to those feelings, believe your feelings and proceed cautiously until evidence of your feelings appears. Without really knowing why, my internal alarm was warning me to tread cautiously when dealing with a certain individual (not a part of this update group). Everything seemed genuine and authentic as far as who this individual was, but I was eventually presented with evidence that belied what I thought I knew about this person. The individual is not a bad person, just a flawed one. We all have flaws, but, because my gut was speaking to me from the moment I first met this person and I basically ignored it, when the evidence presented itself, I was confused, surprised, and resistant. It took a day or so before I realized why my internal alarms had gone off in the first place. I realized that my higher self was trying to warn me to go slowly with this individual. This is a major lesson for me, because when I decide to come to someone’s aid or to befriend someone, I do so wholeheartedly (emphasis on whole heart). I also believe what people present to me, until they no longer do. Someone told me that I should rein in my heart a bit more, but that is not an option for me. I can definitely rein in my behavior, but I will never rein in my heart. Rather, I will reign with my heart. I know now that I cannot participate in the relationship in the way that I have been. To do so would make me an enabler. In this case, the flaw defines the friendship. What does this have to do with breast cancer? Nothing. It has more to do with the healing journey and how having breast cancer affords me the time to engage in introspection where I might not have otherwise.

Another thing I have learned on this journey is how much one needs to include the inner child, an energy I have completely neglected until now. The inner child is more powerful than we are because it is not encumbered by the vagaries of a grownup world or a physical body for that matter. It can get into our head and throw us off our core path in order to get our attention. I still neglect Dee Dee. I sign my emails with her nickname, but I forget to welcome her into my day and include her in my decisions. Every day I promise myself that I will include her, and every day I forget. She’s a quiet, shy kid, so I have to really work to include her. She is a definite part of this healing journey.

My mother said that I was not born shy. I was a happy, outgoing baby, who almost never whined or cried and never needed a pacifier. Then, one day, my godmother’s daughters took me for a walk in my carriage. I was about 9 months old. They were teenagers. When they returned to the house with me, I had a bloody lip and a broken baby bottle. I was never the same. I was crying long and hard. My mother never could get the girls to say what had happened, but she never let them babysit me again. From that point on, I was terrified of everyone but my mom. I was even terrified of my grandmother, whom I adored before that. I asked once at a channeling session what happened that day and the medium told me that it was better if I didn’t know. I wasn’t ready to hear it at that time. I did eventually find out and it wasn’t pretty. They pretty much tossed me around like a football, ignoring my cries. Something like that has a lasting effect on a 9-month-old.

So, here I am today, and suddenly this week, in a meditation, I had a sense memory of that incident and it was painful. I had a good cry, and when I was finished, I felt something lift from my chest. I knew that whatever had lifted was related to something that was partly released years ago when I went to see the Kodo drummers of Japan. I was sitting in second row center orchestra seats. When the drummers started striking the biggest drums, to which they strapped their half-naked selves, I felt something spring dynamically from my chest. In that moment, I had a vision of a spring going, “boing.” I felt it; it was palpable and made my body jerk back, and I started to sob almost uncontrollably. It was some sort of release. Luckily, the drumming was so loud that no one heard me, and I was able to compose myself by the time they finished. I knew I had released something important, but I also knew I had not released all of it. I did that this week.

XXOO, Dee Dee

III

Third Infusion of AC Cocktail—January 30, 2018

Hello my Little Chickadees,

I had my third infusion of the AC cocktail last Tuesday, January 30, 2018. It went as usual—my white blood cell count was good, and the pre-cocktail drugs and the AC were infused into my port. The port was probably one of the smartest things I could have done. Once it is inserted under your skin, you basically forget about it. It makes for worry-free and smooth infusion of the drugs, and, as mentioned in an earlier update, I was able to get one of the drugs, which was not covered by my insurance, for free. Had I not had the port, which allowed the drug to be infused in liquid form, I would have needed to take it in pill form, which would have cost me $700 out of pocket. I have one last AC infusion on February 13, 2018. I thought I should have an end of chemo celebration but have neither the desire nor strength to party at the moment. I’m just too tired.

As for the post-infusion experience, I felt great for the first three days, but then that oppressive, dense, and sickening cloud of fatigue overcame me over the weekend into Monday and Tuesday of this week. I never resist the need for sleep. In my humble opinion, it is my body’s way of telling me to rest so that it can repair itself. If there is any downside to that fatigue, it is the lack of any desire to eat or drink, which can make things worse, and with my taste buds still on hiatus, food was not a top priority. To keep myself hydrated, I keep water by my side at all times. If I see it nearby, I will drink it. I was lightheaded and weak those four days, and I slept about 20 out of 24 hours each day, except Tuesday, which was the day I had my appointment with the breast surgeon, who, after my next and last chemo session, will perform a lumpectomy on my left breast and a sentinel node biopsy of my left armpit, on March 7, 2018. I have an MRI scheduled for February 26, at 1pm, and some other pre-surgery procedures (seed placement to locate the tumor site and dye infusion to pinpoint the sentinel lymph nodes) on March 6.

Most women with early-stage breast cancer avoid extensive lymph node removal. The sentinel nodes are the “gatekeeper” lymph nodes that the cancer is most likely to spread to first. If they show up negative, which mine did from the get-go, no need exists to extract any more lymph nodes. The sentinel nodes are removed as a matter of course when the lumpectomy is done just to make sure that they are still cancer-free. Generally, they can be removed without concern about getting lymphedema. Because the tumor I had was chemotherapy receptive, the likelihood is that the sentinel nodes will remain cancer-free.

Unfortunately, the AC not only makes your poop smell like toxic waste, but it also makes your breath foul. No lozenge seems to help. I have also discovered that the AC cocktail can cause acid reflux, indigestion, heartburn, and difficulty drinking, all of which I have been experiencing. To avoid those symptoms, I have to drink water or any liquid for that matter at room temperature and always while sitting at a 90-degree angle or standing (I am usually in my recliner, reclining). If I drink water while reclining, I spend the day belching, farting, and generally uncomfortable. The heartburn can be intense. The clinic staff and doctor told me none of this. I looked up my symptoms on the Internet in conjunction with chemotherapy, and they are quite common among chemotherapy patients. Nevertheless, they are side effects that I can handle.

I am still counting my blessings. I heard from two people on my update list this week who have lost a family member, one to a stroke (a 92-year-old mother) and the other (a brother/brother in-law) as a result of the flu. If you are feeling under the weather, be kind to yourself and stay home and rest. Perhaps my thoughts about death are worth sharing. Someone asked me if I ever think about dying. Death is something I rarely, if ever, think about. For one thing, this cancer is not advanced enough, and if it were, I still do not think that I would be putting my energy into thinking about death. As I have said previously, I have no fear of death. To me, death is a dynamic process, a creative force, where we shed the physical body in preparation for our transformation into a higher vibration. We experience a new life spawned on a higher plane of consciousness, where we still perceive and grow. My vision is that our soul leaves the body and takes off like a shooting star, upward and ablaze in a boundless sky, headed for a world more loving and glorious than we can imagine. I read something similar in an Elizabeth Kubler Ross book, but she likened the journey to that of a falling star, a description that I found off the mark, having witnessed my mother’s near-death experiences and ultimate transition, and knowing what I know spiritually. Falling stars, aka meteoroids, die. They fall into the Earth’s atmosphere and burn up. Technically, there is no difference between a falling star and a shooting star, except in my poetic perception, where they represent the soul, travel upward, and never die out.

When my mother transitioned, I saw a little puff of smoke leave the top of her head, or her crown chakra. I know that it was her soul doing exactly what I described above. The only other time I saw that puff of smoke is when my mom went into one of her deep sleeps, or meditations. In those instances, she would “sleep" for up to 72 hours without evacuation, food, or water, and when she awoke, she appeared to have been rejuvenated with a bounce in her step and a big smile on her face. She had those episodes quite often in the months before she died. I was told at a channeling that she was getting a jump on her life review, doing it while she was still here so that she could move on to her next journey without delay. That is apparently very unusual. The first time that happened, I did not know what it was, and, when she finally woke up, I took her to the geriatric clinic at Weill Cornell. They said that she was dehydrated and tried to get her to drink water, but she couldn’t swallow it, because, unbeknownst to them and me, she was not fully in her body yet. They gave her intravenous fluids instead and then tried to give her a cognitive exam, which I found comical. They drew geometric symbols and then asked her to draw the same symbols. She completely ignored their drawings and drew what made her happy, usually some sunny scene. The doctor would say, “Mrs. Stallings (my stepfather’s surname), is that what you see?” She would say, “No, I can’t draw what you drew. I’m drawing what I want to draw.” She had rheumatoid arthritis and her fingers were wickedly twisted, so I doubted that she could have drawn what they did. She could barely hold a pencil. The doctors apparently never noticed that. They also assumed that because she was in her nineties that she was deaf or senile because they spoke to her in very loud voices. She responded in kind, thinking that they had a hearing problem. They determined that she had mild dementia, but I know that she did not. They made that diagnosis based on faulty observations. After that, I never brought her back to that clinic when she had one of those “sleep” episodes, because she always came out of them better than she was when she went into them. That was a learning experience for me. Pay attention, be open to everything, and have no fear. I developed a “knowing” for when it was appropriate to take my mother to a doctor and when it was not.

That was a bit of a digression, but for me it demonstrates that how you view the world is how you experience it. I’m pretty sure that the handling of my current journey has a lot to do with how my mom viewed life. She always told me to go with the flow. Take whatever comes your way and deal with it without fear. That philosophy has served me well. That is not to say that I have no fears. I do, but when I come up against them, I move into them, not away from them. It gets easier and easier to do that as one ages.

In this journey, I am never focused on cancer, just on healing. This is an uncomfortable journey, not an unbearable one. With the discomfort comes life lessons and opportunities to grow. I feel as if I live in an insulated world, untouched by negativity, because I can bring light to any experience, even the bad and the ugly ones. For example, when I first moved into this building, there were gunshots at all times of the day, and drug busts were made right under my bedroom window at night. In those days, quite a few homeowners sold their apartments at a loss out of fear. A few years ago, I heard some people talking about how frightened they were in those days and how some of them had gotten mugged on the way from the subway to the building (half a block). I was awed and surprised. I felt as if I must have been living in an alternate universe. I never had a moment’s fear about any of the things that were going on outside my window because I just did not think they applied to me. I was happy to be living in this neighborhood, in my own apartment, right off Central Park West. I felt fortunate and grateful (still do). My world was sunny. I have never had a negative experience in this neighborhood. I attribute that to the energy I emanate. You draw to you what you put out. I try not to have fear or bad thoughts. So, when I found the lump in my breast, I never went to a worst-case scenario, because, in my view, there is none.

My thoughts are all over the place in these updates, so they may seem irrelevant to this journey, but, trust me, they aren’t.

XXOO, DD

Fourth and Final AC Chemo Infusion—February 13, 2018

Good Morning my Little Chickadees,

It has been more than a week since my last and final chemo infusion. For reasons I cannot explain, I was dreading that infusion. Now I know why. I was fine Wednesday and Thursday. In fact, I had dinner with two friends, John and Susan, last Thursday. They came by and we ordered in. We had a wonderful time. I had a delicious meal and even more delicious company. Thanks for brightening my week, you two!

Then Friday came along and I understood my dread. Besides urinary incontinence, tired taste buds, a constant and unpredictable release of fluid from my nose (I have no nose hairs), and extreme fatigue, I also have nerve pain, which is related to brief but sharp pains in my sides and stomach, and especially sharp and frequent pain in my feet and fingertips. It is painful to walk and type, both of which I have to do every day. On top of that, I got horrendously “sick” on Friday, and that lasted until this Wednesday. I could not eat, had no strength to do anything, was incredibly weak, lost my equilibrium, and could not swallow without losing my breath. In the last update, I said that I had to sit up straight when I drank something, but this was much worse. I was able to drink any hot liquid, but I could not drink even room-temperature water without it getting stuck somewhere in my esophagus and cutting off my breath. With one sip, I was gasping frantically for breath. It got so bad that I would not drink and was willing to risk dehydration. Luckily, my body is like a camel’s and tends to store water. I did not get dehydrated, but boy was I feeling lousy. I finally asked my friend in Hawaii to do a long-distance healing on my esophagus. Whatever he did, things were completely cleared up this morning, as if I never had the problem. Today I am 100%. The funny thing is that I feel as if whatever that was never happened. It is already far in the past.

I have a feeling that my eyebrows and eyelashes will not grow back in. I’m thinking about getting my eyebrows tattooed if they do not grow in. I may have to live without eyelashes, because I have no intention of ever wearing false ones. On the other hand, eye irritation is a real thing when you have no eyelashes. I am constantly getting things in my eyes, so I end up rubbing them to the point of redness. Eye drops are a total waste of time. If my lashes do not grow back, I will have to do something short of wearing falsies.

I was asked by someone to refrain from speaking about the fact that I have no fear of death, because she is in a battle for her life and is scared “shitless” of dying. Rather than censor myself, I will give her an abridged version of the updates that include any such discussion. I think death is the most basic human fear, and I feel fortunate not to have that particular fear. Ironically, fear can keep us from facing our fears so that we remain in fear. It can also cause us to do things that are not in our best interest, like advocating for our limitations. I have a fear of drowning. I can’t swim. I took swimming in high school in the hope that it would get me past that fear, but it has not. I passed the course and took it again in college, and I still fear being in the water. I have determined, therefore, that the fear is not about drowning, but perhaps something that happened in the water either from this or a past life. I haven’t figured it out yet, but I’m working on it.

In this life, there are two emotions—love and fear. Anything that is not love is fear. Anger is about fear, hatred is about fear; any negative emotion is about fear. That is not to say that fear cannot be an ally. It can be. It can warn us of danger. But is that really fear? When my internal alarms go off, it feels like fear, but it is really my sixth sense, my body’s way of warning me that I shouldn’t go somewhere or do something. So, even if I interpret that feeling as fear, it can save me in some situations, assuming that I heed it. But that “fear” is not the same as false-evidence-appearing-real fear, because the former “fear” is guiding me away from something that might harm me while the latter is about avoiding something because an unlearned lesson is in the way. We can choose to succumb to that fear and advocate for our limitations or we can choose to heal it. It takes time to recognize when you are using your sixth sense versus when you are in fear. To heal true fear, we have to walk toward it, face a situation that makes us uncomfortable or feel anxiety or rejection. Rather than advocate for my limitations, I like to face my fears. That is not to say that I enjoy facing them. I don’t, but I know that it is necessary. The idea that fear is false evidence appearing real is proved every time I have taken on a fear and faced it. The fear always turns out not to be as bad as I thought it would be.

When I decided to walk away from my career as a judge, I had no plan, no other job waiting, and no fear. I always said that I would never voluntarily quit a job without having another in the wings, but I did just that. Even I couldn’t believe that I was voluntarily putting myself in an extremely vulnerable and potentially disastrous situation. I wanted nothing to do with law anymore, but I had absolutely no idea what else I wanted to do. I was certain that I would never agree to work another 9-5 job again. I prepared no resume nor did I start contacting people. Instead, I went on vacation to Florida without a care in the world and then a year later took a six-week vacation to New Zealand.

I take no credit for my lack of fear at that time of my life. My behavior was so foreign and reckless to me that I thought that my higher self must have had something to do with it, otherwise I never would have left my job the way that I did. Being unemployed and homeless were two of my biggest fears, because my family was homeless for a while when I was around 2 or 3 years old. My mother told me that, even at that young age, my hair started falling out from the stress. Yet, for some reason, neither fear concerned me as I walked away from my livelihood. It was as if someone had completely sucked the fear out of me. Spiritually speaking, it was time for me to leave that job, and my higher self made it easy for me, because fear would have kept me there beyond the time that was good for my journey. In that moment, in the absence of fear, I knew that I would be okay. That sort of knowing cannot be explained. It was just there, palpable and clear. I had nothing to back up that feeling of safety and trust. I had no pension (I had not joined the pension system, and, if I had, I would have needed at least three more years of work to qualify), no social security in my future (I was in an exempt category and had put nothing into the system since 1969, so I had insufficient quarters to even collect social security), and no savings, except for my 457K, which had a limited amount in it.

The absence of fear in that situation was a huge gift from my higher self. To this day, I remember what it feels like to be utterly free of fear. I imagine that it must be what it feels like when one lives as spirit, outside of any human limitations, where even the sky is no limit.

As it turned out, three days after I left work, while I was in Florida, my mother had a heart attack. Ten days later, she had a triple bypass operation, and when she was released from the hospital, I took her home to live with me. When I found out that mom had a heart attack, I immediately knew why I was being pushed to leave work and why it was important for me to have no fear about it, but to trust. My trust was at an all-time high. Mom could no longer live by herself, and she certainly could no longer continue to live so far outside the city, where she had been living. She needed me and a home health aide to care for her. I would be spending a lot of my time in emergency rooms during the next six years, because she always seemed to get pneumonia or bronchitis in the winter. Working and having to take off to be there for her would have been difficult.

I knew that something I had always wanted to do was being offered to me. I had always wanted to make my mom’s life easier, where she would no longer have to worry about the basic necessities of life. When she lived in Cornwall, although I paid her rent, I had no idea how she was doing otherwise. She was never specific about any of her other needs. Now I was being given the opportunity to not only care for her, but also to ensure her health and safety. I needed to trust that I would be taken care of too. I had no idea what I would do, but I did not worry about it. That was eighteen years ago. I had six of the happiest years of my life with my mother. She was upbeat, funny, and fun, despite any physical limitations she had. I loved taking care of her. I am still thriving, probably more so than I would have had I waited those extra three years to qualify for my pension and to buy back the years I needed to collect social security before leaving work. Some people would say that I do not know that for sure, but I do. I just can’t prove it, but then I need not prove it to anyone, not even myself, because I know that I was and still am on my core path.

I am not completely free of fear. I fear pain and a lot of other things, but I don’t let those fears define my journey, at least I try not to. The best way to let go of a fear is to surrender to it, unburden yourself, be willing to take whatever comes your way. I think people fear death because they are afraid of the unknown, and they think that they will miss their loved ones and all the things that they want to do in their lives. That does not compute for me. In my humble opinion, once you are dead, you have no fear or attachment to people or things because you are no longer in a body where you experience and register those feelings. That is just my opinion. It is based on things I have experienced and things I know from deep within. It does not mean that I am right or wrong. It just means that I am free of that particular fear.

XXOO, Dee Dee

Post Surgical Notes—March 8, 2018

Hello my Little Chickadees,

I have been enjoying my post-chemo experience, and now I am also enjoying my post-surgical experience. Yesterday (March 7) I was up at 4 a.m. to arrive at the hospital at 6 a.m. My neighbor, Gabrel, offered to drive me to the hospital and met me at 5:00 a.m. I am so very grateful for Gabrel’s offer. I was not looking forward to standing out in the cold at 5:00 a.m. to wait on a Via car. It was the day of the Nor’easter, but the weather was no issue at that time of the morning, and I was glad that Gabe could make it home before the weather got nasty, which it did later in the day. I checked in early and was in surgery by 7:30 a.m. I remember nothing after the anesthesiologist said, “I will just inject this into your arm.” The next thing I remember is waking up in the recovery room. I was in no pain, but I was really sore where the sentinel lymph nodes were removed. I also had a slight sore throat. I do not tolerate anesthesia well, and I apparently stopped breathing during the procedure, causing my oxygen level to drop, so I had to be intubated. I was previously diagnosed with a mild case of obstructive sleep apnea, which might explain the oxygen drop. Recovery took four hours instead of the one the doctor said it would take.

Priscilla got there by the time I was in recovery. My stomach was a little upset, so I kept asking for Jell-O. I think I ate about 4 or 5 Jell-O cups and about the same number of small saltine packets. That seemed to settle my stomach. I left the hospital in a wheelchair and was met at my apartment building with a borrowed wheelchair. I was still unsteady from the anesthesia. When we got to my apartment, Priscilla and I took a nap. I was pretty sore on the left side, a bummer because I am a side sleeper. I managed to sleep on my back for a few hours. Last night, with the help of a pain pill, I was able to sleep on my right side. That was not that easy, because sleeping on my right side means the weight of my body on the left side, rests on the left side of my sutured left breast. I have a feeling that the only way to sleep without discomfort after breast surgery is on one’s back, but I don’t do well on my back. I found that if I put my left arm over my head, I could sleep somewhat comfortably on my right side.

Today, March 8, I feel great. I am only slightly sore under my left arm and my throat is only slightly sore from the intubation. Everything else feels fine.

The day after surgery I decided to take a hydrocodone to ensure a pain-free sleep. It worked for the pain part but I paid a price otherwise—constipation, big time constipation, the type that makes you sweat and hyperventilate and pray that it will soon be over. I finally resorted to a saline enema, but it was an off brand, not a Fleet, and, although it eventually worked, it did not work as swiftly or as efficiently. After that, I put Miralax back into my routine until I complete radiation. I’m not taking any chances.

Today, March 13, I saw the breast surgeon to get my pathology report. As soon as she opened the office door, she said, “You have a fabulous pathology report. It was smart to do the chemo first. I need to see you in six months.” In the meantime, I have to see my oncologist on March 21 to see about radiation therapy, which is to ensure that the cancer is totally gone and to lower the possibility of recurrence. The only thing that I developed from the surgery was a seroma, a buildup of fluid near the lymph node site. That area is swollen and entirely numb, so, when the physician’s assistant tried to aspirate the seroma and inserted a huge seven-inch needle (and not a slim one either) at the end of a syringe, I felt nothing. She got only about 10 ccs of fluid out, because my body is already trying to heal the area and scar tissue is present, clogging things up. It feels much better now.

I learned yesterday that any weight I’ve gained is from the steroids they pumped into me with every infusion. That’s a lot of steroids. I expect to drop whatever I picked up as a result of the steroids once they and all the other drugs are fully out of my system and I can exercise again. The steroids also explain why my knees felt completely healed during chemo, and why they are now so achy.

Post-Surgery Update 2

Today, March 21, 2018, I saw my oncologist, who was as thrilled with my pathology report as the breast surgeon was. She was so excited that her Greek accent seemed much heavier than usual. I had to pay close attention to what she was saying, but she was happy as heck. I have to see a radiation oncologist on Monday to get my radiation schedule. I have to see a dermatologist too because my hair has not yet started to grow in. I understand that some people’s hair never grows back, but that is “very, very, very rare,” to quote the doctor. I also saw the breast surgeon’s physician’s assistant today. She was able to drain 130 ccs from the seroma under my left arm, so I am really happy about that. Now I feel a lot of relief, although she warned me that it most likely will fill up again. If it does, I have to see her again to have it drained.

In this journey, I hope that I have not alienated anyone, because I do not necessarily reach out when I need something. So many have offered their support, but I do not ask for help unless I really need it. I send out my laundry but never refuse an offer of food because I do not cook and often feel too “tired” to whip something up quickly; nor do I ever refuse a lift to Costco, where I get my mainstays, like eggs, protein bars, hummus, and salad greens, all of which I eat when I need to throw a meal together quickly. Other than that, I am pretty much okay.

Musings

As a single person, I can focus on me or I can focus on my journey, where I play the leading role. Focusing on the journey allows me to give my energy to the bigger picture and not to the little one, which is full of the vagaries of adult life, and, in my case, cancer.

Today, my mom is on my mind, which, to me, means she is somewhere around me. Mom was upbeat and positive. I learned from her that freedom is an internal sense of unbounded joy and love, and that in that state of mind, nothing can defeat you. Years ago, an astrologer told me that all the crises in my life would be crises of consciousness. I remember being thrilled that he hadn’t mentioned any concrete crises, such as serious illness or some other specific major catastrophe, not realizing that they too can be handled by a change in consciousness. Without seriously considering what that meant, I thought I had it made in the shade, as they say. After all, how hard could changing one’s consciousness be? Little did I know that a crisis in consciousness can be a major challenge, especially if areas of your life need a complete revamping of your psyche. Luckily, I started that journey long before I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Every informed spiritualist on the planet knows that we are in the midst of a Great Shift in Consciousness. Of course, that means different things to different people. For me, this Shift in Consciousness has thrown my astrological forecast into high gear. My choice to leave work in 2000, the unpredictable circumstances of my mother’s health, my choice to make her remaining years as golden as possible, and my age at the time were, unbeknownst to me, opportunities to shift my consciousness, which I did, but not as consciously as I do now. During the time I took care of my mother, I was focused on nothing else. Now that mom is no longer my focus I can see that the choices I made had far-reaching consequences.

How my future shapes up depends on my ability to shift the way I create my life. In other words, I must shift the way I think. I must shift my consciousness. I can’t say this enough: our thoughts create our reality. At the moment, my reality is constantly changing, being formed by my consciousness. It will be whatever I think it is in any given moment. I have to think my way into prosperity, health, and joy when, in the physical third-dimensional world things look mighty grim; but I am not worried. I am good at this. I think and create bounty when I feel dearth. I think and create love when I feel fear. I think and create joy when I feel despair. I think, see, and create opportunity when I am in crisis. In order to do those things, I must find my true essence, that spark of the Creator that I am, and bring it home to my physical presence on this planet. For me, this means that every day is a test of my resolve, my ability to stay the path of love, conquering fear in every instance. I am as a new-born babe, only I am also the parent.

This journey has made me wiser and has opened me to parts of myself I didn’t want to see, and those parts aren’t as bad as I thought they would be. My life, my journey, is my vision board, if you will. I am on a quest for inner peace and an intimate relationship with freedom. At this moment, I feel unencumbered by life, by cancer, by the IRS, and by the rogues’ gallery that is currently running the country.

I have had none of those experiences where, after having a serious disease, you see a flower and suddenly see the beauty in it or you suddenly appreciate mountains or rivers or streams, because I’ve always seen the beauty in those things. Heck, I talk to trees and get responses. No, for me, this has been about becoming more of who I really am. I do not know that person yet. I know a lot about that person, but I am not intimate with her, not yet. Who we truly are is spirit, a much higher vibrating energy than our physical being. I am trying to raise my vibration as close to that vibration as I can. I will not reach it while in the physical body, which is too dense, but I can get as close as possible.

XXOO, Dee Dee

March 26, 2018, Update

I saw the radiation oncologist for a consultation, arriving at 11 a.m. and leaving at 2:45 p.m. As the steroids work their way out of my body, my knees are speaking their truth. They are swollen and painful. When I walked into the hospital lobby, a guard asked me if he could get me a wheelchair, but I declined and hobbled to the elevators that took me to the radiation department in the basement. I thought the basement area might be depressing, but it was quite the opposite—bright and nicely furnished.

After changing into a hospital gown and after a rather long wait-time, I spoke with the radiation team at length. I agreed to take part in a study that requires me to have three weeks’ radiation at a slightly higher dose rather than five weeks at the usual dose. The radiation starts on April 3 and will run for three weeks, Monday through Friday.

Later, I was taken into the room where the radiation machine was. A male technician explained what would happen, then asked me to get up on the table that is attached to the machine. I had to lie on my stomach with my left breast dangling through a hole. The worst thing about this process was the lack of any face hole in the table. I had to lie with my head turned either to the left or the right. Neither position was comfortable because I had fusion at the C4, C5 area in my cervical spine in 1995, giving me limited range of motion in my neck. When I asked why they had no tables with face holes, I was told that some people didn’t like those tables, so they got rid of them, an unsatisfactory answer since it did not consider those of us who do better with our faces down. It seemed to me the better solution would have been to have both types of tables on hand.

One technician placed tape on the site of the lumpectomy incision, and then once I was positioned on the table, another put little adhesive dots on my left breast and a couple of places on my back. The male tech then positioned both breasts on the machine. It has been a long time since a guy has handled my breasts. I felt as indifferent as I always have, partly due to his professionalism and partly due to the fact that my breasts have never been one of my erogenous zones. Oh well. After the prep for Tuesday’s session, I was given instructions on how to prepare for radiation, and some forms to sign that were related to the study. I was also given some Calendula cream, which I have to spread on my breast after each radiation session to prevent radiation burn.

I inquired about proton beam radiation, which professes to decrease the amount of radiation to the heart and lungs, lowering the risk of developing side effects such as heart disease, reduced lung function, or secondary cancer. The proton therapy advantage may be more likely in cases where cancer has developed in the left breast since it is situated so close to the heart. The tumor was in my left breast. Whether cancer develops in the right breast or left breast, clinical research pilot study results have shown the proton therapy plan to be superior to the conventional plan in reducing the amount of radiation to the heart and lungs.Additionally, proton therapy may provide better dose coverage to the lymph node regions as compared with conventional radiation. Unfortunately, that sort of radiation will not be available at NY Hospital until April 30, 2018, when their new cancer facility opens. Luckily, because the cancer did not spread to my lymph nodes or any other place in my chest, the radiation will be administered while I am in a prone position, which would not put my heart at risk, rather than a supine position, which would put the heart and lungs at risk. If it were the other way around, I would go to the New York Proton Center, located on East 126^th Street and affiliated with Mount Sinai Medical Center, Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center, and Montefiore Medical Center, to have the radiation administered. I believe it is the only proton beam radiation facility in the city at the moment.

Today, March 27, I had a bone density scan, which took all of 15 minutes. This scan is to determine whether or not the treatments have affected my bone density. I later found out that they have not.

Musings

It is weird to be coming to the end of this journey (it will end on April 24, my last radiation session) because I have no idea what my life will be like going forward. It seems as if I’ve been on this journey forever. My daily habits have changed tremendously as have my eating habits. Although I sleep longer in the mornings, I also am able to rise earlier when I have to with no real issue. That was not always the case. I no longer drink smoothies in the morning and have no desire to do so. I will probably have a protein smoothie every now and then, but I think I will be eating poached eggs with a nice cup of organic decaf coffee, which is what I have been eating in the last month or so. I’ve learned to make a decent poached egg. It took some reading and experimentation, but I think I’ve got it down now. My food choices have changed, and it seems that they will remain changed even though my taste buds are enlivened once again. I can also feel any concern about my weight slowly dissipating, which to me means that I will clear any excess weight with much less effort than before. My goal is to be and remain healthy because I want to honor my body and treat it like the miracle it is.

I do not feel like the same person I was before or on August 30, 2017, when I discovered the lump in my breast. I find myself crying at commercials, news stories, public service announcements, everything imaginable, from the evil to the good, the mundane, and the humorous. That change has nothing to do with having cancer or facing my mortality. It has to do with the time cancer gave me to stop, reflect, listen, observe, and admit to myself some things that I was unwilling to even look at before. Before that day, I thought I was impervious to stress because I did not react the way most people react to stress. My stress level has never been high, but there was a point in these last seven months where I recognized that it was not that I do not feel stress. I just control it. Now I feel no need to control it, because cancer has afforded me the opportunity to put to the test any lip service I give to the spiritual journey. I am now walking the talk, which, if done with passion and understanding, will automatically take stress, judgment, and unwarranted expectation out of the equation.

I have been on this spiritual journey for so long that I fell into the trap of thinking that everyone sees the world the way I do. They do not. When someone is hurting, he or she does not want to hear about the specific spiritual laws that govern our lives (like the fact that we create everything in our lives). Even for a spiritualist that advice can be irritating and completely useless, because when we hurt or are afraid, we want to be soothed, reassured, and even placated. The bottom line is that it is important to always be kind. How you make someone feel is more important than any spiritual law. Moreover, if you have truly embraced the spiritual laws, you will live them, be an example, and not proselytize. If you want to be true to the spiritual laws, go out into the world to make love your primary goal. Show, give, emanate, and be love. Hopefully it will be returned, but in any case, be it all the time. Today, I was imagining public personalities that I either dislike or strongly disagree with. (I did not include Trump because I know that I haven’t evolved to the point where I can include him. Right now, I’m imagining people whose views are diametrically opposed to mine, but not repugnant. Trump falls into the latter category. One thing at a time please.) I was imagining them in some sort of vulnerable space and saw myself comforting them. I realized that I could love someone whose political or social beliefs are averse to mine. You can do that if you let love rule. Everyone wants to be loved, and that is the one thing that I can give freely. It is not a difficult thing to do, but it is not that easy either, otherwise I could include Trump. I still have work to do. I need to get to the point where I can love him as a soul while not necessarily embracing his human persona. That means that I have to recognize the God in him. I keep thinking about Machaelle Small Wright’s book, Behaving as if the God in all Life Mattered. Trump is part of life, but I have not been able to see past his human persona to glimpse his soul, which I know is pure. I’m a work in progress just as he is.

XXOO, Dee Dee

April 10, 2018—Pre-Radiation Update

Hello my Little Chickadees,

First the boring stuff. I was scheduled to have my first radiation session on April 3. Before the session, they needed to draw blood, but, that day my blood would not flow. They must have stuck me six times. The tubes had the bare minimum amount of blood required. I ended up with a huge black and blue mark on my arm. The needle jabs were not that bad at all (except for one that burned). So, I was surprised to see that my arm was so bruised.

After that, I was taken into a room with a radiation imaging machine. Just as in the simulation I did on March 26, I was asked to climb onto a table where they positioned my breasts, the left one, which is where the tumor was, dangling through a cut-out on the left side of the table. Once again, I was told to keep my head turned to the right and not to move at all. Just like the last time, I explained to no avail that I could not hold my head in that position for more than a few minutes because of the cervical spine surgery I had in 1995. I brought a face pillow with me in the hope that I could use it, but they would not permit it because I did not use the pillow during the simulation, and you have to hold the exact position that you did then. So, I got on to the table and turned my head to the right. It was an awful experience. The neck pain was one thing, but the inability to move at all made me feel as if I were buried alive in a coffin. You get that closed-in panicky feeling, which would not have been an issue had I been able to use my face pillow. It was more than I could take. I wept silently through the hour. They informed me that this was only imaging, not the actual radiation. That would happen the next day. I managed to get through the hour by talking to myself, while I wept. When I finally got up, I broke down in uncontrollable sobs. I told them that there was no way that I would subject myself to that again. The technicians told me that it would be no longer than half an hour for the actual radiation. I said that I could not do that for a half hour every day for the next 21 days. I told them that for about a week after the first simulation (which is different from the imaging they do at the beginning of each week), I suffered severe neck and upper and mid-back pain on the right side. I couldn’t raise my right arm, move, or get up from a chair without bending over at a 90-degree angle first. Even breathing hurt. No one seemed fazed by that information.

I reported to the hospital the next day for my first radiation session but first I spoke with the doctor, who was apologetic and understanding. Apparently, they informed her of what had transpired the day before. She had someone bring her a padded faceplate and told me that they would do the simulation again using the faceplate. That way, I would be able to use a faceplate each time. This time the simulation took about 15 minutes (it was supposed to take an hour) because they were able to use some of the tattoos they placed on my body the first time. They added only two tattoos. I wondered why they hadn’t used the faceplate the first time, especially since I informed them of the problem I had turning my neck sideways for a prolonged period. In any event, the doctor decided to hold off on the radiation for three weeks so that I could start over in their new facility, across the street at the David H. Koch Center, which is opening on April 30. There, they will have state of the art equipment for the radiation and a padded table with a face hole. I might be the very first patient to use their radiation clinic. I can’t believe that I will be treated in a building built by one of the Koch brothers. I guess you have to choose your poison.

As for the rest, unfortunately, my post-menopausal chin and mustache hairs are coming in with a vengeance, while the hair on my head is coming in at a snail’s pace. Yesterday, I was able to walk the hallways up to the eighth floor and back and do about five miles on my stationary bike, but today (April 10) it took 20 minutes for me just to walk one block to the drugstore. I was so exhausted when I got there that the pharmacist took one look at me and told me to sit down, and then brought me some water. It seems that I am overconfident about how long it will take to get back to normal. I will have to ramp up my communication with my body and go with its flow.

My knees are really sore because I did things while on steroids that I would not have done otherwise. The steroids masked my pre-diagnosis knee issues. I forgot that I was facing knee replacement surgery before this diagnosis, a tribute to my ability not to dwell on such things. Of course, I paid the price too because I undid all the healing I did on my knees before this journey. On the other hand, I do not see knee replacement as a problem. I see it as the solution to a physical problem. But I do not want to head right into knee replacement surgery when this is all said and done. I have had enough of doctors’ appointments. A respite would be welcome. I’m hoping to wait a year to see how much healing I can do in that time. We are never really finished healing. That is a life-long journey. When we are finished healing, we go home.

Musings

I remember once asking my mother what she thought about her life. She said that she had a good life. I was shocked, because her life was hard, full of sadness, physical abuse, abandonment, and death. Nevertheless, she could look back on all of those life challenges and still see them as opportunities to age her soul. It didn’t matter to her how hard the journey was as long as she grew emotionally, mentally, and spiritually, which she did. So, to her, she had a good life. Perspective is everything.

We all have a story to tell. I bet we can all look back at our lives and find something or many things that would make good reading. People have told me that I should write a memoir. I suppose the story would be interesting, growing up poor in the projects in a single parent household, with some siblings who were addicted either to alcohol or drugs and died as a result, leaving home at an early age, going to college on a full ride through an anti-poverty program in the 60’s, working my way through college for extra money by cleaning people’s houses, not to mention the interesting people I met cleaning houses, and then on to law school, also on a full ride, and all the experiences since then, none of which are mundane or conventional, not by a long shot.

When I think back on my life, this present journey pales in comparison to those I’ve had getting to this place. So, like Fran Drescher, I say, “Cancer shmancer.” Perhaps it is easy for me to say that because this disease was not life-threatening for me, but then that is because I listened to the voice I heard, warning me of the growth in my left breast. If I were unconscious, not a spiritualist, not tuned into my higher energy, I might have ignored or not heard that voice and faced a life-threatening journey. That voice was disembodied, a strong telepathic message that sounded like me, so it would have been easy to ignore it. It is not easy to trust your inner voice, as it sounds and feels like you. You think you’re just silently talking to yourself. But then, who else would my inner voice sound like? My higher, or essential, self is who I am, just on a higher plane of consciousness. We all have a higher self, but most of us ignore it and succumb to our left brain, or ego, to rationalize what we want to believe, rather than hear what is for our highest good. What is for our highest good may not always be what we want. That is the tricky part. That is where trust come into play. I have trained myself not to ignore my inner voice, even when I am encouraged to do something that looks wrong to the external world. That is why I left my job when I did in the way that I did. I trusted that voice. I could have ignored it, and today I might be more financially secure, but unhappy and stuck in life or maybe not. I do know that all of the body aches and pains I suffered with for more than a year on the job suddenly abated a very short time after leaving. Ultimately, it doesn’t really matter what would have, could have, or should have been. I just know that had I not listened to my inner voice, I would not know what I know now or be who I am now. In that, I am confident.

Final Update

Hi my Little Chickadees,

As of Friday, May 18, 2018, I was through not only with radiation, but also treatment. I can put a period at the end of this sentence. Thus far, I have had no side effects that I know of, except for some fatigue, which, thankfully, comes most intensely at night. The David H. Koch Center, where I received treatment, is affiliated with both Weill Cornell and Memorial Sloan Kettering and has concierge service, which means that when you enter the building, people cheerfully greet and then escort you to the kiosk to check in. If your knees are achy, like mine, or if you are disabled in some other way, they bring the kiosk to you. After you finish signing in, they give you a wristband and escort you to the elevator. When you get upstairs, you go to the waiting area until someone comes to get you. I always got there early, so they usually took me early. The dressing rooms are big and you have a choice of the typical hospital gown or a soft downy white robe. I always chose the robe. After you change, you put your clothes in a locker and then sit in a well-appointed waiting room. The radiation itself takes about five minutes, so you are in and out, unless positioning you on the table is difficult, which can happen. They have to line up the tattoos on your body so that they coincide with wherever the radiation beam is positioned. The staff are very accommodating and friendly, so much so that you almost forget you are there to get radiation, even while you’re on the radiation table. They ask what type of music you’d like to listen to, if any, and they make certain that you are comfortable before they start the radiation process. Some of the radiation technicians are men, so they try hard to preserve your modesty by turning their backs when you take the robe off and when you get up from the table.

As for the after-effects of the radiation, I have only a little redness on my left breast, and occasionally I experience a sharp stab of hotness, like someone has placed a hot poker on my breast. That feeling is infrequent and makes me reflexively place both hands over that breast until it subsides, which happens in seconds. I wouldn’t call it pain. It’s more a matter of discomfort. I put a cold pack in my bra at those times. So, that’s my story, morning glories—easy peasy.

As for my chemo symptoms, the hair on my head has finally started growing out. It seems as if my eyebrows came in overnight, as did my eyelashes and nose hairs. My fingernails and toenails as still mostly purple, although they are slowly growing out.

Suddenly, I am no longer a cancer patient, but then I never thought of myself as a cancer patient, even while I was being treated. Chemo and radiation were just things that I had to undergo to advance my journey through life. I never referred to the disease as “my cancer.” I had no reason or desire to own it. It was not mine. It was the product of a spiritual process designed to age my soul. That meant that I had to concentrate on the journey and how I traveled that road.

I live alone with my cat, but I never feel alone or lonely, and I never once felt alone in this journey. My neighbors and friends had my back and brought me food, sometimes did my shopping and my laundry, provided me with a car service, and even drove me to the hospital for surgery. Yet, someone pointed out to me that I still did this journey alone. I suppose in one sense that is true. I never felt the need to have company physically with me in my apartment, even during those times that I felt sick from the chemo. Except for having someone accompany me to chemo, or those times when a couple of friends came by to have dinner with me, or one time when one friend stayed with me for a few hours after my third chemo infusion and another stayed with me after I got home from surgery, I spent practically all of the time during this eight-month journey alone in my apartment, content with my solitude, which I treasure. I know how to be alone. I love being alone. It provides me with time to meditate and stretch myself beyond this reality. That is not to say that I did not enjoy the company of the friends who came by and spent time. I did. It was usually the highlight of my week. But when no one came by, I was just as fine. I never felt lonely, alone, or abandoned.

Now I am healed and the routine I established over the last eight months will change. My world will suddenly expand beyond treatment and beyond overcoming treatment. I am looking forward to regaining some of the strength I’ve lost and losing some of the weight I’ve gained, but those are just details. I feel a certain uncertainty and a desire to find a new me. In that sense, another adventure awaits! My life will be unrecognizable by the time I am fully healed because I have changed in so many ways that seem permanent at this point. The healing journey has given me a new 4-body system (new physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual bodies) from which I can forge a new me. I am at a loss as to who or what that will be. I feel foreign and uncomfortable in my body. I have always been a creature of habit, eating the same breakfast and dinner almost every night for no other reason than that I don’t like to cook and I didn’t want to spend time trying to think of what to cook. I no longer have the need for that sort of regimentation. Perhaps, variety will finally grace my life. On another note, I also watch less television, daydream more, and go to bed earlier. I doubt that the going to bed earlier part will last.

I attribute such changes not to having had cancer, but to having the time to introspect. That is what cancer has provided—time, lots of it. Yet, I never missed a bit of my client’s work during this journey. I did it all and got it to him on time, although not always in the most pristine shape because of my brain fog. So where did all of this extra time come from? It has always been there. It is one’s perception of the time that changes. I still had the same amount of time to myself that I have always had, but I slowed down and used that time differently. I crawled inside of myself and practiced being mindful, noticing everything I did and felt. On the rare occasion that I washed the dishes by hand, I focused on the water running between and around my fingers and hands. I focused on the temperature of the water and the soap on the scrub brush I was using, and I felt a part of each of those experiences. I now sense and see a lot of things that I used to take for granted and they inform me, make me more in tune with the world around me. I feel connected to life in a way I hadn’t anticipated. I am part of the microcosm and the macrocosm, a part of it all, yet bigger than it all. I got a real glimpse of what it is to be love.

I found love in everything, including washing those dishes, and even in those things that most of us see as unlovable. In the latter instances, the love is in the opportunity to learn from rather than judge the experience. I learned lessons, and those lessons always involved love of self. Each day I seemed to let go of more and more judgment. In order to do that, you have to have an intimate relationship with love, especially love of self. Love, but not romantic or even unconditional love, has carried me through this journey in what I consider to be good form. Unlike romantic and unconditional love, which are human constructs, part of our duality, each having an opposite (unromantic love and conditional love), the love I experienced has no opposite and is the essence of who we are, the thing that we can never lose, the thing that depends on nothing external. When I meditate, I can feel the stillness and timelessness of the love that is my soul. At those times, I am no longer the physical being who moves about in this world. I am bigger than this world, bigger than all manifested reality because I am formless. I am a love that has no fear, hate, anger, judgment, or need to forgive on the other side of it, because there is only love. If I see any dilemma at this point in the journey, it is how to navigate this journey with this sense of love of self, a love that makes you see yourself in everything and everyone. (I hesitate to use the term, “self-love,” because it suggests a limited view of love, a love of one’s person, but no more.) I also recognize that this love of self cannot be sustained at all times. I am certain that I will falter occasionally, perhaps more than occasionally because I am human and part of this duality in which we live. Yet, I will take the time to embrace that love at some point each day from now on.

Having cancer, per se, had nothing to do with the surfacing of this love. It was the healing journey that played a major role. I had the time to focus all of my attention, not on cancer, but on myself and in a more expansive way, extending beyond the physical self, recognizing that we are all connected, all ONE. To truly love the self, one must love all because we are everything. I had an intellectual understanding of that spiritual sort of love, but it never went farther than that. It never permeated my four-body system. On those occasions when I am able to embrace that feeling, I feel more balanced. That feeling is spread evenly between the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual bodies, so much so that I find myself crying at just about everything—sad things, happy things, silly or nonsensical things, mundane things, cruel things, ugly things, and evil things. I cry because I can feel the love in all of it, yes, even in the bad, the ugly, and the evil things. Again, the love is in the opportunity to learn from the experience. This recognition is prominent in the energy of my four-body system now more than ever before. With that prominence comes a transitioning of who I am. I have no idea at this point what or who that is, but it will come, and when it does, I will never mention it again. I will just be it.

PHOTOS

MY PORT SITE