I’m thoroughly enjoying being alive. I mean I really really love it. I feel grateful for every day that I wake up.
I’m experiencing presence on steroids - all my senses are switched ON. I feel more alive than I’ve ever felt. One day this week I was making my morning tea and I felt so ridiculously, utterly, ecstatic at how fantastic this life is, I found myself crying.
I particularly love the early mornings and the dusk/night-times. Often I sit on my balcony and just enjoy the experience of being and feeling alive. I wish I could bottle this feeling, this knowledge, and give it away.
I feel better physically too. It’s been weeks since I last had chemo and I can feel and see the difference. I feel more like myself, my hair is growing back, and I look much less skeletal. The physical trauma that was apparent in my eyes - the scream of my central nervous system processing poison - has gone too.
At the same time, flashes of fear, anxiety, or grief come at me hard. Or I feel dizzy and out of breath and have to ask a friend to call me in the morning to make sure I didn’t cark it in the night.
Getting the balance right between, on the one hand, feeling all your feelings and being open to any wisdom they might be shining a light on - and on the other hand being focussed on life and staying alive, is a challenge that requires constant navigation. Sometimes you need to cry and acknowledge the reality of what you’re facing. Other times you need to stop your mind from carrying you away into dark places that don’t help you.
When I got my blood results this week, the lab had accidentally done an ovarian cancer test, which led to an email landing in my inbox telling me I had ovarian cancer. I spent the day re-calibrating my life plan, and trying to stay calm. If it’s true what do I do? Anyway, the next day I got an email from my oncologist saying it was a mistake. Not the funnest day I’ve ever had.
I feel that I’m in limbo. I’m not doing any formal medical treatment other than hormone therapy (Arimidex) because I needed a break from the IV chemo. I’m not seeing my oncologist my for a month, which means no data - no scans, no bloodwork - and no contact with anyone who feels responsible for helping me. It’s a contradiction: you’re sick of treatment and hospitals, but in a weird way being in the system is comforting. Now it’s me sitting at home on my own with a cancer that is my responsibility to heal, which is quite surreal.
Finding a way through this is now my full-time job. I remind myself constantly that there are people who heal from stage 4 cancer. There are.
As there isn’t much left in the medical repertoire for where I’m at I’m having to look elsewhere for solutions. I think you could call this the ‘throwing the kitchen sink at it’ phase. Everything that I’ve ever read that helped somebody somewhere cure their cancer - I’m doing it.
I’ve never talked about my treatments or protools before, as I’ve never felt that it’s my role to give medical advice. Rather, my purpose has always been to empower women to navigate the emotional and spiritual rollercoaster. I’m about the rite of passage, the spiritual challenges. But now I am where I am, it’s an important part of the story.
I’ve started doing THC - the psychoactive component from cannabis. There are many who say it’s cured their cancer - because it kills the stem cell (chemo doesn’t is my understanding). So I’m trying it and now I’m stoned all the time because you have to use a ton of it to get any therapeutic effect. This means that sometimes it’s fun and giggly and mellow, and other times it induces hideous anxiety. One day I got a bit ambitious with the dosage, and almost had a full-blown panic attack. But hey ho. My oncologist says there’s no evidence it works, but I don’t have anything to lose.
I’m also diving into a bunch of off-label meds and supplements that are well-documented, just not by the medical establishment. My oncologist says none of these things are proven either. Again, nothing to lose.
This is not medical advice, etc etc etc. Just my story.
I’m implementing more diet/food changes. I radically changed my diet when I was diagnosed - no sugar, no processed food, no meat, no dairy. I juice celery every morning and eat broccoli and spinach for breakfast every day, that’s how healthy my diet is now. But I thought there might be more I could do, so I had a meeting with a dietician.
It’s the first time ever that I’ve been told to put more weight on. Until recently I’d lost 8kg, which is too much - my jeans are falling off, and the body needs sustenance. So now I’m force-feeding, which goes against years of programming.
Also, my bloods show I’m too low on protein, so am trying to get excited about the addition of tempeh to my diet, because when you’re doing almost vegan/pescatarian your healthy protein options are limited. Tempeh is very very hard to get excited about. It tastes of nothing. And most of the things you can use to make it taste of something are on my forbidden list.
I meditate for hours every day.
Mostly I’m focussed on giving my central nervous system permission to power down, and coaxing my body’s self-healing mechanism to power up. We all go searching for the reason for our cancer, and when I did that, I realised that I’ve lived almost a whole life on overdrive. Pushing myself too hard. Chasing the false gods of money and success, for the wrong reasons. The thing is, my system is so used to living at this high voltage she’s now stuck there, and this is a catastrophe for the immune system.
So every day, and all through the day, I’m gently talking to my body, telling her that we’re safe. That it’s safe to heal. And I’ve made a life a new life too, these last 7 months, a life that is slow and simple, which is what my body has wanted for a long time I now realise. It’s a relief. I don’t miss being a maniac who gets up at 5am to gym before doing a 10-12 hour workday.
And I keep on sending love to the cancer cells, whilst gracefully ushering them out the building.
Something massive is happening to me in this process. I feel less and less connected to the world, and it’s various illusions. I’ve cut loose everything I was carrying from the past. It’s all gone, as if it never happened. None of it matters and it never did, and there’s no benefit to me in hanging on to any of it. I feel emptied out. I feel a deep peace. This is my eye of a needle moment - when the price of admission to the next level is letting go of everything that meant something at this level.
Sending love as always xxx
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Dear Jane, thank you for the regular updates. Always uplifting to hear where you are at and what you have discovered. So profound what you are saying about how hard it is to change gear and live a simple life. And I laughed for joy reading how much you love being alive. As always, I wish you all the very best and may the kitchen sink do the trick. Love love and more love (because ... what else?) Carmen
Hi Jane, I believe you're on the right path, especially regarding the lifestyle changes and allowing your body to heal itself. Conventional therapy can be brutal, and also plays havoc with the immune system which every cancer patient needs in order to recover. I can relate to your comments regarding THC - gives my body strange sensations and makes me feel a tad anxious too at times, but I know it's an important part of my arsenal to get well and every day I feel I'm feeling stronger. I love my rebounder too! Dusted mine off after I received my diagnosis and it gets a good workout. Also go for long walks by the beach which are soothing for the soul. I believe that one day you'll look back and see what a blessing this experience has been. Your body knows you love her and will do what she needs to get you well again. Sending lots of healing love, Carmel. xo