Breast Cancer as a Messenger from the Soul, Continued

Saying NO to Adriamycin, Radiation and Tamoxifen

Through a series of unexpected blessings and synchronicities, I wound up being treated by a well-known, Greenwich, Connecticut, integrative oncologist. His treatment plan called for twenty-four, “gentled-down” infusions of the standard-stage-three-breast-cancer-approved chemicals. Chemotherapy was to be followed by weeks of radiation treatment and a lifetime regimen of Tamoxifen, the anti-estrogen “flavor-of-the-day.” I was also put on a nutrition and supplement program which would help protect my body while facilitating the work of the chemicals.

For the first four treatments, I traveled merrily back and forth from the Bronx to Greenwich, Connecticut without a hitch. What on earth, I wondered could those other women who were undergoing chemotherapy possibly be complaining about? I felt great. I returned to facilitating my meditation and creative expression workshops for women and even took on an assignment editing and rewriting two children’s books. I was once more on top of my game. I lived a day at a time, put one foot carefully before the other and did not allow myself to think about how my body was going to survive twenty-four weeks of poisons coursing through my veins. I dared not let my imagination venture into radiation and Tamoxifen territory.

For weeks I lolled happily along the shores of “De Nile.” And then, Adriamycin—also known as the “red devil”—and I crossed paths. Something deep and visceral stirred within after that fifth chemo treatment—which was the first dose of Adriamycin—my body’s introduction to the “devilish” one. Our meeting took place on a Friday morning. I lay in bed that night sensing the approach of death. I felt as if my body…my very organs were exhausted. It felt as if all body systems were giving up the fight and preparing to shut down. This last assault upon it appeared to be more than my weakened and compromised immune system could take. Believe me; it wasn’t about losing my hair. How vain. Hair grows back. But could my heart repair itself? Could damaged nerves in my extremities regenerate? I lay awake for hours feeling the havoc that the new poison was wreaking in its ravaging journey through my body.

The warning came suddenly—during that hypnogogic period just before one dozes off. It hit me in the solar plexus: “Chemotherapy will kill you. Find a way to rebuild your immune system. Do not further destroy it.” The message was clear and direct; a dictum from Whatever It was that I communed with in the Silence each day. I prayed that night as I’d never prayed before. I asked Whatever It was that I felt stirring within my heart to show me what to do—instead of chemotherapy. I asked It to answer me in such a way that I would be certain that these words of warning were not simply my fear speaking.

I received a clear and unmistakable answer upon awakening the next morning.

Ask, Seek, Knock—Believing—and You Shall Be Answered

My eyes popped open at six a.m. the next morning, instead of the usual ten o’clock. I reached over, still half asleep as I turned on the radio. My fingers had a mind of their own as they dialed in a station I hadn’t listened to in years. A familiar Jamaican accent greeted my ears:

“You brothers and sisters up here in da’ northeast Bronx need to come on over to the Bronx Gardens Community Center at 4:00 p.m. dis afternoon. We gon’ show a video called Cancer Don’t Scare Me No More...”

Any lingering doubt I’d had about answered prayer quickly dissolved as I sat at four p.m. that Saturday afternoon watching Dr. Lorraine Day’s video. Dr. Day is an orthopedic surgeon who had refused surgery, chemotherapy, radiation and medication of any kind when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. After watching the video I knew there were two things I would do: one—order the follow-up video in which Dr. Day fully outlines the ten-step, natural—and free of cost—except for food—regimen that had brought her from imminent death to a state of full and vibrant health which was very apparent in the video; and two—call my oncologist to cancel all remaining chemo and other cancer treatment appointments.

I had received my answer. I knew in a deep-in-the-gut way that I was now choosing life over death. I could feel the Forces of Life rallying within. Cancer didn’t stand a chance. When I called my doctor’s office that Monday morning to cancel all remaining appointments, the nurse said nervously, “Uh, hold on a minute, Toni. I think Dr. X might want to talk to you.” I held on for a moment or so before she returned to the telephone. “Dr. X asked that you keep this Friday’s appointment so that the two of you may talk.”

And so, Dr. X and I met and talked that Friday afternoon. He did not argue when I told him that it made no logical sense for me to continue destroying what remained of my already challenged immune system in order to chase down a few rogue cancer cells that may or may not have escaped the mastectomy knife and the five chemo treatments I’d already completed. He could not disagree that we all have cancer cells in our bodies from time to time; and that if our immune systems are working the way they were designed to work—compromised by stress, poor diet, the environment and the emotional chaos of just living life—it would take care of those “bad boy” cells in a New York minute. I explained that I was now going to focus all of my energy, time and monetary resources on the re-building of my devastated immune system instead of declaring further war upon it. I got no argument from the good doctor. His only request was that I continue seeing him every three months so that he could monitor me. We shook hands on it. (That was seven years ago.)

Dr. X. told me a year or so ago that my body was ten years younger than my chronological age. To date, I do not suffer any of the so-called diseases of aging that too many African Americans accept as part of our heritage, i.e., high blood pressure, arthritis and diabetes. I don’t feel a day over thirty-five and according to most others, I look far younger than my seventy-six years. And yes, the above photo is recent—a selfie I took in 2014.

More to come!

Continue following your heart!