It’s official! Just short of 2 years after beginning the process, I’m finally, officially, a Permanent Resident of Brazil!

Why this is so awesome:

• Cause it is.
• Now I can have a bank account and a driver’s license. I’m still waiting for my Resident Gift Bag, but I’m sure it’s on the way.
• As far as we know, we’re the 4th gay couple for whom the spouse has been granted citizenship as a result of our legal marriage in the US.
• They can’t kick me out. Not unless I do something really, really naughty. And not even then. I’d just go to jail. Which is highly, highly unlikely…

I had no idea that I’d be this excited.

Woooo-hoooooooo! OBA!

Related posts: 

• Brazilian Healthcare System and LGBT Rights
• Everything’s Gonna Be Fine, Fine, Fine
• Green Card Dementors.

What Happens When You Do Everything “Right” and Still Get Sick?.

I’m making the first of five rounds of coffee, thinking of our upcoming trip to see Joao de Deus. What will I ask him this time? I put a big pot of hot water on the stove to boil the utensils, and then I remember. The last time I visited, I asked for assistance with my lifelong struggle with living in the present.

I laugh at the thought. Here I am, fully absorbed in the tasks of Helena’s healing—a protocol so rigid that all one can do is to take each day one minute at a time. Scrub the carrots, chop the carrots, make the juice, add supplements, drink. Wash the juicer, check the next round of greens, put more coffee on the stove.

There are relatively few moments of down time in our life these days, but we’ve learned to adapt to the schedule so that we can get in a 30 minute walk at least once a day. We read passages of books aloud, working to understand how and why and now. We talk while we chop, and sometimes we just breathe and do. There is only now.

Yesterday fear made a nest in my head.

I cried off and on throughout the day, thinking only the very worst thoughts. By 5:00 pm  I was miserable—and our schedule was completely thrown off as a result. Nothing could shake it.

In Helena’s online course, Difficult People and Other Angels, she coaches participants to understand the messages behind challenging relationships. People learn to look for the gifts in each challenging life experience. Yesterday, I couldn’t find a single one.

Then, just before bed, I remembered Eckhart Tolle’s wisdom:

Worry pretends to be necessary but serves no useful purpose.

It was like a slap in the face. If I look at it moment by moment, our life is exceptionally beautiful. Yes, the way we spend our time has changed, but we’re spending more time together than ever before. The conversations we’re having require me to grow in ways I’d never intended or expected. In between, I spend much of my time in quiet ritual, which has become my new form of meditation.

Thinking “What if?” promotes guilt and remorse. “What next?” Worry and fear. Fully living Right Now means giving full attention to the sacredness of my life. Now is everything.

I am thinking of this as the dogs burst into the kitchen. While I was lost in thought, they discovered a ripe mango under the tree. Mina has learned to wait for them to drop, and it is an ecstatic experience every single time she finds one. She drops it on the mat and looks up at me with expectation of gratitude and praise.

I kneel and give thanks for the gift.

Just for Today

Just for today, do not worry.
Just for today, do not anger.
Just for today, be grateful.
Just for today, work honestly.
Just for today, be kind to others.

–The Five Reiki Principles, BY DR.MIKAO USUI

YOUR TURN

Today, as you revel in the beauty that is your life, allow yourself to fully experience each moment. Breathe it in great gulps, savoring the deliciousness of NOW. Later–not now–send me a note and tell me about it.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called,” they said meekly. “I didn’t know what to say.”

It’s easier than you think. Here’s our Top 3 List. We kept things simple:

1. I’m so sorry.

2. How are you doing?

3. How are you feeling?

After that, the pressure’s off. All you have to do is listen. Really listen.

More Recommendations

• Be positive. You can say things like: “You’re so wonderful—I know that if anyone can handle this, you can.”
• Speak from your heart. Don’t be afraid to say what you feel. Tell them how much you love them, how much they mean to you, and how you feel about them. If you cry, that’s OK too. Just say what you mean, as long as it doesn’t cross the line between being supportive and making it about you. (See below.)
• Be supportive. Tell them, “I’m here for you,” and mean it. Don’t feel like you have to promise things you can’t do or offer advice. Being fully emotionally present is more than enough.
  
• Be yourself. One of my favorite emails was from a longtime friend who began the email with a list of expletives. 

“Fuck, shit and fucking fuck. I guess I’m not as evolved as all of your other pals, and miracles are more your department than mine….but I am sure as shit in the market for one all of a sudden. FUCK!”

You know what? She’s right. It DOES suck. And I fucking admired the fact that she was willing to let it all hang out…I laughed my fucking ass off when I read it, and that was just what I fucking needed at the moment.

Of course, if it’s more your style to offer prayers, light, love, or rainbow sparkles with glitter on top…DO IT. Be your most authentic self.

• Don’t make it about you. A friend told us that when she shared the news with her best friend, she responded: “I’m having the worst month…and now this!” This isn’t about you.
• Talk to the caregiver. They need support, too. Check in to see how they’re doing from time to time.
• Don’t feel like you have to DO anything…although the “What to Do” list is coming up! Just be present.

NOTE: I’m hopeful that this list could be helpful when someone is grieving the loss of a loved one or any traumatic event.

Got  more recommendations? I’d love to hear them.

I wake early to begin my day of research. The main reason for our excitement after watching Curing Cancer From the Inside Out is that The Gerson Therapy is so clearly in alignment with the way we live. Instead of focusing on the disease (or dis-ease, as Louise Hay calls it), the Gerson Therapy treats the body as a whole. If you give the body what it needs, it can heal itself.

One of the amazing “coincidences” is that we already had two books about the Gerson Therapy on our bookshelf! Helena snuggles up in a big chair to read while I read reviews, testimonials, and research about the effectiveness of this treatment. Here’s what I learned:

History

• 

  Dr. Max Gerson

  The Gerson Therapy was developed by German Dr. Max Gerson in the 1920′s. The therapy was initially developed as a diet to treat migraines, and during this time he learned that it was also effective in treating tuberculosis. In a carefully monitored clinical trial conducted at the Munich University Hospital, 446 out of 450 skin tuberculosis patients treated with the Gerson diet recovered completely.

• His most famous patient was Dr. Albert Schweitzer, whom Gerson cured of advanced diabetes when Schweitzer was 75. Schweitzer returned to his African hospital, won the Nobel prize, and worked past age 90. Schweitzer wrote:

“I see in Dr. Gerson one of the most eminent geniuses in the history of medicine.”

–Dr. Albert Schweitzer, Nobel Prize Winner

• During WWII, Dr. Gerson and his family escaped Nazi Germany and moved to New York, where he was licensed to practice in 1938. For the next 20 years, he began treating cancer patients with the “radical” theory that diet could affect health–that chronic disease could be cured through nutrition.
• In 1958, after thirty years of clinical experimentation, Gerson published A Cancer Therapy: Results of 50 Cases.The book details the theories, treatment, and results achieved during his lifetime.
• In 1959, Dr. Gerson died of pneumonia, although I found other reports that there was evidence of arsenic poisoning during an illness the previous year.
• In 1977, Dr. Gerson’s daughter Charlotte opened the Charlotte Gerson Health Restoration Center in Mexico so that patients can learn the basic theory and preparation the Gerson Diet in person.

*Much of this information was found on The Gerson Institute’s website.

How does the Gerson Therapy work?

What I love about this therapy is that it’s fundamentally rooted in science–really brilliant science. I’ll get into some of the really nerdy stuff later (which I’ve been known to totally “geek out” on). For today, here are the two basic strategies for cure.

1. Detox

The Gerson Therapy is designed to remove all of the toxins from the body. Toxins create cancer and impede the body’s natural ability to heal. The therapy includes an organic vegetarian diet (done!) and five coffee enemas per day (what??!!), which cleanse the liver and the blood from all toxins. In addition, sugar, fat, salt, and alcohol are eliminated from the diet, because all of these “feed” cancer. (I’ll get into very specific details about each of these in future posts.)

2. Build the immune system

The main theory and success behind the Gerson Therapy is that cancer is an autoimmune disease. By eliminating toxins and super strengthening the immune system, the body will return to its natural state of health, and will have the ability to fight the cancer without the use of toxic chemicals, which actually inhibit the immune system. Patients drink 13 juices a day and take a sackful of nutritional supplements.

organic carrot juice

Making Contact

I end my first day of research by sending an email to The Gerson Institute in San Diego, CA, to find out what kind of support we could get here in Brazil. The institute has clinics in Mexico and Hungary, but flying to Mexico for 2 weeks just isn’t in the budget. We grow all of the ingredients needed to do this therapy right here on our farm. It just makes sense.

You can learn more information about Gerson Institute on Facebook.

Movie Night

Thanks to YouTube, we’re able to watch many films right here on the farm. The Gerson Miracle is one of the first we watched. Although the opening credits remind me of the beginning of Young Frankenstein, the film gives a great overview of what we’re up to:

Quotables

“Life is amazing. There is no way I could have done this without the support and love of my family and friends. Those who challenge me just made me really dig in to my research, and made me justify even more that I KNOW what I am doing is right, and is working. I am so thankful for those who did question my motives on this therapy, mainly because I know they care. They care enough to make sure I do what will heal me, and because of the challenge, I did find what would best heal me, and it has proven itself, yet again.” –Marcia Schaefer, our friend who cured two types of cancer after using the Gerson Therapy for 10 months

The effects of cancer treatment are often worse than the disease itself and frequently hasten death rather than prevent it. A 33-year study by the late Dr. Hardin Jones, Professor of Medical Physics University of California, found that “untreated cancer victims live up to four times longer than treated individuals.” (The Betrayal of Health by Dr. Joseph Beasley)

“Cancer patients who undergo radiation therapy have a 20 per cent higher mortality rate than non-radiated ones.” (The Lancet, Summer 1998).

“A cancer patient who is subjected to both chemotherapy and radiation risks getting secondary tumours 25 times the normal rate.” (The Cancer Industry by Ralph Moss, PhD.)

Related articles

• 5-Year Survival Rates of Melanoma Patients Treated by Diet Therapy After the Manner of Gerson
   (Gerson Research Organization)
• Healing the Gerson Way (madisonhollandfoundation.com)
• Your body the healer (aboundingwellness.wordpress.com)
• The Anti-Cancer Diet : Cancer Fighting Foods and Spices (blissreturned.wordpress.com)

9:00 am

When Gilvania doesn’t arrive for work at 8:30, I wonder if she’s taken her first sick day since she began working with us a year and a half ago. When we call she is quiet and evasive. We ask her to come back to work only when she’s ready.

I get online and get to work. My first search is “anal cancer, prognosis.”

The most concise article is from the UK, and a quick scan provides the following:

• Anal cancer is an uncommon malignancy, accounting for only about 4% of all cancers of the lower alimentary tract.
• 80% of anal cancers are squamous cell carcinomas. (Check.)
• Radiation therapy alone may lead to a five-year survival rate in excess of 70%, although high doses may be required and cause necrosis or fibrosis.

Wait, what? Five year survival rate? That’s it?

I keep reading.

Under prognosis, I find the following:

• Anal cancer is usually curable. The three major prognostic factors are site (anal margin tumours are better differentiated and have a better prognosis than anal canal tumours), size (primary tumours less than 2 cm in size have better prognoses), and lymph node status.
• Radiation therapy, given as external-beam or brachytherapy, has a cure rate of 70-90% in selected patients. The cure rate is about 50% for those with tumours larger than 5 cm or if lymph nodes are involved.
• The reported five-year survival rate following surgery is 40-70%.

My heart sinks. Helena has an undifferentiated tumor and it’s larger than 5 cm. We won’t know about the lymph nodes until we get the results of next week’s MRI.

And what’s with this five year survival rate statistic?

What happens after five years?

Helena calls me from the dining room where she’s been doing her own research. She’s come across a support site for women with anal cancer. Of the members of the group who have had surgery, chemo and radiation, 100% of them will be using colostomy bags for the rest of their lives. They describe, in graphic detail, the effects of the radiation. One woman described that the walls of her vaginal and anal canals are now “fused,” and she is in constant pain.

Helena points to the screen and says, “Are you looking at this?”

I nod. “So basically you end up with a cu-ceta.” (In Portuguese, “cu” is slang for ass, and “buceta” is slang for vagina. I combined them to create one word.)

We laugh at my pun, but it’s not funny.

3:00 pm

We continue our research well into the afternoon until I finally call it off. Enough’s enough.

We make a late lunch but neither of us can eat, so we go to bed.

Helena cries, asking me, “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know yet,” I respond. “We just need to keep asking for answers.”

When we wake, it’s dark outside. For about five hours we sit on the couch, alternating between crying and silence. This makes no sense. We always said that if either of us got sick, we’d never use traditional medicine…too barbaric, too medieval. We’ve always believed that if you give it what it needs, the body can heal itself.

But sometimes fear is stronger than reason.

“Maybe we should just do it,” Helena says. “Let’s just do the radiation and see if it works.”

We cry and cry, and cry some more, and then I agree. Yes. This is what we need to do. We will be aggressive about this.

9:00 pm

We make a big dinner, which neither of us eats, and then Helena goes to the bookshelf and pulls out a video that my father brought with him from the US when he visited 2 months ago: Healing Cancer From the Inside Out. When they visited we were in the middle of a series of back-to-back retreats, so we put it on the shelf and didn’t think of it again.

Within the first 10 minutes, we are looking at each other in disbelief:

It’s midnight when the film finishes, and we’re full of more energy than we’ve had in five days.

“This is what I’m doing,” she says. “There’s no question.”

I hold her hands and look into her eyes. She’s practically dancing with excitement.

“I believe this can work,” I tell her. “I know we can do this.”

“We WILL do this,” she corrects me. “I’m going to cure this!”

For the first time in five days, I feel hope.

Want more?

Listen to this interview with Mike Anderson, the director of Healing Cancer from the Inside Out. In it, he very clearly explains what the “five year survival rate” statistic means:

Related articles

• Day 1: Diagnosis (liveyourbliss.wordpress.com)
• Chemo Kills, Cancer Doesn’t! (mschaeferdc.wordpress.com)
• Helena’s Healing Circle (helenashealingcircle.wordpress.com)

Hora de Madrugada

We barely sleep, taking turns listening to the sound of each other breathing. Although we’re back in the bed where we spent the first 3 months of our life in Brazil, the nighttime sounds of Copacabana are unsettling. I pray in 30 second bursts throughout the night.

7:00 am

I walk to a corner market to buy the massive amounts of Gatorade that Helena’s required to drink before the colonoscopy. We called the office and asked whether she could drink agua de coco instead (coconut water is also packed full of electrolytes), but they insist. Again, I ask myself: “Why are we doing this?”

It’s more information, that’s all.

2:00 pm

We arrive early for the appointment. The nurse tells me that the entire procedure will take about an hour and a half. I kiss Helena and hold her arms before she goes in, wishing her sweet dreams.

I sit down to wait. I ask for guidance for the doctor, calm for Helena, and I pray for the other anxious families, wishing them peace with whatever the results may be.

I look at my watch and only 3 minutes have passed. I jiggle my foot for another minute, then tell the receptionist that I’ll be back.

When I emerge from the cool building I am momentarily stunned by blinding sunlight. I feel the tears well, put on my sunglasses, and continue walking. A corner stand is selling the bitter Italian lemon ice that I loved as a kid, and I give in to the momentary comfort of the familiar flavor. There’s a large park across the street and I walk to the very center, where I sit at the base of a large statue to rest and wait.

That’s when I remember that it’s Thanksgiving Day in the US, and I’ve forgotten to call my parents. The tears come, and I struggle for about 20 seconds before pushing them back. If I let it all go, I’m afraid I won’t stop.

I pray and pray and pray, knowing that I will not make bargains with God. We chose this path— long before we ever met. One day we’ll understand.

I remove my glasses and squint up at the sun, waiting. There will be no answers today.

When I return to the office an hour later, they tell me that Helena is ready. They lead me to a recovery room where I find her looking remarkably radiant. “I finally got some rest!” she laughs. We wait and talk, and then the doctor calls us into his office to review the results.

I can see from his face that the results aren’t good. He his serious but kind as he tells us that the tumor is very large, and most certainly inoperable. I hold Helena’s hand and ask him if it’s spread. He shows us the photos and says, no, he doesn’t think that it’s spread to the intestines.

“So this is good news,” I comment, looking him directly in the eye.

“Yes,” he says, looking down. “It’s very treatable by radiotherapy if it’s contained to the site of the tumor.”

I squeeze Helena’s hand, and in her eyes, I see fear.

“It’s treatable,” I remind her. “This is good news.”

We ask a few more questions, but I can feel that there’s something the doctor isn’t saying.

6:00 pm

We make our way back up the mountain.

Related articles

• Day 1: Diagnosis (liveyourbliss.wordpress.com)

Wednesday, November 23

8:30 am

When Gilvania arrives for work I know that I can’t keep this news from her. She could see that something was wrong when we tore out of the house on Monday morning, barely speaking to her or one another.

Helena is still in bed and I don’t have the heart to tell Gilvania that it’s cancer. Instead, I tell her that we’re going to be taking a lot of tests during the next few weeks to find out what’s wrong with Helena. She nods seriously, and asks me:

“Is it cancer?”

I can’t meet her eyes. “We’re not sure yet.”

“Ela não tem uma cara de cancer,” she tells me. “She doesn’t have the face of cancer.”

“É verdade,” I agree. “Ela não tem.”

We don’t say it, but we both know that she knows.

3:00 pm

Helena’s procedure is scheduled for Thursday but we’ll need to spend the night in Rio so that she can drink all of the required potions to prepare for the procedure. Gilvania makes us an enormous lunch and packs up some greens for afternoon smoothies, and we wind our way back down the mountain.

8:00 am

We begin the day with a prayer, and then we begin making the calls.

The colonoscopy isn’t covered by our provider, and it will cost almost $1,700 Reals (about $1,000 US)  out-of-pocket. Dr. Roberto told us that this isn’t a procedure that can be done by just anyone, which is why he recommended his friend. We look at the checking account, debate for about 30 seconds, and decide to go ahead and do it. It’s more information.

The radio/chemo treatment center in Rio isn’t covered by our insurance plan. The doctor told us that the machines in Petropolis are old and outdated. The drive to Rio is almost 2 hours. If we do this, we’ll need to find a place to stay in Rio during the 2 months of treatment. The cost will be about $20,000 Reals, not including food and the cost of our employees‘ salaries.

I can see the panic in Helena’s eyes, and I remind her,

“We don’t have to decide this today. Any of it. Today, all we’re doing is scheduling appointments.”

3:00 pm

I feel helpless. These days my Portuguese is strong enough to carry on a good conversation, but to navigate the labyrinth of the insurance machine is well beyond my abilities. I see her frustration building, and I watch, wondering how we came to this place.

Over the past five years, we tried every natural approach possible (we changed our diet, used natural oils, herbs, and salves) before resorting to 3 different allopathic doctors. “Just a rash,” they told us.

Then I remember a conversation we had about 3 months ago when her condition suddenly became much worse.

“What if it’s cancer?”

“No,” I assured her. “It’s not cancer.”

How I wish I could take those words back. It’s the greatest stumbling block of every psychic—we can’t read ourselves. I believe that this is because knowing would take away our lessons, and I know that I will learn many through this process.

Which is why I’m paying attention to that “still, small voice” that keeps asking me:

“Are you sure that this is the right approach?”

I run a website with Echo Bodine that teaches people about listening to their intuition, and here I am, questioning mine. We’d always said that if either us were diagnosed with cancer, we’d never consider chemo.

This just doesn’t feel right.

8:00 p.m.

After dinner I put Helena on the massage table and place my hands on her heart. The tears come and I hold her while she cries, praying for guidance. My Healing Team appears and we work with her. We stay like this until the mood transforms.

I am certain that whatever happens, one day, we will understand the reason. We are not alone.

November 21, 2011:  Monday

7:30 am

I make the first cup of coffee while Helena checks her email. We’re road-weary but happy—after almost 2 years without a true vacation, we spent the last five days in Parati, our favorite beach town. It rained the whole time, but it didn’t matter. We filled the weekend wandering the cobblestone streets, browsing galleries, eating, and listening to samba.

I am thinking of this when Helena lets out a cry in the next room.

“Amor,” she calls, “Vem cá.“

I will always remember this moment as the dividing line before before and after.

10:30 am

We drive down the mountains in torrential rain, headed for the doctor’s office in Rio. When Helena called his office with the biopsy results, the doctor immediately  cleared space in his schedule to meet with us.

As we navigate the switchback turns through the Serra dos Órgãos, I grip Helena’s leg. We drive in uncharacteristic silence, too numb to speak.

1:00 pm:  First Opinion

Helena hands Dr. Antonio the biopsy results across the desk, and after a 10-second glance he looks at his hands, draws in a short breath, and says,

“Well then. You’ll need to start chemotherapy and radiation immediately. The sooner the better.”

Helena and I glance at each other in alarm. My voice shaking, I ask the doctor in Portuguese, “Isn’t there a possibility that it could be something else?” I know it’s a stupid question, but I ask it anyway.

He looks at me only briefly, and in that split-second I know everything that I need to know. He shakes his head, no. “It’s a very large tumor,” he responds. “There’s no question about it.”

Hot, silent tears burn my cheeks. I brush them away when I see that Helena, too, is crying. She’s in shock, so I clear my throat and ask the doctor more questions about staging and prognosis. He begins writing prescriptions for an MRI, a PET scan, colonoscopy, more blood work.

I ask a few more questions, but the doctor is clearly uncomfortable. Why?

I consider asking him. Instead, I gather our bags. Without looking at us, Dr. Antonio slides a prescription for chemo/radio across the wooden desk. “Call me when you’ve finished the treatment.”

5:00:  Second Opinion

Dr. Roberto comes very highly recommended–a published author and researcher with a high record of treating benign and cancerous tumors. He’s not covered by our insurance, but we’ve decided to pay out-of-pocket for a half an hour of his time to see if we can get more information.

Image via Wikipedia

The office is sleek and chic, situated in a high-rise building overlooking Ipanema Beach. It’s a brilliant spring day, and as we wait for the doctor, I think of the time when I was 16 and I swam from the Vermont side of Lake Champlain to New York. I absently wonder how long it would take to swim from Copacabana Beach to Leblon.

This time when the doctor reads the results it’s different. He looks up from the paper and his blue eyes are full of compassion.

“Do you understand the results?” he asks kindly.

Helena and I look at each other and nod. He talks with us for more than an hour, explaining the prognosis for Helena’s type of cancer, which is a very rare form of anal-rectal cancer. It’s through this conversation that we learn that because of the size and location, the tumor is inoperable.

My heart sinks and my mind goes to a dark place. I will myself to surface.

He recommends a chemo/radio treatment center, but explains that we’ll need to find a place to live in Rio for at least a month. Then he does something unexpected. He calls in a favor to another doctor–a friend of his who he’d recommend to provide the colonoscopy. When he hangs up the phone, he says, “They can take you this week. If you leave now, you can make it before their office closes at 7:00.”

Before we leave, Dr. Roberto hugs each of us goodbye. “Boa sorte.“ he says.

6:45 p.m.

The black and white tiled sidewalks of Ipanema are full of people heading home from work or out for drinks. We scurry through the streets, searching for the number of the office building. “There–number 705!” I call to Helena.

We sign in at the reception desk downstairs and I catch my reflection in the mirror. She looks back at me, hard. “Think you can handle this?”

I mentally flip her the bird. She knows I can.

Within 10 minutes, Helena’s appointment is scheduled: Thursday at 2:00 pm. We wearily walk back to the car to begin the long ride through Rio traffic and back up the mountain.

11:30 pm

When we finally fall into bed, there are no words. When she begins to cry, it’s as though she will never stop. We cry together and I rock her, promising that I will never leave.

It will be more than four weeks before I cry again.