Loosely based on a true story...
My mind reeled as I stepped out of the doctor’s office. This couldn’t be happening… Realistically, it wasn’t entirely unexpected, my family had a history of cancer diagnoses, beginning with my aunt who died of leukemia before her third birthday up until the most recent diagnosis of malignant basal cells that had to be removed from my dad’s neck. Nevertheless, no one is truly prepared for the news that they have less than a year to live. My thoughts were interrupted by my mother approaching from the waiting room. “Well,” she said, “do they know what’s going on?” That’s when the tears started. They didn’t stop for a long time.
When I was finally capable of rational thought a few days later, my mind hearkened back to a story I had read in the news a few months beforehand. A man named Rhio O’Connor had been diagnosed with pleural mesothelioma, a cancer of the mesothelium or the membrane that ensconces most of the body’s internal organs. Like most cancers, it caused the cells of the infected tissue to divide unnaturally quickly and had the devastating potential to metastasize (spread) to other parts of the body. Rhio, like me, was given only a year to live. In spite of this dire prognosis, Mr. O’Connor had refused to give up without a fight. He had done extensive research about his mesothelioma and how it could practically be managed. In fact, he had even written a book, They Said Months, I Chose Years: A Mesothelioma Survivor’s Story, explaining his research methods and findings that contributed to his amazing longevity. Against all odds, Mr. O’Connor survived seven years and six months after the diagnosis. His courage, determination, and discipline inspired me and I decided to do a little research for myself.
Because my family had a history of dealing with this dreaded disease, I decided to turn to the most obvious sources first. My mom had been diagnosed with a form of ovarian cancer in 1992. I didn’t really remember any of the medical steps she and my dad decided to take, but I knew that she had survived and there would be wisdom in her advice. Also, my youngest cousin was diagnosed with an advanced Ewing’s sarcoma in August of 2006 and I had watched her family work through the process of researching the disease, talking with doctors, and selecting a treatment plan. I knew their resource base was extensive, so I decided to pull every string available to get the relevant information.
First, I needed to know the details about my particular cancer and how it was affecting my body. Fortunately, only two years ago I had taken a basic biology class from a professor whose primary interest was cancer research. Professor Alma was very enthusiastic in his explanations of recent findings in his field. I was sure that he would be able to give me a thumbnail sketch of what I was up against in language I would understand.
“So you’ve been diagnosed with a cancerous tumor?” he asked. “I’m so sorry, of course, I’d be happy to meet with you and share what I know. Would tomorrow work for you? We want to head this thing off as quickly as possible.”
I told him tomorrow would be fine, thank you, and I appreciated his help. Then I hung up the phone. The realization that this was really happening hit me once again and washed over me like a tidal wave. What if I wasn’t strong enough to fight this thing? What if I didn’t make it? I shook off the morbid doubts and concentrated on the other steps I could take.
I had already called my aunt and picked her brain for details in how they approached my cousin’s treatment. Like her, I too had gotten a second opinion and that doctor had verified the first prognosis: I was indeed dealing with a malignant Ewing’s tumor. Through speaking with my aunt and gaining the contacts they had made throughout the treatment process, I learned that Ewing’s was somewhat unique in that there is only one basic international protocol for this sarcoma. This left me with very few options; rather, I was simply looking to find where my particular case fit into the grid. Unfortunately, the tumor itself was inoperable, being located by nerve endings so vital; the doctors were unwilling to perform any resection. As I went for more scans, I gradually learned that the cancer had metastasized to my lungs; I was not only dealing with a tumor, but with “spots” as well.
The prognosis was grim. It was difficult to maintain a healthy optimism as I began the treatment dictated by the protocol. After discussing my case with two national specialists, my family and I had come to the conclusion that chemotherapy and radiation, the prescribed methods for dealing with these manifestations, were the best treatment option available, despite the knowledge that we needed to be treating stem cells. Unfortunately the only way to do that would be to remove them. To begin a protocol that targeted stem cells generally would spell disaster; it would not only kill the cancer, but me as well. There wasn’t yet an approved treatment for the cancerous stem cells specifically. Surgery, the ideal solution, was not an option and we were told that all we could do was hope for the best. It was about three months into the chemo rounds that I began to question the merit of these treatments. There was a very real possibility that I had only a few more months to live and the treatments were certainly diminishing my quality of life extensively. Every time I would return from a treatment, I would have violent reactions to the drugs, resulting in side effects like vomiting, muscle pain, and general malaise. Was it really worth the heartache? I felt like giving up.
But then I remembered Rhio, and I knew I had to continue the fight. I began searching for information and came across several important resources, including the CureSearch group, one of the largest childhood cancer research groups in the country. They had wonderful information for assisting patients to make decisions based on the facts, including NIH clinical trials. As I looked through pages and pages of clinical and scholarly research from the American Cancer Society, St. Jude’s Research Hospital, Children’s Cancer Web, and The Children’s Cancer Foundation, I decided that I needed a little encouragement. All the information about statistics and side effects were depressing my spirits just as much as the chemo was depressing my immune system. I looked back at the story of Rhio and the other survivor sections on some of the sites I had been using for my research. So many of these people promoted the idea of the body’s power to heal itself and alternative approaches to overcoming disease. This idea appealed to me on two levels: first, because for some patients, it had obviously worked and their quality of life had been much improved. Secondly, the natural methods and holistic approach had always fascinated me as I had planned to become an osteopathic doctor before this grievous interruption of my education. The osteopathic doctor believes that in order to effectively cure disease, one must treat the patient, not the symptoms. In other words, the goal of osteopathic medicine is to engender the optimal environment for the maintenance of a healthy body. I had always believed in these methods, so why wasn’t I pursuing them for myself?
Encouraged by the success stories of men and women, like Rhio and my cousin, I decided to research some natural immune supplements and present my findings to a D.O. with whom I had worked over the summer. He encouraged me to get a second opinion from a friend who was also a doctor and had dealt with a case similar to mine. With his help, I began a regimen that boosted my immune system and began to encourage my body to fight the cancer more effectively. I am proud to say that now, three years later, I am cancer-free and have beaten all the odds. In the midst of my research, I had hit a low point, discovering that my odds of survival, based on my age and other demographic information, were about 4%. But with the support of friends, family, my church, and a knowledgeable team of doctors, specialists, and natural health advisors, I have overcome and resumed my career as a premedical student hoping to matriculate to medical school in 2011.
My mind reeled as I stepped out of the doctor’s office. This couldn’t be happening… Realistically, it wasn’t entirely unexpected, my family had a history of cancer diagnoses, beginning with my aunt who died of leukemia before her third birthday up until the most recent diagnosis of malignant basal cells that had to be removed from my dad’s neck. Nevertheless, no one is truly prepared for the news that they have less than a year to live. My thoughts were interrupted by my mother approaching from the waiting room. “Well,” she said, “do they know what’s going on?” That’s when the tears started. They didn’t stop for a long time.
When I was finally capable of rational thought a few days later, my mind hearkened back to a story I had read in the news a few months beforehand. A man named Rhio O’Connor had been diagnosed with pleural mesothelioma, a cancer of the mesothelium or the membrane that ensconces most of the body’s internal organs. Like most cancers, it caused the cells of the infected tissue to divide unnaturally quickly and had the devastating potential to metastasize (spread) to other parts of the body. Rhio, like me, was given only a year to live. In spite of this dire prognosis, Mr. O’Connor had refused to give up without a fight. He had done extensive research about his mesothelioma and how it could practically be managed. In fact, he had even written a book, They Said Months, I Chose Years: A Mesothelioma Survivor’s Story, explaining his research methods and findings that contributed to his amazing longevity. Against all odds, Mr. O’Connor survived seven years and six months after the diagnosis. His courage, determination, and discipline inspired me and I decided to do a little research for myself.
Because my family had a history of dealing with this dreaded disease, I decided to turn to the most obvious sources first. My mom had been diagnosed with a form of ovarian cancer in 1992. I didn’t really remember any of the medical steps she and my dad decided to take, but I knew that she had survived and there would be wisdom in her advice. Also, my youngest cousin was diagnosed with an advanced Ewing’s sarcoma in August of 2006 and I had watched her family work through the process of researching the disease, talking with doctors, and selecting a treatment plan. I knew their resource base was extensive, so I decided to pull every string available to get the relevant information.
First, I needed to know the details about my particular cancer and how it was affecting my body. Fortunately, only two years ago I had taken a basic biology class from a professor whose primary interest was cancer research. Professor Alma was very enthusiastic in his explanations of recent findings in his field. I was sure that he would be able to give me a thumbnail sketch of what I was up against in language I would understand.
“So you’ve been diagnosed with a cancerous tumor?” he asked. “I’m so sorry, of course, I’d be happy to meet with you and share what I know. Would tomorrow work for you? We want to head this thing off as quickly as possible.”
I told him tomorrow would be fine, thank you, and I appreciated his help. Then I hung up the phone. The realization that this was really happening hit me once again and washed over me like a tidal wave. What if I wasn’t strong enough to fight this thing? What if I didn’t make it? I shook off the morbid doubts and concentrated on the other steps I could take.
I had already called my aunt and picked her brain for details in how they approached my cousin’s treatment. Like her, I too had gotten a second opinion and that doctor had verified the first prognosis: I was indeed dealing with a malignant Ewing’s tumor. Through speaking with my aunt and gaining the contacts they had made throughout the treatment process, I learned that Ewing’s was somewhat unique in that there is only one basic international protocol for this sarcoma. This left me with very few options; rather, I was simply looking to find where my particular case fit into the grid. Unfortunately, the tumor itself was inoperable, being located by nerve endings so vital; the doctors were unwilling to perform any resection. As I went for more scans, I gradually learned that the cancer had metastasized to my lungs; I was not only dealing with a tumor, but with “spots” as well.
The prognosis was grim. It was difficult to maintain a healthy optimism as I began the treatment dictated by the protocol. After discussing my case with two national specialists, my family and I had come to the conclusion that chemotherapy and radiation, the prescribed methods for dealing with these manifestations, were the best treatment option available, despite the knowledge that we needed to be treating stem cells. Unfortunately the only way to do that would be to remove them. To begin a protocol that targeted stem cells generally would spell disaster; it would not only kill the cancer, but me as well. There wasn’t yet an approved treatment for the cancerous stem cells specifically. Surgery, the ideal solution, was not an option and we were told that all we could do was hope for the best. It was about three months into the chemo rounds that I began to question the merit of these treatments. There was a very real possibility that I had only a few more months to live and the treatments were certainly diminishing my quality of life extensively. Every time I would return from a treatment, I would have violent reactions to the drugs, resulting in side effects like vomiting, muscle pain, and general malaise. Was it really worth the heartache? I felt like giving up.
But then I remembered Rhio, and I knew I had to continue the fight. I began searching for information and came across several important resources, including the CureSearch group, one of the largest childhood cancer research groups in the country. They had wonderful information for assisting patients to make decisions based on the facts, including NIH clinical trials. As I looked through pages and pages of clinical and scholarly research from the American Cancer Society, St. Jude’s Research Hospital, Children’s Cancer Web, and The Children’s Cancer Foundation, I decided that I needed a little encouragement. All the information about statistics and side effects were depressing my spirits just as much as the chemo was depressing my immune system. I looked back at the story of Rhio and the other survivor sections on some of the sites I had been using for my research. So many of these people promoted the idea of the body’s power to heal itself and alternative approaches to overcoming disease. This idea appealed to me on two levels: first, because for some patients, it had obviously worked and their quality of life had been much improved. Secondly, the natural methods and holistic approach had always fascinated me as I had planned to become an osteopathic doctor before this grievous interruption of my education. The osteopathic doctor believes that in order to effectively cure disease, one must treat the patient, not the symptoms. In other words, the goal of osteopathic medicine is to engender the optimal environment for the maintenance of a healthy body. I had always believed in these methods, so why wasn’t I pursuing them for myself?
Encouraged by the success stories of men and women, like Rhio and my cousin, I decided to research some natural immune supplements and present my findings to a D.O. with whom I had worked over the summer. He encouraged me to get a second opinion from a friend who was also a doctor and had dealt with a case similar to mine. With his help, I began a regimen that boosted my immune system and began to encourage my body to fight the cancer more effectively. I am proud to say that now, three years later, I am cancer-free and have beaten all the odds. In the midst of my research, I had hit a low point, discovering that my odds of survival, based on my age and other demographic information, were about 4%. But with the support of friends, family, my church, and a knowledgeable team of doctors, specialists, and natural health advisors, I have overcome and resumed my career as a premedical student hoping to matriculate to medical school in 2011.
Rhio was a relative of mine and your essay honors him well. Best of luck to you, and God Bless.
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