How could I have allowed myself to go through so much anguish? How could I cause myself this much pain? I grieved.
Yes, I felt as though I’d done it to myself. I reached my hand up toward the mirror, and as I touched the image of my tearful face, I made a promise that I’d never hurt myself so badly again.
THE DOCTORS WERE BEING CAUTIOUS ABOUT my healing, particularly because of the state I was in when I entered the hospital. They wanted to adjust the mix and dosage of the chemotherapy they were giving me—which, at one time, I’d greatly feared.
I watched as the nurses came in to administer the chemo. They hung the bag of drugs on the IV stand. Each bag, which they were feeding directly into my veins, was labeled “POISON” in huge, red capital letters. The nurses wore masks and latex gloves so that they couldn’t accidentally have contact with any of the dangerous chemicals. Strangely, it seemed that it was acceptable for these drugs to be introduced directly into my bloodstream.
I knew I didn’t need the chemo. The doctors were administering it for their own reasons, not mine, for I knew that I was invincible. Nothing could destroy me, not even poison injected directly into my veins—the very thing I’d feared for so many years! Interestingly, I didn’t suffer from the normal side effects. My medical team was very surprised that I didn’t have the usual nausea associated with the treatment.
I felt a level of victory. I’d so completely overcome my fear of everything—from dying to cancer to chemotherapy—that this proved to me that it had been the fear destroying me. I knew full well that if this had been before my experience in the other realm, the very sight of the word poison in giant red letters labeling a drug that was coursing through my veins, coupled with the nurses all wrapped up in protective gear to avoid contamination, would have sent enough fear through me to kill me. The psychological effect alone would have finished me, for I knew how fear-filled I was before.
But instead, I felt invincible. I knew that the decision to come back that I’d made on the other side completely overrode anything going on in the physical world.
The doctors wanted to conduct a range of tests to obtain a more accurate picture of my present situation and adjust the chemo dosage accordingly. I reluctantly agreed, mostly because I knew that they needed the tests more than I did as proof that I was healed, but also partly because I already knew what the results would be. It would give me a sense of victory to prove myself correct. However, the doctors felt that I was still too weak to withstand extensive testing, so they decided to spread the procedures over a couple of weeks while I continued to get stronger. I weighed less than 90 pounds, and I was required to get my nutrition levels up before any tests that involved even minor surgery, since any additional healing requirements might put a strain on my already-depleted resources.
My skin lesions were huge, gaping wounds that were being cleaned and dressed every day by the nursing staff. Because the lesions were both wide and deep, the doctors felt that they wouldn’t heal without intervention. My body had neither the nutrition nor the strength required to recover from major injuries, so a reconstructive surgeon came to assess the situation.
He confirmed that my wounds were indeed too large to heal on their own, particularly since my body didn’t have the nutrients necessary to support the process. However, he felt that I was still too frail to withstand reconstructive surgery and requested that the nurses continue to keep the lesions clean and dressed until I built up enough strength for the procedure. I still had barely any muscle or flesh on my bones.
ABOUT SIX DAYS AFTER COMING OUT OF the ICU, I began to feel a little bit stronger and was starting to walk up and down the hospital corridor for short periods of time before needing to rest. The first test that the doctors decided that I was strong enough to endure was a bone-marrow biopsy. This is a very painful procedure that consists of a thick needle being inserted into the base of the spine, to withdraw marrow from the bone.
It’s common for advanced-stage lymphoma to metastasize to the bone marrow, so the doctors were expecting to see this confirmed in my test results. They intended to use these results to determine which drugs to put me on and what the dosage should be.
I recall the day I got the results. The doctor came into my room with a whole team of hospital personnel, looking concerned. Then he spoke: “We have the results of the bone-marrow biopsy, but it’s a little disturbing.”
For the first time in days, I felt some anxiety. “Why? What’s the problem?”
My family members were in the hospital room with me, and all of them looked worried.
“We can’t find the cancer in your bone-marrow biopsy,” he said.
“So how is that a problem?” Danny asked. “Doesn’t that just mean she doesn’t have cancer in her bone marrow?”
“No, that’s not possible,” the doctor said. “She definitely has cancer in her body—it can’t just disappear so quickly like that. We simply have to find it; and until we do, it’s a problem, because I’m unable to determine her drug dose.”
So the doctors then sent my bone-marrow sample to one of the most sophisticated pathology labs in the country. Four days later, the results returned negative—there was no trace of cancer. I felt an overwhelming sense of victory upon hearing the news.
Not to be defeated, the doctors then wanted to conduct a lymph-node biopsy to find the cancer. At first, my newfound sense of self made me want to retaliate and tell them, “No, you will not conduct any more tests, because it’s my body, and I already know that you won’t find anything!”
However, as the doctors continued to insist, reminding my family of the state I was in when I entered the hospital just a few short days prior, I decided to let them go ahead because I knew full well that they wouldn’t find anything. I also realized that it would continue to bring me a sense of victory to trump every medical test they gave me.
I actually said to the doctor, “Do what you need to do, but I want you to know that you’re all doing this to convince yourselves. I already know the results!”
They gave me another few days to build up some more strength for the lymph-node biopsy, which entailed minor surgery. Just prior to the procedure, I was sent down to the radiology department. The radiologist was to use ultrasound equipment to find the largest lymph node and mark the spot on my skin where the surgeon could make the incision for the biopsy.
As I lay there on the table in the radiology lab, I noticed that my earlier scans, taken the day I entered the hospital, were pinned up on the light box, showing where all the tumors were. The radiologist noted from those scans that my neck was ridden with swollen glands and tumors, so he ran the ultrasound machine along the back of my neck, up to the base of my skull. Then he moved it along the sides of my neck, and finally up and down the front of my neck. I noticed confusion and bewilderment building up on his face.
He went back to refer to the scans hanging on the light box, then returned to where I was lying on the table. He asked if he could use the ultrasound under my arms. I said okay, but after checking that area, he still looked bewildered. He then scanned my chest, back, and abdomen.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“I’m confused,” he said.
“Why? What’s wrong?” I was getting an inkling of what was happening.
“Excuse me for a minute,” he answered.
The radiologist then went over to a telephone not far away, and I heard him calling my oncologist.
“I don’t understand. I have scans that show this patient’s lymphatic system was ridden with cancer just two weeks ago, but now I can’t find a lymph node on her body large enough to even suggest cancer,” I heard him say.
A smile broke across my face, and as he came back toward the table, I sat up and said, “Right, so I guess I can go now!”
“Not so fast,” he responded. “Your oncologist insists that I find a lymph node to biopsy, because it’s not possible that you have no cancer in your body. Cancer doesn’t just disappear like tha
t. So I’ll have to identify a node in an easy to access location, like your neck.”
He proceeded to mark a lymph node on my neck, even though it wasn’t enlarged. I was then scheduled for surgery, and the surgeon made a small incision on the left side of my neck to remove one of my lymph nodes.
Because this was done under local anesthetic, I was fully conscious. I really disliked the discomforting sensations I felt on my neck as the doctor cut the lymph node. I still remember smelling my own burning flesh as the surgeon cauterized my wound. I thought that maybe agreeing to let them do this wasn’t such a good idea after all!
However, once again, the results showed that there was no trace of cancer.
At this point, I really started to protest the continued tests and drugs, because deep down, I knew without a doubt that I was healed. I was also starting to get restless about being confined in the hospital. I wanted to get out and start exploring the world again, especially since I knew that I was going to be well. But the doctors resisted me, insisting I needed more tests and more drugs. They reminded me of the state I was in when I was admitted.
“If you can’t find any cancer in my body, why do I still need this?” I asked them.
“Just because we can’t find the cancer, doesn’t mean it’s not there. Don’t forget, you were terminal when you came in just a few weeks ago!” they responded.
But finally, they gave me a full-body positron-emission tomography (PET) scan, and when the results showed that I was free from cancer, my treatment came to an end.
Also, to the amazement of the medical team, the arrangements they’d made with the reconstructive surgeon to close the lesions on my neck were unnecessary because the wounds healed by themselves.
ON MARCH 9, 2006, five weeks after entering the hospital, I was released to go home. I was able to walk unaided, although I still needed a little bit of help to go up or down stairs. But I was in such a high state of euphoria that the doctors actually wrote in big letters across my hospital discharge slip: “Discharged to go home for further rest. NO SHOPPING OR PARTYING FOR AT LEAST SIX WEEKS!”
But I wasn’t having any of that! Just one week later, for my birthday on March 16, I went to my favorite restaurant, Jimmy’s Kitchen, for dinner with my family to celebrate my new life. And the following week, on March 26, I attended a friend’s wedding. Much to the shock of my friends who knew what I’d just gone through, I danced and drank champagne gleefully. I knew more than ever that life was to be lived with joy and abandon.
CHAPTER 11
“Lady, whichever way I look at it, you should be dead!”
Several weeks after I was given the all clear from cancer, I was still processing everything that had happened, trying to make sense of it. I was getting used to people I knew being visibly shocked when they saw me for the first time since I’d come out of the hospital.
Although no one ever said it to my face, I knew most of them had thought I was going to die when they last saw me. They never expected to see me again. Some tried to conceal their surprise at how healthy I’d become in such a short time, but others didn’t hide it so well.
“Oh my God, is that you?” my yoga teacher said, her jaw almost hitting the floor when I walked into her studio for the first time in six months. “You look amazing! I heard you were getting better, but I never realized you were this well!”
Amirah had been my yoga instructor on and off for several years, and she was a lovely person with a beautiful studio that overlooked the Victorian part of Hong Kong’s central business district. She’d been aware I was sick, and as I became weaker and was unable to do many of the poses, she worked with me gently or had me just lie in the shavasana pose (this consists of lying down in total relaxation, as though asleep). When I could no longer do any other posture except shavasana, I still attended Amirah’s practice because I just loved to soak in the positive energy of the class.
Finally, when I couldn’t go out and was confined to a wheelchair and connected to a portable oxygen tank while being cared for at home by a full-time nurse, I stopped going to Amirah’s studio.
So as soon as I was well enough to go out on my own, I wanted to walk in during the middle of a class and surprise her—and she was certainly surprised! Amirah then introduced me to the people in the practice space, not all of whom knew me. But those who did remember me were equally shocked. One lady’s eyes welled up as she recalled how sick I was in the last days I attended the class. She never thought she’d see me again, yet there I was…all she could say was that it was a miracle.
EVERYONE I MET WAS CURIOUS TO KNOW what had happened. How did I get so much better so quickly? But I found it was very difficult to explain, and I started to realize that I didn’t fully understand it myself. I just couldn’t find a way to describe what I’d gone through so that others could understand. The words for such an experience didn’t seem to exist, especially in English.
Then one day I received an e-mail from Anoop with a link to a website about near-death experiences, or NDEs. He’d been researching to see if anyone else had gone through something similar to me, and he found the Near Death Experience Research Foundation’s (NDERF) website, www.nderf.org. In his message, he said that what I experienced sounded similar to some of the experiences that people had shared on this website, and he wanted me to take a look.
I didn’t know very much about near-death experiences. I’d heard of them, and maybe seen a documentary or two on TV, but I didn’t know anyone who’d had one—and least of all did I ever expect to undergo one myself!
As I began to read the information on the website that my brother had sent me, I felt myself getting goose bumps as I discovered stories that shared some similarities with mine. None of them had the element of illness that I had, but some of what they experienced in the other realm was very similar. Several spoke of expansion, clarity, and a feeling of oneness—that we’re all connected. They expressed feeling no judgment, only overwhelming, unconditional love. They talked of meeting departed loved ones or other beings who cared about them, and they had a sense of universal understanding and knowledge. I couldn’t get over the fact that others had experienced that feeling of acceptance and unity, the knowledge that we’re all universally cherished. Many of them shared that after their NDE, they felt a sense of purpose, and that was exactly how I felt!
After reading a few accounts, I noticed a banner on the site that said, “Have you had a near-death experience you would like to share? Click here!” So I did. A lengthy, highly detailed form popped up, and I started filling it out. I hadn’t written down my experience before, only tried to talk about it with close friends and family members, so this was the first time I’d analyzed it in such detail.
Since this was the first time I was putting it all down for someone unfamiliar with my situation, I wanted to make sure I articulated what I wanted to say very clearly. The questions also made me think about parts of my experience in ways I never had before. I filled out all the details about having cancer, everything I experienced when I crossed over and then came back, and finally the cancer disappearing very rapidly. After completing the fields on the form and adding all the extra details in the spaces provided, I hit “submit.” A message popped up, saying, “Thank you for sending us your testimony. We will contact you within the next three weeks to inform you whether your experience will be posted on our site.”
By that time, it was late at night for me, so I went to bed thinking that I probably wouldn’t hear from them for a while. However, to my pleasant surprise, there was already a message in my inbox from a Dr. Jeffrey Long when I awoke the following morning.
Dr. Long explained that he was an oncologist as well as the owner of the NDERF site where I’d submitted my experience, and he found my experience to be one of the most exceptional he’d read. He wanted to ask me some follow-up questions, particularly regarding my medical condition, because he was extremely intrigued by my rapid healing. He said that I articulated my experience particularl
y well, and he wanted to know more about my cancer, such as when was I diagnosed, the duration of my illness, and how long it took for the cancer to heal after my NDE.
I answered all his questions as best I could, and he responded again almost immediately. There was a genuine buoyancy to his response. He said he was very excited about my answers, and he thanked me for allowing him to post my experience. He said that it would be inspiring for tens of thousands of people across the world. He then posted my account with a direct link on the NDERF home page, including all the answers to his follow-up questions, which are still in the site archives today in the original format.
I subsequently found out that Dr. Long had printed out my submission as soon as he received it in order to read and reread it because he thought it was so remarkable, which he hadn’t done with any other submission.
At the same time, my friend Peter Lloyd, who runs a publication called Holistic Hong Kong, was so amazed by what had happened to me that he asked permission to print my story. So I sent him an exact copy of what I’d submitted to the NDERF site, and he included it in his next issue.
Several weeks later, during the summer of 2006, I was contacted by another oncologist in the United States. His name was Dr. Peter Ko, and he said that he had a personal interest in studying spontaneous remissions. Within the space of three weeks, two different people had sent him the links to my experience, the one posted on the NDERF website and the other in Holistic Hong Kong. When he first received the NDERF link, Dr. Ko pretty much dismissed it as my submission was quite lengthy, and he receives many e-mails from people suggesting articles for him to read. But when he received the second e-mail, this time with a link to my story on Holistic Hong Kong with a note requesting that he read the article and telling him that he’d surely be interested, he decided to see what it was about.
Dying To Be Me Page 10