My Angry Breast

Tears dripped. My doctor of natural medicine who was also an acupuncturist, strategically placed a couple of needles and just like turning off a tap, they stopped. He carried out a live blood analysis before making me comfortable to receive intravenous vitamin C. At the same time, I had bioresonance therapy to assist with boosting the circulatory, lymphatic and immune systems. When toxic substances such as infections, chemicals and heavy metals enter the body these change its natural frequency which can result in disease. The body will always strive to detoxify these foreign substances and bioresonance therapy can assist the process by clearing blockages in the natural flow of energy. It is a non-intrusive treatment that has been used in Europe for over thirty years. Chemotherapy kills white blood cells, an important part of the body’s defence for fighting disease. I agreed to have this treatment knowing I would be quickly replenishing and rebuilding from the toxic attack to the body. My acupuncturist, also worked on detoxing, boosting immunity and helping to correct emotional, mental and physical imbalances. The naturopath, prepared my body for chemotherapy and gave me extra confidence to keep walking this cobbled pathway. She said the first treatment would be a blueprint for those to follow, enabling complementary treatments to be better gauged. The difference to my wellbeing before and after receiving these treatments was remarkable. I went home to my loving cat, Ganesh and flowers from my friend, Kay. Flowers are one of my favourite things and she was to ensure that my house smelled of their fragrance for the coming twelve months. Kay woke on a regular basis to fossick in her acreage garden, putting together a bouquet of colour and went to sleep every night with her mobile phone and a track suit handy. If my temperature went up, I only had to ring and she would have been there to whizz me to the hospital in her silver, sporty car before an ambulance had time to pull into the driveway. Someone asked who cared for me and when I replied, “My old cat,” she said, “But, a cat can’t make you a cup of tea when you don’t feel like getting it yourself.” I did not suffer nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea or constipation, lived in a rural environment and had an abundance of fresh organic food and purified water. I was surrounded by help if needed and although Ganesh could not put the kettle on, she was always nearby, giving love and comfort, asking little in return. A heartfelt disappointment was not being able to celebrate the twins turning one-year old. The big issue at the time was the danger of infection, however, I had come to realise just how depleted my body had become. Chemotherapy was birthed out of World War II research when it was discovered that toxic poisonous nerve gas used in chemical warfare was lethal to rapidly dividing cells, which includes cancer cells. It is highly toxic and has an effect on the whole body, including bone marrow cells. These are instrumental in forming the white blood cells that are crucial for fighting infections. The long-term effects include the poisoning of vital organs and cell mutations that can lead to the growth of aggressive cancers that are difficult to treat. Nights alone were scary. Being winter, my Hinterland home was cold, especially so with a depleted body fighting for survival and I kept my warm cosy combustion heater alight twenty-four hours, every day. Boxes of kindling and logs weathered by nature’s hand for long burning were lugged up a steep flight of stairs to stack on the verandah close to the back door. Although I wore gloves when handling the wood, I still managed to get a splinter in one of my hands. This tiny break in the skin, normally a job for my immune system, could not be dismissed. The possibility of infection hung like a shadow over my shoulder and I rang the oncology department of the hospital to be told it had to be removed as soon as possible. A neighbour found me on her doorstep and heard, “Can you get a splinter out for me ... or I’ll die!” She did and I did not die! Be careful what you wish for. Many years ago, I remember saying to my hairdresser, “Think I’ll go bald!” When he shook his head, answering with an emphatic “No!” I knew my vision of a smooth, shiny, bald head to complete the “monkish-look” when wearing my chaddha (a robe used when meditating, symbolic of going within and withdrawing from the physical world) and taking yoga classes was not to be. My present hairdresser, became a wonderful support from the moment I sat in the chair casually saying, “Of course, I’m doing the carrot juice therapy.” The scissors stopped and after a long moment, he spoke about clients and their cancer journeys. Everyone I entrusted with my impending decision indicated that Western therapies needed serious consideration. My falling hair was gradual and although I ignored those wispy clumps gathering on the polished wooden floor, the day came when I could no longer do so. I popped in to see my hairdresser and jokingly said, “What are you going to do with this?” Inspecting the thinning locks, he replied, “Ruchi, this is where you’re going ... now!” He was adamant I visit the wig shop immediately and I was grateful for his foresight, knowing I would need a wig sooner than later. He was to comment that to be on your own and to have your hair fall out can be a soul-destroying experience but to be prepared may make all the difference. How right he was.