Sharing My REIKI Story

Allie and RJ at neighbor's farm

Although I have experience with yoga and mediation, my introduction to reiki began with my cancer journey to wellness at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania, in the Abramson Cancer at the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine in April 2012. At the onset of my first protocol to treat Non-Hodgkins Follicular Lymphoma, I was asked it I were interested in meeting with a reiki master. My history of openness to and success with stress reduction using alternative healing practices made me a natural to try reiki. I continue to seek reiki sessions during my chemotherapy cycles, and I have always had significant benefit. 

But on admittance to HUP for a fourth (salvage) option with RICE and a potential Stem Cell Transplant to defeat NHL's transformation to Diffuse Large B-Cell Lymphoma, reiki also transformed with the appearance of a new reiki master, Vincent Gilhool. My first session (12-11-12) transported me with physical sensations heretofore unknown. I always feel a lift, as if my body floats, but yesterday it contained a gentle rocking sensation, in suspension. All parts of my body experience the sensation of interaction with the energy force, creating an alternating pressure and lightness of being. Mentally, I always participate in aspects of a journey to another place, and they are as varied as the climate. Going into a session, I have no preconceived notions of what I desire or expect. I just willingly suspend my disbelief and enter, at one with the mind-body connection. Yesterday, my upper BP number dropped from 156 to 115 after reiki. I returned with an inexplicable sense of quietude within and energy outside. Definitely oxymoronic, but definitely what happens. 

Pole Dancing at University of PA Hospital

Mr. Gilhool said that my benefit level is both high and unusual, so what I describe, albeit far-fetched sounding, is simply my story. I should add that in 1980 I underwent thyroid needle biopsies, a procedure that requires anesthesia. I opted for meditation and brought Dr. Jan Fergus with me to "bring me back." My biopsies were done successfully, and the physician later contacted me to discuss the process and benefits of my experience. 

Today (12-12-12), another transformative session. I felt like the healing hands of God were reaching out to me. It began with my eye, which was irritated, uncomfortable, a likely chemo-related side effect. I could feel the pull of the eye without it moving, and sensed the irritant slowly removed. My experiences are always very visually colorful, but today, a whiteness enveloped my inner being, and as Mr. Gilhool moved toward my Smart Port and chest (another unusual aspect was sensing his presence; I usually disconnect from my reiki master during a session), I saw thin black laminate shards of edgy irregular shapes move from my chest into the white light, adding shades of grey. Metaphorically, you could make a case for a cancer metaphor, but on the level of being inside the moment, it felt as if a higher power was guiding healing hands, bringing me to wellness. 

Friends make all the difference in beating back cancer!

If the RICE regimen works, I will give much credit to my oncology team, Dr. Sunita Nasta, Annie Berkowitz, Bernadette along with Dorethea, their secretary. And I will laud the UPenn Medicine teams on Rhoads 7, 6 and 3, which like all of Penn Medicine, is second to none. But I will always also believe that the day the hands of God reached inward was the true beginning of my journey to wellness. Time will tell. 

A Postscript:
RICE did work, and for about 2 weeks my tumors had virtually disappeared. Then, unfortunately, they found an escape mechanism and returned. I am currently undergoing treatment with an off-market use of Gemcitabine and Oxaliplatin. I remain totally optimistic that this regimen will work and I continue to receive amazing benefit from reiki sessions. 

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Six-Legged Walks, Ecotips, and Beating Back Cancer: Life Choices to Beat Back Cancer

Cross posted on Learning Llamas.

Allie loves winter, water, but not ice...

Weathering winter can challenge the best in us, and despite a harsher noreaster season than usual, signs of spring revitalize. A thick sheet of ice blanketed the farm most of the winter months, thick enough to ice skate, really. All of which made walking a brand new ADHD Black Labrador Retriever puppy a challenge because she always has energy to burn, even after an hour plus walk. The snow stayed forever but still we took our six-legged walks. Not nearly as long but definitely more often, so it all balanced. And here's the cancer connection: in spite of being outdoors at least 3 hours a day in all conditions, I never spent a healthier winter, and I owe this feat to how I choose to live. Walking Allie keeps me fit and lets me sleep through the night without Allie wanting "out."

Hours old Golden with Rev and Aunt Tess

Clearly, having 7 llamas, one of which is a growing cria, 185 acres, a husband, a city home, and a teaching career, plus 5 blogs (farmlife, cancer, school, DEN, and tech), I am always busy. And that works for me. No matter how I feel, physically or emotionally, knowing my llamas depend on me gets me up every day at 4:30 AM to begin an hour-and-a-half routine of caring for my house and barn animals. After school, another hour plus (never minus). With a house, barn, and farm to keep clean, vehicles charged, cleaned, and all the seasonal work that comes with a farm plus grading students' work keep me very busy. Seeing a cancer connection pattern here, right... My cancer specialist Dr. Sunita Nasta at the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine, part of Penn Medicine at the Abramson Cancer Center repeatedly tells me that exercise if the best medicine, but warns me not to get exhausted. Working on the farm is whole body exercise, with the added body and soul or mind-body connection. Despite occasional fatigue, I would not change my life an iota.

Gishpheol A Nalgene plastic~think before you drink

Then there's the issue of consumption. What we choose not to consume is as critical as what we opt to select. I've moved away from most canned goods, plastic as much as possible (yes, I read for numbers). The newest and best packaging of food has moved away from BPA (Bisphenol A) because it is a suspected endocrine disrupter, a chemical that can interfere with the body's gland and hormone functions. The FDA is "working on" deciding what safe levels are. I just avoid the claptrap by choosing glass, carefully prepared frozen foods, and choosing organic. I eat a balanced abundance of grains, vegetables, and fruit, some of which comes from our farm or our neighbors' farms. Meat is usually not on my menu. This summer I am beginning an organic garden, using carefully harvested heirloom seeds that are NOT irradiated. Can you tell I am moving closer to the "R" word (retirement). Watching what you eat and drink and how your purchased food is packaged can be a lifesaver.

Great online resource for living better

Affordable symposia @ $25

Another daily practice is to read and research about cancer, and I choose mainstream, nontraditional, and alternative research therapies in hard and digital formats. I read, read, read. I look for venues that provide me with possibilities for better living in harmony with the earth. I found a free magazine (supported by practitioner and business advertisements) called Natural Awakenings. It has an online presence, but exists nationally, and if your locale does not have a current NA magazine, you can become a publisher. Inside each monthly issue is a world of lifestyle changes from which you can choose those that suit. One of my best finds from this periodical (I still love hard copy although I live a digital life) is Twin Ponds Integrative Center, a place that aggregates healthful programs, integrative practices, holistic therapies, and vibrant options for moving forward with a happy lifestyle that supports beating back cancer.

Fourth and final daily approach: prayer. Although a cliche in a post-postmodern world, I believe in the strength and healing power of prayer.  Whether I'm cleaning pastures or doing yoga, I tune into God, have conversations of the silent sort, thanking and counting blessings. I pray for others, because what goes around comes around and back to you. Better to receive prayers from others than to ask God yourself. And I've learned to listen. Silence speaks, and in the early morning hours with my llamas, or in romping six-legged walks, or in late-night visits to check on the girls, I carry God's presence in my life with me.

The end result: a healthier happier me. But then, I have said this so often, I've been really lucky. Blessed.

Related articles

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• Farmlife: It's really not simple at all. (timesunion.com)
• http://www.treehugger.com/files/2008/04/bpa-in-water.php
• Really Beating Back Cancer (beatingbackcancer.blogspot.com)

GREAT NEWS!

Betting with THE BEST! PennMedicine

My buddy Brinson tells me ALL CAPS means I'm shouting. YES, I AM. Shouting it from the mountain top on which we live. I have great news. After meeting with my NHL specialist, Sunita Nasta, MD, at the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine in the Abramson Cancer Center, I know officially that my cancer has waned. Burned itself out in some areas, and smaller than when diagnosed in March, 2010. Significantly smaller. Cause for celebration.

Having a mobile blood cancer means it can transport itself elsewhere, but since mine momentarily has not morphed or moved, I have cause to give thanks for this blessing. Do I understand that at a later date, the news could reverse. Absolutely. But living in the moment, I am definitely grateful.

6 adult females and 1 male cria, 4+ months, 90+ lbs.

I asked my doctor what could make that difference, and the world of medicine just does not know. I asked myself what was different and shared that non-rhetorical with Nasta. Excercise. Winter on the mountain with a herd of llamas, even a small herd,  and a cria, keeps me outdoors a lot! On a snow day when my students and most teachers celebrate a free day, mine still begins at 4:30 AM and ends for a break about noon. Then, I'm back at the barn around 3 PM for another good hour. Not a complaint; a choice. One I welcome with alacrity. And this choice just might be life enhancing, although when I ventured into the world of llamas, I did not know I had cancer, so that choice would, in time, become serendipitous.

The why is simple. From Ottowa, Ontario, March 8, 2008.

Llamas may look harmless, but their immune system harbours some unique weapons against disease. In the 1990s, biologists in Belgium reported that unlike other mammals, the camelid family – which includes llamas, camels and alpacas – produce not one but two types of antibodies: the conventional Y-shaped molecules consisting of four protein chains; and smaller, two-chain antibodies. Within these two-chain antibodies, the part that recognizes and clings to foreign molecules, called "antigens", during an immune attack has been dubbed a single-domain antibody (sdAb).

Despite their modest size, single-domain antibodies can grasp their antigenic targets as firmly as conventional antibodies. What's more, they are hardier than monoclonal antibodies, the current standard antibody format for therapeutic purposes.

Winter Farmlife

I am not naive enough to believe that just being around llamas, breathing in their breath daily as they say hello and hang out with me, has a medical impact. But it does have a therapeutic benefit. I'm outdoors, surrounded by sensitive loving creatures who share my life in a place I love. Keeping a farm comes with differing seasonal challenges, but one constant remains. Physical exercise in the elements.

Inside Perelman

I began this post with an image of the best cancer center in PA, NJ, and DE. My hospital. My choice after much research. I will always bet on the best. If I must have cancer, my choice continues to be PennMedicine.

Related articles

• I'm Too Busy To Have Cancer! (beatingbackcancer.blogspot.com)
• Llamas 101: Llamas have their own language. (timesunion.com)
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Gia Pronto

Dining, naturally!

Atrium dining

Interesting art

One of the many pleasant aspects of the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine is the natural dining eatery at the Atrium level of the Abramson Cancer Center. The food is a la carte, wholesome, healthy and utterly delicious. As you enter the spacious facility, you realize that an intelligent design exists not only in the menu which changes daily, but also in the spacial arrangements. A cosy nook of leather chairs, low, medium, and higher rising tables and chairs. You can choose to eat inside of Gia Pronto, or outside of it, but still inside the building in the Atrium. Very inviting options, and you are surrounded by incredibly interesting sculptures.

Choose from 10 homemade soups, design your salad, select your coffees and teas, or gourmet hot chocolates, or fizzy or flat cold beverages. If you love pizza, Gia Pronto will ruin you forever. Nothing exceeds the pizzas they create, or the way they serve it. You can select the size you want and they cut it to suit. If you love a panini, then Gia Pronto is the place. If you can possibly handle dessert, treat yourself to the highest largest thickest piece of pound cake. My choice: cranberry nut. Delicious.

There is something inviting about all aspects of the Perelman Center; the structure has an openness with glass elevators and glass facades. When you consider that most of the people who enter this building have a serious illness, it always amazes and pleases me that the serenity of the site helps those of us who seek help transcend our troubles, if only for a while.

Fighting Blood Cancers

Exceptional Excellence

My husband and I are at the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine, 2nd Floor West Pavilion, and that means I am a cancer patient. And a lucky one at that, because my diagnosis, Non-Hodgkins Follicular Lymphoma, is an indolent cancer. If it weren't for a serendipitous surprise finding, I would still not know I have cancer. Anyway, I'm too busy to have cancer. Fortunately, my blood profile is excellent--normal--love that word, and so are all my other vital signs. Really, I would not know I have cancer if I had not been diagnosed. And that's the wonderful thing about my form of cancer; you live with it but you do not die from it. But you are never cured, either. So, that leaves my status uncertain. I am not a survivor, nor will I be, unless living makes it so. Technically, I'm not a previvor, because I do have cancer. Guess I am just someone fighting blood cancer, however gently, for the moment.

Industrial Brooms

I've been asked how I remain so positive, and the answer is I just am. Either you see the proverbial glass half empty or half full. I live knowing that half right is better than half wrong, so I am Pollyanna Positive. And that works for me. We are sitting in a room full of mixed emotions; some people like me have long hair--their own. Others have visible signs of post-treatment chemotherapy. Others barely contain tears, while I sit blogging. I know I am VERY lucky. Some day the shoe will fall, but I hope that if/when it does, I will still be the person taking photographs of the unusual sculptures that dot this magnificent open-airy building for people with serious illnesses. I hope I am the one who will still take joy in finding the half-right approach to life, as long as it lasts.

I think I will.

I'm Too Busy To Have Cancer!

Really. Truly.

So busy I forgot I even had it--for months.

When teachers at school kept asking me how I was, I didn't make the cancer connection. Even when they asked, "Really" to my "Wonderful-- never been better," I didn't tumble.

Sounds unbelievable, but it's true. I just don't see myself as someone with cancer. This is not escapism, denial, or any other ditzy thing. I just plain forgot about it.

School is busier and better than ever; I absolutely love my classes--I have the best students and cannot remember when I have enjoyed a year more, without exception. Even with the building construction, I have been so fortunate. I'm back in my favorite room, but leaving it for a mid-year relocation to my new permanent room, and it's a beauty. Large enough for my classes to do Project and Challenge-Based Learning in comfort. We are moving to a block schedule, reminding me of my days as the Lucy B. Moses Teaching Fellow, tutoring college juniors in Middle English and Chaucer on the block. With a robust school website, Moodle to organize my students' lessons, and Sapphire, a new student management system, and a great Professional Learning Community for PD, well, I am truly blessed and definitely very happy.

Gold Is Where You Find It

Life on the farm seems almost a blur; a new dog, a new cria, a new automatic Jug Waterer system and a frost-free pump. Can life even possibly get any better. Think not. The GALA Conference ~ The Magic of Llamas is approaching, with a committee luncheon meeting tomorrow followed by a gala dinner for my best friend whose birthday I forgot (gulp...guilty). Tonight dinner from scratch for friends I haven't seen in months of being busy.

At the heart of cancer is a mindset, I suspect. And much luck. Since my last cancer visit early this summer to the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine, I have, quite honestly, forgotten I have cancer. Not that I was trying; just that I did.

And perhaps that's a good thing. I have been to busy living even to contemplate life's slowing down. I still lift heavy hay bales, still clean 4.5 acres of pastures, still get up at 4:30 AM to do my keeper of the farm thing, then drive 45 minutes to school, where I cannot wait to meet and learn and teach with my students.

When I arrive home, I repeat the feeding/cleaning process, take Allie for a long hour's walk/run, do the dinner thing, grade online...and try to get 8 hours sleep.

See, I told you I was too busy to have cancer.

The New New

Surviving three days of 100 degrees of heat with the llamas was a challenge; after days of hosing the girls, we installed 3 AC units and now it's all good. Life has returned to normal, but I am left with a reinvented sense of summer ~ a new new. Part of this deconstruction comes from a sense of feeling overwhelmed and just a bit exhausted. The heat is punishing.

But deja vu-esque, the new new returned in a very positive way. It happened as I sat in the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine, listening to Sunita Nasta, MD, my NHL specialist. Dr. Nasta asked me if I would be willing to participate in an MRI study. Penn Medicine is engaged in a several-year study of lymphoma patients who have not yet undergone invasive treatment for their disease. Although the program would have no direct benefit to me, as it was explained, I agreed to participate. It is really about helping others, and here's where deja vu re-entered. I was told my lymph nodes had not grown sufficiently to be a participant in the study. My news about my blood values and tests was excellent. Not that's what I call a new new. Interesting how our lives as they move forward help us redefine and redirect what normal truly is.

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Beating Back Cancer at Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine

Mickey and I are in the large reception room in West Pavilion, Level 2, waiting for my appointment with Sunita Nasta, a specialist in Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, Hematology, and Oncology. Three months ago, almost to the day, I ventured to the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine and it was the best decision of my life, reinforced several times. Since I chose Penn Medicine, I have met several doctors and surgeons who validated my choice. Nice to have my research confirmed as a fine choice. But I knew that as soon as I was treated by Dr. Nasta.

Driving to the PCAM in Philadelphia, we allowed 2.5 hours to drive, and still arrived late. Turnpike construction, likely stimulus package funding, made lane merging a nightmare and the pace crippling. Then, another 15 minutes trying to find a parking space. How does anyone live in cities. Despite anxiety about being seen as a late arrival, the ambiance of the Perelman Center always calms. Perhaps that was part of the design capture, but this spacious center, dotted with upcycled art, feels reassuring. That's good because I am nervous just a bit because I think my lymph nodes are on the march, reminding me it is so much easier to be optimistic when things are going well.

Which leads me to a dear friend's story of a family friend in the OBX who succeeded in surviving cancer, only to have it return with a vengeance years later. This time her clock is ticking, and her otherwise open and optimistic approach has changed. All of which is a timely reminder to me. As this appointment approached, I noticed a mood shift. Not much gets me down, but the countdown to this visit came after a week's anxiety with weather and the llamas, followed by a postponed surgery.

Again, what grounded me was my girls. After the heat wave we survived, I looked at life on the farm as the new new. Now it's time to rethink the new new as I move forward, beating back cancer. Knowing that something in my life will keep me laughing, as my llamas do, or at least smiling through the difficult down times gives me courage and faith to move forward. See what I mean as you meet Maria, my talking llama.

A Talking Llama from RJ Stangherlin on Vimeo.

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