My Intimate Support Team

This blog is a continual story that begins with the first posting in the Blog Archive, The Journey Begins. Click down the list to read entries, and click on arrows to reveal monthly drop-down menus.

After I spoke with Walden, the path I was to take was made clear to me. I had no doubt about the rightness of choosing to live, but surrendering to the intense, invasive methods that it takes to cure cancer was going to take getting used to. It was time to get practical, but I couldn't bring myself to look at the cold, hard facts yet. I was still floating in the spirit worlds, and I wasn't grounded enough to do research on the internet, to talk to doctors, or to ask advice from survivors of breast cancer. If it weren't for my loved ones taking over that job for me, I don't know if I would have been able to develop enough strength and persistence to treat and heal my cancer. But my core support team came through for me in flying colors. My sister, Jacqui, flew in from New York to join forces with my partner, Ken, and my soul sister, Pat, and the three of them threw themselves into a search for the protocol that offered the best chance of keeping me alive. They also took care of my needs, and protected me from dealing with things I wasn't ready to face yet.

My sweetheart, Ken Bernstein

Ken is an artist/musician, a strong, kind, earthy man with deep integrity and a sensitive soul. From the moment of my diagnosis, Ken hasn't wavered in his acceptance of our situation and his dedication to my healing on every level. Although the cancer has disfigured my breast, Ken kisses my wound and says, "Good Morning, Beautiful," every morning. On the practical level, Ken makes all the calls to my insurance company, communicated with the doctors when I couldn't bring myself to take phone calls, comes to every doctor's appointment, keeps all of the records and bills organized, and does so much more. I am so blessed to have him by my side.

My sister, Jacqui, and I are as close as two siblings can be. We witnessed family tragedies together growing up, and share a deeply loving emotional bond. Jacqui is an extraordinarily courageous, heartful and compassionate soul. This is a picture of me, Ken, Jacqui, and my nephew Dylan, Jacqui's son, was taken a couple of years ago. Dylan is in a wheelchair because he was born with spina bifida, a birth defect in which the spine doesn't completely form. His condition causes many serious complications, and he has been in and out of hospitals his whole life. Dylan stayed in New York when Jacqui came out to visit, but we had some heartfelt phone conversations about walking the edge between life and death. He has a remarkable, Buddha-like acceptance of the cards he's been dealt.

Me, Ken, Jacqui and my nephew Dylan

Because of her experience with Dylan's health problems, my sister is very adept in researching health issues, and she has a lot of contacts in the natural healing community. During the first few weeks after my diagnosis, Jacqui contacted a number of alternative healers and ordered me dozens of natural remedies.

Pat Ogden, soul sister extraordinaire

Pat Ogden is the third member of my intimate support team. She and I have shared adventures, laughter and tears for more than twenty years. Pat is an accomplished psychologist specializing in the treatment of trauma, and she is more than familiar with the task of supporting loved ones through the treatment of cancer. Her partner, Paul, had just died of throat cancer the year before I was diagnosed. Pat is a passionate, devoted, and loyal friend who has never wavered in her support of my process. When we discovered I had cancer, she joined forces with my sister and they delved into all kinds of alternative protocols, including Insulin Potentiated Therapy, Budwig Diet, European blood assay tests, intravenous drips, chelation, and many others. But we found that none of these healing methods showed cure rates better than straight-on slash and burn Western methods. So, ironically, we ended up agreeing to do the very first protocol that my bright, gentle oncologist, Lori Jensen, had suggested in the first place. I decided to follow her recommendations exactly. The regimen is five months of intense, dose-dense chemotherapy in order to shrink the tumor and hopefully loosen its grip on my pectoral muscle, a mastectomy three weeks after finishing chemo, and lastly, radiation treatments to mop up the last remaining cancer cells.

I finally felt prepared to take a full swan dive into the Underworld, and I knew that the initiation I was about to undergo would change me forever. But with my loving family that is dedicated to supporting me on every level combined with the high level of cancer care at the Tebo Cancer Center in Boulder, I knew I stood a remarkable chance of healing at the deepest level possible. Next, I'll tell you about the remarkable people on my psychospiritual support team who are guiding me through my emotional, mental and spiritual process.

I would love to hear from you. To leave a comment about this posting, scroll down and type inside the white box below the heading, POST A COMMENT. Underneath the white box, it says Comment as: with a white bar that says Ria Moran (Google). Click the arrows on the right and a dropdown menu will appear. Choose name/URL and type in your name. The URL is not necessary. Or, if you wish, you may choose to leave a comment anonymously. Then click Post Comment in the next white box and your comment will be published. Thank you!

The Journey Begins

I look behind and after

and find that all is right;

in my deepest sorrows

there is a soul of light.

Vivekananda

I was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer on January 12, 2009. I had known about the tumor for a while, but it had been misdiagnosed via two thermograms as benign. As a health conscious, alternative-minded person, I didn't want to expose myself to the radiation of mammograms, so when I found out about thermograms, I put my trust in them. Bad idea. My surgeon later told me that the location of my tumor, which is over my heart, is a weak spot for thermograms because the heat generated by the heart can confuse the test's interpretation. When the lump adhered to my muscle and started to hurt (a lot), I went in for a check-up. The physician's assistant examined my breast, and as I watched her face tighten with concern, I knew I was in trouble. She squeezed me in for an emergency core biopsy two days later, and as the surgeon and the radiologist worked on me, they spoke in somber, hushed tones that oozed with compassion. Anyone who has watched a doctor show on TV would know that what they were really saying was, "Sorry, but you are totally screwed."

Allow me to back up a bit. Several months before, an odd thing had happened. After swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs at breakfast, the blood drained from my head, my heart seemed to stop, and I almost fainted; from that moment on, I felt sort of slippery, as if my soul had begun to separate from my body. I remember saying to a friend, "I don't really understand why, but I feel like I'm dying."

As a professional astrologer, I knew that I was in a challenging period called a Saturn return that wasn't about to end any time soon. I also knew that my Saturn return was a very difficult one because of certain planetary configurations, and I suddenly found myself wondering if I would survive it. I decided to talk to another astrologer in order to get a second, hopefully more optimistic, opinion. I don't usually consult other astrologers, so I googled around until I came upon the website of an astrologer named Walden Welch, and I intuitively knew he was the man I wanted to talk to. He had been clairvoyant since birth, and his charming features made him look like he had just emerged from Lorien Forest, the realm of the Elves in Lord of the Rings.

Walden Welch

We had a pleasant conversation on the phone and he told me to email him my birth info the next day. After doing that, I didn't hear from him. Then I waited a week and emailed him again. When I still didn't hear from him, I knew that his lack of response wasn't due to some glitch in my gmail. I said to myself, "Well, either he's dying or I'm dying." To test out my theory, I had a friend send him an email. When he responded to her the next day, I knew that I was the one who was dying and he probably didn't want to be the one to break the news. I felt a mixture of curiosity and dread about trying to contact him again.

During this period of time, I went to a service for a friend who had just died of breast cancer. Susan Edwards was a well loved member of the Boulder community, a witty, brilliant writer and metaphysician who had been a disciple of Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche and a close associate of Allen Ginsberg. Her memoir of Ginsberg is entitled The Wild West Wind.

Susan Edwards

Many Boulderites are spiritually eclectic people who participate in a melange of ceremonies ranging from Tibetan Buddhist rituals to Sunday services at Unity Church to Hindu chanting to Passover Seders. Susan's service was held at the shrine room of Karma Dzong, the building that houses the Boulder Shambhala Meditation Center. After removing my shoes, I padded into the stunning, richly colored shrine room adorned with ornate carvings, bronze statues of Tibetan Buddhist deities and powerful sacred paintings. The large space was filling quickly with people who had come to say goodbye to Susan, and my partner, Ken, and I happened to land in two seats that were directly in front of her body. In the Buddhist tradition, corpses are not embalmed before cremation, and I occasionally discerned a sour, musky scent as the odor of Susan's decomposing body mingled with the sandalwood incense that was burning on the altar above her. While contemplating her lifeless form, I thought about this unique, remarkable woman who'd had a way of peering into our souls and deftly pruning our tangled inner gardens with a few well chosen words. As I thanked Susan for her trickster wisdom, her compassion, and her wry, Mona Lisa smile, I silently concurred with her decision to eschew Western medicine in her journey through breast cancer. Even though we had lost her, I understood Susan's decision not to suffer the slash and burn methods of chemotherapy, mastectomy and radiation, and I knew I would have chosen the same path.

A short while later, the day of my doctor's appointment arrived. Even though signs and portents of death seemed to be hovering all around me, I had felt sure that my tumor was benign and I was absolutely shocked when I found out that I had cancer. My first thoughts were that I was going to make the same choices that Susan had, and that I would probably die. After many years of coping with chronic health problems, I didn't feel that I had it in me to endure the torturous rituals of Western medicine's cancer treatments. I went through the MRI, PET and CT scans in a daze. The results showed that my cancer was in several lymph glands, in my skin, and that it had adhered to my muscle, but the good news was that no other tumors were present in my body. The fact that it had not metastasized put me in stage three. If I had been in stage four, with tumors elsewhere in my body, my condition would not have been considered curable. But with intensive chemotherapy, a mastectomy and radiation, I had a good chance for a cure. Of course, my partner, my sister and my best friends wanted me to fight, but they had all seen me suffer with health problems for years and they understood my reluctance to enter a gory battle for my life. A good friend of mine who is an excellent therapist offered to work with me, and for two weeks I explored an inner dialogue between the part of me that refused to take a warrior's stance against my disease and the part of me that wanted to live. Ironically, the part that was refusing to fight was winning.

That was when I decided to email Walden one more time. I told him that I now knew that I was dying of cancer, and my guess was that he had intuited my dire straits but hadn't wanted to break the news. Then I said that I was working to gain clarity in my mind and my heart, and that I would appreciate receiving his counsel; but I also said I would completely understand if he chose not to work with me, and that if I didn't receive a response to this email, I would not bother him again. He emailed me the following morning, and we set up an appointment that lasted eighteen minutes and changed the course of my life.

I would love to hear from you. To leave a comment about this posting, scroll down and type inside the white box below the heading, POST A COMMENT. Underneath the white box, it says Comment as: with a white bar that says Ria Moran (Google). Click the arrows on the right and a dropdown menu will appear. Choose name/URL and type in your name. The URL is not necessary. Or, if you wish, you may choose to leave a comment anonymously. Then click Post Comment in the next white box and your comment will be published. Thank you!