Truth?

When a pharmaceutical company tells you they "aspire to cure cancer", do you really believe them? Color me a cynic, but wouldn't that be the worst business model ever? You'll have to forgive my attitude. I feel like I'm bipolar today, going from disappointed and letdown to inspired and motivated to frustrated and scared, and then back again. I just learned that my mom may need to go through another transplant, and before Christmas too. This has NOT made me a happy camper. And while I realize that this is the case for many others, that doesn't change the fact that it completely fucking blows. To go through that procedure AGAIN!? How did this day go from hoping everything we've done would be enough to wash, rinse, **REPEAT**?! And to clarify on my previous post, I knew something was off with my mom's biopsy numbers... And now I know why. Her most recent biopsy before the last showed 16% and from that time to transplant, it went UP almost 10%! TEN!!!! I knew we should have tried more chemo before collection, but our doctors insisted that that wouldve damaged the stem cells. And I'm sure they were probably right, but I feel like something else could have been done... So now, our predicament now is whether or not to go with a transplant (time is of the essence) or continue with treatment. With Thalidomides new availability in Canada, I want to say treatment. But would that be best? Lost and Confused...
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Don't Rain On My Parade

I’ve been meaning to write this post for awhile now… A little while ago, I consulted those on the MM ACOR Listserv (my friends, my therapists, my teachers, and my doctors all in one neat, amazing package) on a topic titled “Don’t Rain On My Parade”. It was in regards to, well, basically how you are supposed to keep your head up knowing that you or someone you love so much has cancer. How do you avoid that dark, ominous cloud from following you wherever you go? As many times as I try to flip that “cloud” the bird and tell it “FUCK YOUUU!”, it always seems to be there. Some days are better than others, but there is never a moment where I don’t have the reality of our situation sitting at the back of my head. No matter how great the news, there is this constant black cloud above my head always reminding me of my mom’s condition. And even if my mom were declared to be in remission (KNOCK ON WOOD!!!), I think it would still be there, following me wherever I go. I don’t know if this is some sort of paranoia or anxiety issue, but what I DO know is that the carelessness and blissful ignorance, that sense of peace, we once had pre-diagnosis, is something I will probably never really be able to experience again.

What I discovered through their responses was that, yes, I would probably go on living with this cloud hovering above my head for as long as my mom has cancer. However, that is beside the point. For those of you struggling with this same issue, you must learn to adjust, adapt, and witness the world through a different perspective. NONE of us know what the future holds, and that applies to both those fighting the brave fight and those not. As one person put it (thank you Val from Texas), although Multiple Myeloma is considered “not curable”, life, by nature, is “not curable”. The fact of the matter is that we must not dwell on what is to happen in the future and instead, appreciate the present. In our society, we have been so conditioned to plan and prepare ourselves for the future. The decisions we make are solely based on the benefits that we will reap, or the consequences we will bear, further down the path. But what happens when someone tells you you have cancer? What happens when all your hopes, dreams, plans, and thoughts don’t, all of the sudden, extend into infinity anymore? What happens when you are forced to face the very reality of your own mortality? Well, along with a huge slap in the face, you learn to adjust and refocus. Planning for the future is not a luxury that we have anymore. But perhaps that is a blessing in disguise. Perhaps it is us being forced to finally learn to live in and appreciate the present, to smell the flowers and feel the warm glow of the sun on our skin. To pause and take notice. We cannot let ourselves dwell on the “Big C”, not if we are to have the peace that we so desperately seek. Simply put, there is no future to deal with. All we have is each moment, opportunities given to us to live our lives. That is all that is possible. We cannot cry thinking that we are dying. We must laugh knowing that we are living. These are facts that I still struggle to come to terms with, but they are works in progress. And that's all we can do right? At least try to appreciate what we have been given and lead a life that is as honest and sincere as possible, no?

Whirlwind

It is quite a profound experience to have to shop for scarves in preparation for chemotherapy-induced hair loss. It is inspirational. It is crippling. It is beautiful. It is tragic. And despite the months and months of treatment, the time you've had to prepare, one never actually thinks they'll see the day. And before you know it, the cold reality is right there staring in your face. Slap. The other day I went shopping with my mom for scarves to wrap around her head once she loses her hair. Let me tell you, a book should be written on how to wear those things, because it is practically an artfrom. What length do we get? How do you tie it? What materials work best? Finding a way to wrap the scarf itself, without looking like a fool, was difficult enough. Long story short... We decided to go with a hat instead :P. I have read that your scalp is actually much more sensitive than you think, that having hair makes a world of a difference when it comes to warmth and sensitivity. We decided to go for a nice, soft, and very warm rabbit fur touque. Thankfully, my mother's recovery time will be during the winter, so it will not be an odd sight to see.

Presently, I am in the waiting room of the radiology department. Today is the day that mama bear is getting her central line put in. Last night I experienced a small moment of weakness before eventually falling asleep. I think I am more scared and anxious about this procedure than my mom is. As many caregivers will discover, you will experience varying degrees of control over the course of treatment. Control is very important. It makes you feel like you are able to stand on solid ground, feet planted firmly. But sometimes, you feel like you have been picked up in a whirlwind of despair, anxiety, stress, etc. Being tossed about upside down, left, right, back, and forth, a complete loss of control. Last night's "whirlwind" stemmed from my...sadness for my mom. I try not to feel sorry for my mom, for my self, or for my family, because it does you no good. It prevents you from being able to think straight and act effectively. But sometimes, it happens. As a caregiver, all you want to do is protect. As my mother's son (or in other people's cases, as a son's mother/father), you try to protect with such a fierce passion that you are willing to do whatever it takes. If you could, you would share the burden, take the burden, in a heartbeat. But you can't... And that is the pain and the struggle of a caregiver. It is a constant tug-of-war between control and mayhem. My fear and my despair from last night stemmed not from the actual transplant procedure, but from the worry of how my mom was handling this. Everyday, no matter how bright the sun shines, my heart breaks. I worry about her. Worry, worry, worry. My heartache comes from the thought of her fear. It is like if you saw an abandoned child on the street. Your first wave of worry is not about the living conditions, the hygiene, etc. It is about how the child is coping and able to draw the strength and will to survive. Seeing my mom's strength is inspiring, but it also breaks my heart. The fact that she even HAS to draw so much strength from god knows where, makes me both sad and proud. It is a hard experience to describe. But I guess it is what it is, and all you can do is learn how to adapt and stay strong. Wish us luck.

**Update** All went well! The transplant nurse was right, a CVC (Central Venous Catheter) insertion is MUCH less painful than a bone marrow biopsy. So if you can handle the biopsy, the CVC should be a cake walk for you ;)
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A Call to Arms

Hello everyone!

I have been thinking for a little while of creating a site dedicated to survivor and success stories to serve as a platform for hope and inspiration to others. I created a second blog, called Humanity for Hope, and would LOVE and ENCOURAGE any of you reading to submit a story to help others. Here is the description:

Hello friends,

My name is Lance. I have been thinking for a little while about putting together a site with a collection of survivor and success stories to serve as a platform for hope and inspiration.

Drawing from personal experiences, a cancer diagnosis can feel like an almost certain death sentence. For me, that time was undoubtedly the darkest moment of my life and that of my family member's lives. There is a certain feeling of hopelessness that one often feels during this time, it is a deep hole that sometimes seems impossible to climb out of. However, through this site, we can work together towards building a place where that light of hope we once thought distinguished can be ignited again. A cancer patient's life is full of many highs and lows, as I am sure many of you have experienced. If we can somehow minimize these lows and help lift each other up through these stories of hope, I truly think we could open up a world of good. We often place such a strong emphasis on the importance of drugs and science, yet sometimes forget the pure strength that hope can provide. Hope, in and of itself, can be one of the strongest forms of treatment that we can give ourselves. Sometimes, it is all that we need.

Together we can help push each other forward, because it is important to always remember that we are never alone on this journey. Tell us, tell the world, your story. Together, we can all help lift each other up. Out of the darkness that is a diagnosis, that is depression, that is disappointment. I called this blog Humanity for Hope because I envisioned it a result of a united front working, fighting, for hope. I have discovered just how beautiful and strong this community is. We laugh. We cry. We inspire. We push. We rally. We support. And we fight with a fierceness comparable to legends. Our bravery and our courage is truly quite remarkable. We, a group of people so weakened and devastated by disease, find strength in each other to conquer andfight our greatest fears. Consider this my battle cry against hopelessness and despair, something that we can all work together to extinguish. I urge you to join me in the fight to end cancer once and for all!

Please send your stories to: thecancerdiaries@live.com (Header: Humanity4Hope)

The website URL is www.humanityforhope.blogspot.com

I hope to hear from you all soon! Together we can inspire and raise each other up out of the dark!

L

Having A Moment Here...

Today was the first day that I've cried since diagnosis (I think?) Usually I'm pretty good at analyzing my own feelings and getting right to the source of the problem, but today... I'm not sure. I think just...the whole weight of the situation became a little too overwhelming for me. Everywhere I go, I feel like there's this pressure weighing down on my shoulders, and I know its something that won't go away until this situation is over. So I guess I better buckle up. I'm just so so so frustrated. Maybe more so with how my mom is dealing with this. Anytime there is a SHRED of non-encouraging news (not necessarily discouraging), she sinks into this place that one could probably accurately describe as depression. I'm trying SO hard to lift her up, but all the spirit and enthusiasm for life seems just totally drained from her. And then that gets me upset and snappy because all I want to do is shake her and tell her to snap out of it. But then I end up feeling bad afterwards and so on, so forth. It's an incredibly vicious cycle. This whole situation is such a complete fucking nightmare and sometimes I still have trouble grasping reality. I am just EXHAUSTED and honestly am having trouble thinking how much more I can take. But then, I remember just how much I love my mom and how incredibly hard this must be on her, which in turn helps ME to snap out of it. It took me a good little bit to get my shit together, but I got there and am now back on the horse. I had my moment, and now I'm ready to kick some butt. I guess the reason why I'm posting this is because... At the end of the day, its the love that we have for our loved ones (regardless of whether we are the patient or the caregiver) that gives us the strength to go on. Always remember this. So now you'll have to excuse me, I need to go and give my mom a hug.

L
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Just Breathe

Sitting in a local cafe on a beautiful Monday afternoon. A moment to myself, a time where I can just reflect on everything that's happened within the last month and a half. It's taken me a couple days to collect my thoughts together and really think, so this post spans a couple days. Careful kids, this ones a doozy!

It’s a beautiful morning today. The skies are blue, the air is crisp, and the sun is shining. I’m sitting in a coffee shop and find myself finally having a moment to reflect on everything that’s happened in the past month and some. Mom and Dad are probably sleeping away back home, resting and recharging their bodies for a new day. The last couple of days have been a little rough, to say the least. Since our last treatment on Friday, mom has been in quite a lot of pain. I’m not sure if it’s a sign that the chemo is working, or if it’s something else… but calling it fatigue would be putting it mildly as she needed assistance getting out of bed, walking, and getting out of her seat. She is such a strong woman, and it breaks my heart to see someone I love so much in so much pain. If there is a hell, then it is not one of flames and darkness. Hell is seeing someone you love in pain, seeing them suffer and not being able to do anything about it. That,my friends, is hell. It’s crazy how much of a rollercoaster cancer can be. I have never known anything so… terrifying, yet eye-opening, in my entire life. Everyday, I hurt. Some days are easier than others, but the fear and the pain are always there, like a snake that loosens and tightens its cold, suffocating grip around your heart. But at the same time, I feel a new sense of clarity and strength that I did not have before. It’s like I’ve been awakened by something powerful, profound, and meaningful. Almost like coming out of a fog with a newfound sense of purpose and direction. The highs are great and full of a weightlessness that makes you feel as if you’re normal again. With everything that has happened, you are able to truly appreciate and cherish moments like these because you know that a moment without pain and suffering is a moment to be thankful for. But the lows, they are equally as powerful, if not more. They are terrifying, devastating, and heartbreaking all in one. Since we first found out, I’ve discovered so much about my family and myself. I’ve discovered the power of optimism and hope. I’ve discovered how much it takes to draw strength from the deepest depths from within. I’ve discovered how powerful and important love and family are. When one first connects the word “cancer” to oneself, whether it be directly or indirectly through someone you love, your world falls apart. The ground beneath gives away, the sky comes crashing down, and you fall to your knees in such despair that you don’t know what to do, where to go, or even remember something as simple as how to breathe. Breathing is something that is regulated unconsciously and consciously through our body, something that is hardwired into ourselves to ensure survival. The impact of cancer was so devastating that, for about two weeks, I became a temporary asthmatic. I literally could not remember how to breathe properly. Constantly, I would find myself having to take deep breaths, not being able to draw enough oxygen into my system. Every time I drew a deep breath, I would get a feeling where my lungs would not be able to fill up completely. As if they were only able to draw in 80% of what they needed. I truly believed that I had developed a condition, but it was all in my head. The news had been so traumatic that I had become incapable of performing a task so simple and basic as breathing, to the point where I felt I had bruised my lungs from drawing so many consecutive deep breaths. Cancer was suffocating me. Breathing, something we do to draw energy from the world and live our lives, was being affected psychologically by my own body. And I wasn’t even the one with cancer! That is how much of an impact the news had on me. It temporarily persuaded my own body to betray itself, like cancer. When you first hear that cancer has chosen you or your loved ones, life is put into perspective. It forces you to take a big step back and seriously re-assess everything that you thought was important to you in your life. The effect of putting one’s life on a timeline that doesn’t all of the sudden extend into infinity is quite the experience. When we are healthy, we believe that we’re going to live forever, like immortals walking in the land of the dying and the diseased, completely unaffected. Cancer and other life-threatening conditions are myths and fables relegated to another universe. A universe eons away from the one you call home. It shouldn’t take something like cancer for us to wake up and realize how beautiful life is, to cherish each and every moment, to love, to smile, to just breathe. Because the truth is, we all have expiration dates, regardless of whatever foolish conditions you think may make you exempt from this universal fact of life. Life wasn’t created to be stretched over a period of time where we would forget what it meant. It was created so we could pass on our lessons and love, and more importantly, to truly live. When we are forced to realize this, it really is something else. What’s important to remember when you are diagnosed is that cancer is NOT a death sentence. Often times, the situation you find yourself in is what you make of it. It will be a death sentence if you let it become one. Never give up fighting and always look for newfound sources of motivation and inspiration. Today, research, medicine, and treatments are moving at such a rapid pace that a prognosis carries a diminishing level of importance (in my opinion). A doctor gives you a 5-year prognosis and you make it 6 years. So he gives you another 5-year prognosis, and so on, so forth until you’ve made it 15 years past your original prognosis. Whether you have cancer or not, you can't give up. Giving up is not an option. There will always be hope, even in the darkest of times. Hold on to it, believe in it, and use it to drag you out of the fire. This experience has changed me more in one month than any other experience ever has in my entire life. I won’t lie, there are times where a wandering thought will make its way into my head of what life would be like without my mother. My mom. My momma bear. And each and every time, my eyes begin to water and my heart begins to break. When you are suddenly forced to face your mortality face-to-face, it’s a scary thing and life seems so much more unstable and fragile. But you have to learn to wave those things away and stay on a path that will encourage you and support you. There are still moments where I will pause in sheer disbelief that this has become our new reality. I am still somewhat in denial, and I probably will be for quite some time. It's hard a thing to accept, even more so when it is forced on you like it has been on us and every other person affected by cancer. Everything moves so fast and quickly that you have little time to absorb. You're pushed and pulled in so many directions you literally feel like a dog chasing its own tail. Confused and getting nowhere. The world of cancer is vast and full of many unknowns. Time is of the essence. But not so much that you can't afford to pause and collect yourself, because you do have time for that. And it makes a world of a difference. Today (Friday), I met many lovely myeloma “warriors” at a support meeting (the first my family and I have ever been to). I’ve come to realize that there truly are angels on this earth, and some of them come in the form of nurses, doctors, support group members, and many others. These people are true godsends. Their hearts are filled with so much good. It’s amazing and leaves me overwhelmed and speechless. For those finding themselves newly diagnosed, I am truly sorry. This is not something that I would wish even on my worst of enemies. But if there is anything that I can tell you from my own experiences, just remember to breathe. Learn from my mistakes and our victories. I have felt what you feel, and let me tell you, the first 4-6 weeks are undoubtedly the hardest. The waiting. The pacing. The worrying. The news is devastating and traumatic, I know. At the time, we felt the most tremendous feeling of helplessness one could ever imagine. And trust me, trying to get a diagnosis during the holidays ain’t no walk in the park. EVERYTHING IS CLOSED! But know that you can gain control over your situation. Research, research, research and immerse yourself with as much information as you possibly can. And don't let anything discourage you! Information about the drugs you’ve been prescribed (side-effects, warnings, etc.), information about your condition (symptoms, care, etc.), information about nutrition (what to eat and what not to eat), information about precautionary measures (I decided to educate myself on CPR just in case I might need it some day (hopefully not)), and so on. There’s no such thing as being too well-prepared. The very basics for myeloma, that have been working for us, have been LOTS of water (at least 3L/day to help out your kidneys), plenty of fresh (if possible, organic) vegetables and fruits (for fiber and nutrients), daily exercise (to get oxygen into your system), cutting out refined sugars and processed foods (cancer FEEDS on sugar), and plenty of laughs (to keep your spirits up! Which is half the battle). For patients, like my mom, never stop fighting. Find a reason to fight! For your kids, to live a dream, to just LIVE. You will get broken and bruised along the way, but know that there will always be someone to lean on. Surround yourself with other patients, with family members, with friends. Surround yourself with goodness. And if you still find yourself alone or unable to reach out, know that you will always have me. Although I am still very new at this, an open ear needs no experience and you can talk to me about anything. Or, you can do what I did, and make a blog of your own and talk with the universe. Cast out your negative energy into space and share your goodness with others. For those of you who are caregivers, like myself, there will be times where you will feel helpless and other times where you feel like ripping your hair out! It’s ok to feel that way. Don’t feel guilty for wanting to take a breather for yourself. Take a break and spend a day to concentrate on yourself. You cannot help those you love unless you, yourself, are at your best. And for everyone, always remember to just breathe and believe. As I have mentioned, I am still very new at this. My advice may warrant a question or two from some of you, but what I lack in experience, I make up for in my sincerity and drive to overcome this beast with my family and all those fighting the good fight. I will share with you everything that I know so that we can all work together in finding the cure. If we work as a collective nation, we can and we will beat this thing once and for all.

The Information Age

Tomorrow, or rather today (in about 7 hours! Need to sleep!) is our second appointment at the cancer centre. I’m not exactly sure what we’re going to be doing… More tests I’d imagine. I think we’ll probably go over the biopsy results and make a diagnosis. I’m a little scared… Regardless of the prognosis, we still have to hold our heads high. But I worry about her… She’s fragile and vulnerable right now. Understandably, she is still overwhelmed. But… I just wish she was a little stronger right now. She doesn’t really make too much of an effort to get any information about MM because she’s scared. And I know that it is scary. But what’s scarier is not being informed about a disease that you have. Not being able to make well-informed choices. She has my dad and myself to do that, but… as a patient, I believe that it is her responsibility to know as much as she can about her condition. Certain symptoms and side effects can only be noticed by her. What I mean is, she knows her body the best. My dad and myself won’t always be able to know how she is feeling or if we should be concerned about an ache here or there. I’m trying to get her to understand this. And we’re taking small steps. But it’s… it’s just all very frustrating. This whole situation. There are times where I will just catch myself in a moment. Sometimes, a moment where I can’t help but wonder, “what did we do to deserve this?”, even though I know this disease is not based on good or bad karma. I don’t think it has quite hit me completely yet. I still cannot believe that we’re in the situation that we’re in. Cancer… it’s a disease that’s only supposed to be in newspapers and movies. Not something that we have to endure. It’s incredibly unfair, but life, I guess, is not fair. You just have to make the best with what you’ve got and go from there. There are other moments where… I just get an overwhelming wave of grief. Or perhaps sadness is a better word. It’s a mixture of things. Loneliness, anxiety, depression. I look at my mom, and it just breaks my heart. You really don’t know how good you’ve got it until it’s taken away. Now, the simple things are the things that we hold onto the tightest. Family time, smiles, laughter, walks. Every time I see her laugh and smile, it just means so much. I know that there are people that I can talk to, family members, friends, support groups. But I feel like I can’t talk to people. Or maybe I’m just scared to… We don’t want this getting out because if it did, everyone in this town would know about it. And that’s not the kind of attention and focus we want right now. But I wish I could just talk to my cousins or friends about it right now and just… be able to pour my heart out. Because this experience has been like no other. My heart has never ached so hard and… it’s just… I’m so afraid… I’m terrified. I try not to think about it, but I can’t live without her. She’s been the glue and sunshine in my family and has always been in such good health. This whole thing came completely out of nowhere, which is why I think it affected us so much. I mean, cancer would have quite a strong effect on anyone. But… yeah.

So, in response, I try to gather as much information as I can. In nutrition, in side effects, in whatever way I can help to the best of my abilities. Some of the books I’m reading have confused me a little. They’re views conflict with the views of the “standard of care” medical community. While chemotherapy works by destroying cancerous cells, it also takes out the good ones as well. The views and approach that these doctors and authors take is one where you use your body’s natural defenses to battle, or at least maintain, cancer. These perspectives are on opposite sides of the spectrum, and to a patient or a family member it’s all very confusing. On one hand, you have a system that has scientific backup and research going into it. On the other, you have another system that breaks it down into the basics, using nutrition to fight your battles. What irks me is that there are claims that this business of cancer is hugely profitable, and as such, the major pharmaceutical companies have no real incentive to actively find a cure. These are the pharmaceutical companies that fund and train students in med school, our doctors of tomorrow. What they say, goes. But… could people really be that.. evil? Millions of people have died from this disease, and it would be tragic if their lives could have been considerably different if money wasn’t in the picture. Are these pharmaceutical companies really looking out for our best interests? One must remember that they are running a business… All this information is so confusing and leaves you torn on which direction you should go. Because whatever decision you make will literally be a life-or-death decision.

Currently, i'm primarily reading two books: Knockout: Interviews with Doctors Who Are Curing Cancer and How To Prevent Getting It in the First Place by Suzanne Somers, and Anti- Cancer: A New Way of Life by David Servan-Schreiber, M.D., Ph.D.

Both have been incredibly informative. I think being a patient (or a family member of a patient), you have to be willing to keep your mind open. You have to be willing to listen to what others have to say. You don't have to necessarily agree with them, but at least listen. Both of these books place an emphasis on nutrition and fighting cancer with your body instead of chemotherapy. There has been a lot of backlash with this type of approach, especially directed towards Somers, but... Is trying to live healthy, organically, and as naturally as possible really such a bad thing? Even if you do decide to choose conventional methods, I think people should pause and take a moment before knocking this p.o.v down. When you really break it down, these approaches are all about leading a healthier lifestyle. Because changing our eating habits and lifestyle (this means more exercise, less t.v.), it's not going to hurt us. You don't have to agree with the treatment plans that have been highlighted, but the basics won't hurt. Anyways, there are a couple of doctors from Mrs. Somers' book that I have become interested in. Has anyone heard or had any experiences with Dr. Stanislaw Burzynski, Dr. Nicholas Gonzalez, Dr. James Forsythe, or Chemosensitivy tests? Your input, comments, or even thoughts would be helpful to me and others that read this post!

So, to finish off. Here are some random facts that i've learned from reading so far:

- Tumeric (curcumin) is the most powerful natural anti-inflammatory agent out there. Which is good because it inhibits angiogenesis (which is the formation of blood vessels). This is important because cancerous tumors NEED these vessels to supply them with blood flow in order to survive.

- "To be assimilated by the body, turmeric must be mixed with black pepper (not simply with peppers). Ideally, it must also be dissolved in oil (olive, canola, or linseed oil preferably). In store-bought curry mixes, turmeric represents only 20% of the total. So it's better to obtain turmeric powder directly"

- Cruciform vegetables (cabbages, broccoli, cauliflower, bok choy, etc.) contain powerful anticancer molecules that are capable of detoxifying certain carcinogenic substances, promote the suicide of cancer cells, inhibit angiogenesis, etc.

- Avoid boiling cabbage and broccoli. Boiling risks destroying these powerful anticancerous molecules. Instead, cover and steam or stir-fry rapidly with olive oil.

- Tomatoes contain a substance called lycopene that leads to longer survival rates for prostate cancer patients. However, they must be cooked in order to release these nutrients. Moreover, olive oil improves their assimilation.

- Soy isoflavones block the stimulation of cancer cells by sex hormones and intervene by blocking angiogenesis. However, isoflavone supplements have been associated with an aggravation of certain breast cancers, but this is not the case for soy taken in food.

- ** The genistein in soy can interfere with Taxol. While awaiting confirmation of this interaction from human studies, it is advisable not to consume soy-based foods during chemotherapy with Taxol. Stop several days before, and start again several days after treatment**

- Green Tea contains substances that reduce the growth of the new vessels needed for tumor growth and metastases. It is also a powerful antioxidant and detoxifier. Note that black tea is fermented, a process that destroys a large portion of these anticancer substances. Oolong tea has undergone a kind of fermentation midway between green tea and black tea. Decaffeinated green tea still contains all its polyphenols (anticancer substance).

- Japanese green tea (sencha, cyokuro, match, etc.) is even richer in EGCG (another anticancer substance) than common varieties of Chinese green tea.

- Green tea must be steeped for at least 5-8 minutes - ideally ten minutes - to release these substances.

These facts noted above are just a few of the many that I learned from reading Dr. Servan-Schreiber's book. I highly recommend reading it, if not for alternative treatment purposes, then for tips on how to lead a healthier life.

However, on one note. I had discussed some of these with our oncologist and he had told me that a recent study was published where green tea had actually shown to COUNTERACT chemotherapy. I'm not sure what type of chemo, specifically, (we're going to be starting Velcade very soon, so I assume this is one that is affected by it) so I think it would be best to work with your doctor and see what he/she has to say.