How I Beat Cancer and What It Cost Me – Mindset Lessons
There was no “your results are back, and you need to sit down.”
I’d had a wart removed from my scalp, or that’s what it felt like. And later on that year, a lump developed on that side of the head towards the back.
A biopsy showed is was not benign, but a fairly vicious type of cancer which had every chance to grow quickly and take over.
I had been in the cult for several years by that time and insisted on trying all their counseling techniques to “cure” it. Of course, the FDA would have had a cow if they had known.
But, the other people and the doctors finally overruled me and persuaded me to have that operation. Sure it left scars. And it “mostly” worked. But you can’t just get “most” of a cancer and achieve what they called a cure.
As well, I’d gotten some bad transfusions when they saved my life (I’d pretty much replaced all the blood I had in me, as scalp surgery is a messy affair.) That wound me up with serum hepatitis.
The weird part was that the cult then decided I was infectious (only if you drank my blood, basically) and so shipped me back to Missouri with a one-way ticket. (Oh, and I found out later they had burned any of my belongings I’d left. Nice folks.)
So I was back home again. The belief crisis wasn’t internal this time, it was external. I hadn’t lost trust in myself or the cult-beliefs, or the people I’d been working with. So it wasn’t a problem in losing faith, even though it was a severe test. I was really on my own again. People around me didn’t know what to do, but helped anyway they could. Lots of good food, at least.
And I started more treatment at the local University hospital and was able to drive myself to appointments with the farm pickup. Nice rural scenery most of the way, which was always pleasant.
For self-help cults, the Syndicate had all sorts of various formulas and recipes to follow for this, that, and the other. Not too bad, actually, and it was what made their “system” tend to “work” in most cases. Because you could always turn to a certain little sequence of actions, out of some little handbook, that would help you “find your way” out of that scene.
They had a formula which helped you decide, to choose between two alternatives. (Mostly Scientific Methodology again – comparing how two somethings worked, what were its results compared to the results of the other something.)
Anyway, I liked taking my walks on the farm where it was quiet and I could think. Putting that formula to work came up with a completely unexpected answer: There was something I hadn’t accomplished yet. Didn’t know what it was, specifically, but I was certain that I had to get back to this.
The local doctor overseeing me at the University hospital said he’d never seen anything heal that quickly. It would still be some years before I could quit having to bandage my head, and the scars would stay. But the cancer never came back.
The point was again my own beliefs in myself.
Many years later I would find that a high-school friend of mine had died of cancer about the same time. She had stayed in Missouri. The last time I had talked with her was prom night – and she looked quite fetching. (Too bad she wasn’t my date.) She said to me, “You’re going to make it.” Meaning in life.
Which seemed odd to me at the time, as I never considered that anyone couldn’t make it, or even that someone just graduating high school would have doubts about their own success. But she’d gotten into experimenting with drugs and that might have been a factor. I’ll never know.
The point is that our decisions and our beliefs led to different outcomes.
I maintained my hope, by constantly studying the world around me against the results I expected to find.
My friend had already lost hers, or was well on the way, even before she had a chance to start.
Beliefs are powerful things.
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