Paradigm

Nicholai has lymphoma, a cancer of the immune system where the malignant cells originate in lymph nodes. We do not understand how dogs (or people for that matter) get cancer most of the time. There are many possible causes in the environment, and there are genetic factors as well. Cancer starts as a cell, or group of cells, that have gone awry. When too many cells have run amok, the body can longer function appropriately, and the dog – or person – can no longer live. Often fatal, a diagnosis of cancer strikes fear into the hearer's heart.

I was diagnosed with cancer in the mid-nineties. When the initial terror subsided, I stood up, shook myself off, and began to research treatments. A twenty-year vegetarian and six-year vegan, a non-smoker and a non-drinker, I had colorectal cancer. I was not a fan of allopathic medicine or the pharmaceutical industry. But I had cancer. I would need to buck-up and undertake medical therapy, or so I assumed. Aching with sadness, and seething with anger, I found it difficult to be rational. Finally I was able, with the help of colleagues and friends, to locate, read, and evaluate the medical literature. We looked at the stand-up professional journals of the day – The Journal of the American Medical Association, The New England Journal of Medicine, and The Journal of Oncology. Having been told by my doctors that I would need radiation then surgery, followed by a year of chemotherapy, what I learned from the medical research shocked me.

At the time of my cancer diagnosis and treatment, numerous reputable studies demonstrated that the chances of disease-free time and the chances of survival were no better with chemotherapy treatment than without. That's right. Chemotherapy had not been shown to convey any demonstrable benefit to patients with my kind or stage of cancer. Yet … the doctors recommended it. When confronted with the research, one oncologist stammered a non-response. Another answered with more honesty, "It's the only tool we have."

I should have been happy. I didn't want to do chemo, to puke my guts out, to be bald and weak, to have my skin burn and peel off. But fear confronted me like a tsunami – my fear, family fear, cultural fear, medical fear. Proof didn't seem to matter, the paradigm was compelling – if you have cancer, you do chemotherapy, so what if it doesn't work? You have to do everything you can, and it's the only tool we have, right?

Wrong. After grappling with my own and others' fear for weeks, I finally came to peace with my own path. There'd be no chemo for me. I chose instead to get more exercise, eat great food, down a lot of anti-oxidant vitamins, and take herbal tinctures. An old Chinese doctor treated me with acupuncture and foul-tasting tea concoctions, and every day I crawled out of bed, and hiked the trails, woods, hills, and rivers of Portland and its environs with my beloved dogs.

A decade and a half later, I am confronting Nicholai's cancer and nothing has changed in the outer paradigm. The facts are harsh. Lymphoma kills. Radiation and chemotherapy have been tailored to be less noxious for dogs (so you don't have to show up at the dog park with your skinny, hairless, weak and puking dog), but they do not cure. Terms like success, and remission, may imply a cure, but it is not so in the vast majority of cases.

I have lived for nearly fifteen years since the doctors told me that I could die without chemotherapy. Nicholai has lived for the year oncology suggested that he could achieve only with months of medical treatment.

I do not recommend any particular course of treatment for any dog. Every cancer is different and requires its own approach. And, like the surgeon who hurried out of the room mumbling an unintelligible response when I asked for his opinion, I am loathe to go up against the tidal wave that sweeps us into medical treatment.

But, I've voted - with my life - for whole food, vitamin supplements, herbs with immune supporting actions, and walks, walks, and more walks. And a belly rub or two.

No regrets.