Fasting and Cancer

Since I am on a bit of an enforced juice fast, I thought I'd see if it might have some beneficial effect. Part of me thinks that perhaps starving the body could starve the cancer, and I've long had an intuition that it might help. It seems logical but not everything about cancer follows logic, as you know. The results are mixed on whether fasting (water or juice) helps or hurts. The official word from the American Cancer Society is that fasting could be dangerous to your health, and can actually promote the growth of some tumors. This is based on available medical evidence, which I don't think is extensive.

Now that the official word is out of the way, there are some interesting research studies and anecdotal evidence. First, a fascinating study reported in WebMD found that fasting for a few days before chemotherapy may improve its effect while shielding healthy cells. Published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, the research speculated that "starved healthy cells to go into a hibernation-like mode that produces extreme resistance to stress. But cancerous cells don't obey those cues and remain stuck in growth mode." This protects healthy cells and might allow for higher doses of chemo against the cancerous cells. These results are still preliminary but quite interesting because the starvation appears to target healthy and cancerous cells in different ways.

Moving further afield, there are some anecdotal reports of success with fasting, including a story by Sammy Hoffard who claims to have been cured of stage 4 ovarian cancer as a result of a 10-day juice fast, as well as prayer. Three of four tumors disappeared and the fourth was then surgically removed, and Sammy remained cancer free, although it is uncertain how long. This information is on a site by Ron Laquerquist who has a book Fasting to Freedom on the beneficial effects of fasting, and claims that "fasting will break down tumors." This statement is completely unverified, as far as I know, but I have not read the book. Laquerquist recommends a specific approach to fasting combining water and juice fasting for up to 40 days, something many medical experts would consider dangerous. But certainly Gandhi went for as long as three weeks, and others have done long fasts for spiritual reasons, and survived. Chemotherapy, surgery and radiation are not particularly good for your health. Among the other claims about fasting are that it alkalizes the body. More to come as I find it, or feel free to comment if you know anything about this.

In the meantime, I am going to assume that my body in its infinite wisdom does not want me to eat now for some reason, perhaps physical and perhaps only to purify my soul in the time-honored tradition of fasting. And, of course, now I am an experiment of one so I'll keep track of how my "fast" progresses.

It Takes a Lot More Than That To Kill A Bull Moose!

It is a fight. For the past week, food goes down and it comes up again, violently, knocking me to the bathroom floor like a boxer slumped in the corner, bucket by his side, panting. All night, off and on. It only stops when I don't eat.

The trainer slaps my face. The bell rings again. Round Two. Out again, into the fight. I didn't ask for this fight, but here I am, and I intend to win -- or at least go the distance and face my judgment.

And when my shuffling feet slow, I think about a story of Teddy Roosevelt. Before a speech to a packed hall, he was shot by an assassin in the audience. The bullet went through his folded remarks in his breast pocket, grazed his metal glasses case and entered his chest. He sat down for a moment, urged to quit the stage and seek medical treatment. Then he stood, blood on his shirt, a bullet inside him, unfolded his remarks, with two bullet holes through the sheets, and started his speech to the stunned audience with the comment: It takes more than that to kill a bull moose!

Roosevelt shouldn't have been standing there at all. He was a sickly child, told by his father when he was 11 that he had a strong mind but a weak body. His father said, "You have to make your body." The young TR said: I will make my body. And he did. He engaged in the strenuous life. As an undergraduate at Harvard, a doctor told Roosevelt that he had a weak heart and unless he lived a very quiet life, he would only have a couple years to live. He lived to be 60 and rode with the Rough Riders, served as president, spent a year hunting in Africa, launched one of the most successful third party bids for the

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White House, and discovered an unexplored river in South America. Quiet life indeed! His experience shows that it is truly possible to "make your body" with determination and will.

Up off the floor, out of the corner, back into the fight. It takes a lot more than that to kill a bull moose!

Playing for Keeps

If cancer is playing for keeps, so am I. None of this half-ass, tepid, partway change. No more dabbling at diets, sipping Essiac tea, listening to tapes, playing at meditation, pretending to change. Less time reading about diets; more time eating better. Less time in superficial smiles; more time in deep bellylaughs. Less dying; more living. Less worry; more prayer.

In her song, "Change," Tracy Chapman asks:

If you knew that you would die today,
Saw the face of God and love,
Would you change?
. . .
How bad, how good does it need to get?
How many losses? How much regret?

Don't make her ask again. Cancer is a message to change. It is not a message to think about change. I don't know what the outcome will be, not of this, not of any of it. Those decisions are way above my pay grade. All I can do is put my heart into it, play for keeps.

Like a dog, cancer can sense your fear. I hear the growl, feel the hot breath and see bared teeth. But do you see my teeth, now? I am not smiling. I am laughing. I am not afraid. Fear is a distraction from the work, the real work of living, here and now, the real work of playing for keeps.

No retreat, no surrender, no regrets.

Being a Victim is Hazardous to Your Health

A few years back, I had an opportunity to hear Professor Marty Seligman speak at the University of Pennsylvania. He is the leading proponent of "learned optimism," but before he studied happiness, he looked at the flipside, "learned helplessness." He described an experiment by one of his graduate students, Madelon Visintainer, that has stunning implications for any person with cancer.

In the experiment rats were injected with cancer cells that were expected to give half of them cancer under normal conditions. The researchers placed one third of the rats in a control group. Another third was in a helpless situation where they were shocked without any way of preventing it. They learned helplessness. The last group of rats received shocks but could stop them by pressing a bar. They were able to achieve mastery over the situation. In the control group, half the rats developed cancer, as expected. For the rats that had learned mastery (with the bar), only about 30 percent developed cancer. But for the rats that had learned helplessness, more than 70 percent developed cancer. The ones that experienced mastery actually did better than the control!

If you are passive victim, you decrease your chances of living. If you feel helpless, you may be helpless. It is tempting to play the victim role. Since the time when you were young, you learned to sit on the ground and wait for someone to kiss your boo boos. There are plenty of people willing to treat you as a victim. Don't let them. Don't take the free pass. It is not a small indulgence. It could cost you your life. Remember that helplessness kills. Optimism leads to a longer and better life.

Even when all is lost, don't give up. In Rowboat #6, as the Titanic was sinking, the officer in charge thought that there was no point in rowing since they'd be drawn under by the sinking ship. But the "unsinkable" Molly Brown, took the oars and brought them to safety, even picking up a few additional survivors from the icy water. No matter how strong the current, keep rowing. Don't ever give up. Don't be a victim. Don't give into helpless. Talk back to your doctor, just to keep in practice. Talk back to those who would hold you down, however well intentioned. Stand tall. Take charge. And, as 25-year cancer survivor Greg Anderson says, "keep looking up."

Life is a Full-Course Meal. Bon Appetit!

I believe I am the luckiest man alive. I am blessed to be married to the same marvelous person for more than 26 years. In all my years of living I have not met another person I would rather be married to, so what an extraordinary blessing that is. We have three amazing children, each one so different and yet so dear to us. For every day for 48 years -- more than 17,500 days -- I have had food to eat, a roof over my head and air to breathe. I have seen sunrises and sunsets, the flaming landscapes of autumn, and the breathtaking peace of morning snow transforming the world to silver. I have held newborn babies, had soft kittens purring in my lap, and felt salt-water waves washing against my feet. I have had a chance to do what I love to do, to write, and have worked with some of the most brilliant business thinkers and genuinely extraordinary people on the planet. I have worked on two dozen books and have been blessed to meet some absolutely marvelous people, from business gurus to Buddhist monks. I've traveled around Europe, Asia and Africa. I've crossed the United States by car and plane, and paddled a kayak with my dad 225 miles down the Grand Canyon.

And, yes, I also have had cancer and other dark passages that might have been excised from the Disney version of my life. Yet I would not trade my life, all of it, for anyone else's. No way, no how. I have lived a rich and fulfilling life -- and I am just getting started.

Some people think they can live life a la carte. They think of it as a buffet where they can pick and choose the good stuff. They can pile on more filet mignon and less liver, more french fries and fewer brussel sprouts, more brownies and less broccoli. But life is not a buffet. It is a full-course meal. It comes plate after plate, and some are absolutely wonderful. Others, you just smile at your host and try not to look too disgusted when you spoon out the local delicacy of monkey brains. But it is all one magnificent, full-course meal. You may not enjoy every dish, but eat up. It could be good for you. And you must enjoy the whole feast that is life in all its stunning richness.

As the title character in the musical Mame says, "Life is a banquet and most of you poor sons of a bitches are starving to death!" (Thanks to Michael for this.)

This feast is your life, the only one you have. You can live it, or go hungry. So, down the hatch. Bon appetit!


And I cannot wait to see what is for dessert.

Beyond Survival

When I was first diagnosed with cancer, I became obsessed with survival. I walked around in t-shirts emblazoned with "survivor." My goal was survival. How long did I have to live? How could I increase my chances of survival? I looked up statistics for five-year survival rates for my type of cancer. What could I do to beat these odds? This actuarial approach might have been a useful exercise if I had been writing myself an insurance policy, but it was not a good strategy for living.

Then, I realized the obvious: Survival is not an option. If your goal is survival, I can say with absolute certainty that you will fail. No one gets out of this world alive. You must find another goal.

It dawned on me that I had spent more years than I care to mention focused on survival, working to keep food on the table, pay the bills, stay alive. I kept my family alive, which represents a slightly broader purpose. But I spent more time thinking about survival than I should have -- given that, even as a non-athlete, I am more likely to win eight gold medals in the Olympics than to survive this terminal condition we call life. Survival is not enough.

If not survival, then what? I needed something deeper to live for, some broader goal, some deeper purpose, some dream. Dreams are the first casualty of cancer. How can I look beyond the next month or year if I don't know how long I have?

But without a sense of purpose, without hope, there is no life -- just survival. As American poet Langston Hughes said, "Hold fast to dreams, for when dreams go, life is a barren field, frozen with snow." This barren field is where you must plant the seeds of your dreams.

Where do you find this sense of purpose? Look for the interests and activities that attract you and give you joy without a discernible, rational cause. What you love cannot be explained. Look for the opportunities that you are drawn to, the opportunities to serve, the needs of others that you can meet. Look for the places where you are immersed in an activity, where you lose yourself.

For me, this is spending time with family, writing, paddling whitewater, or yoga. I look up and hours have passed, but I didn't notice. These activities may not make any sense to someone else. I think about president Teddy Roosevelt after he left the White House and embarked on a difficult journey down the River of Doubt in the Amazon. He was compelled to do this, and didn't flinch. He commented that it made him "feel like a boy again." What a remarkable gift for a man of 54 to feel like a boy again. He had reversed time. Given that he almost lost his life on this journey, this feeling of excitement, of being fully alive, was more important to him than actually staying alive.

Survival is egotistical. It assumes that my body is important to keep alive. But I had to recognize that I am not that important. It is not about me. Keeping alive is only important because of what it allows me to do with my life. So I need to find something that I feel is important, and spend my life on it.

A strange thing happens when you do something you really love. Time stops. If you have ever lost track of time while immersed in a labor of love, you know what I mean. Survival is concerned with clock time, with seconds and minutes. It is, as T.S. Eliot says, measuring our lives with coffee spoons.

Survival is concerned with how much time you can pack into your life. Purpose is concerned with how much life you can put into the time you have.

Living With Cancer

I am not dying of cancer.

When people find out that I have had cancer, the death watch begins. Most people expect that I will die of cancer.They do not assume that I will live. They ask me how I am doing. Or they ask my wife how I am doing. If there is any change, they assume the worst. They are kind hearted, sweet, compassionate people. And I love them for their concern. But they don't understand that I am not dying of cancer.

I understand this reaction. We just can't get our heads around cancer and death. It wasn't part of the contract. We were saving for retirement, dreaming about the golden years instead of enjoying the silver. But it was there in the contract. We just didn't read the fine print. We just didn't want to see it.

There are two ways you can meet this reality, two way you can walk into the ring for the fight of your life. You can be a victim or a victor. A cowerer or a conqueror. You can crouch down, covering your face, or stand up and throw the first punch. You can pull back or lean forward. You can choose to live or wait to die.

When people think I am dying of cancer, they think I am a victim. What's worse, I thought I was a victim. I have to take care not to play into that role, as comforting as it may be at times. I thought I was dying of cancer. I was on this same death watch. I had my bet in the pool of "how long will he be able to survive this."

Well, not any more. I am not dying of cancer. I am living with cancer. And I expect to live a long, long time. In fact, every day for the rest of my life.

And if I happen to be wrong about this, you can take that up with me after I am dead! Until then, I choose to live.