Shamans, Astrologers and Psychotherapists ~ Oh My!
The Next Phase of My Journey with Cancer
Stepping Onto the Yellow Brick Road
The next chapter of my journey felt like stepping onto the yellow brick road itself. While the surgeons prepared me for surgery—conducting tests, MRI imaging, and collecting my own blood to have on hand—I was also being led to the Wizard. My aunt was the one guiding me, but little did I know who the mysterious figure behind the curtain would turn out to be.
Expanding My Mind
She brought me books that expanded my mind and spoke directly to my heart. Two of my favorites were Love, Medicine and Miracles by Bernie S. Siegel, MD and Anatomy of an Illness by Norman Cousins—each offering profound insights into healing and resilience.
One day, I would face the physical demands and emotional strain of a medical test. The next, my aunt would introduce me to yet another remarkable person—someone unexpected, someone who might shift my understanding of what healing could truly mean.
A Quiet and Reserved Child
As a child, I was deeply reserved—and, if I’m being honest, that quiet nature has stayed with me for most of my life, with only fleeting moments of exception. Year after year, my teachers would tell my parents the same thing during meetings: She’s so quiet. We’d love for her to speak up more in class. The pattern never wavered.
In groups like the Camp Fire Girls, I remained an observer, silently taking in the world around me. Speaking up or stepping into the spotlight never felt natural. And yet, here I was—skipping down the yellow brick road alongside my aunt, meeting the most fascinating characters.
Meeting the Astrologer ~ Oh My!
The first was an astrologer, who handed me a printout mapping the precise locations of the planets at the moment of my birth. As she began unraveling the deeper meanings behind them, I found myself completely drawn in. It was strange, mysterious, and utterly intriguing.
We had been speaking with a healer from another state, a man who worked with me remotely and offered daily prayers. His energy was unforgettable—powerful yet compassionate. Then, I met a psychic, whose warmth and kindness enveloped me. She genuinely cared and introduced us to a pair of psychotherapists.
Psychotherapists ~ AAAHHH!!!
That visit was the most unnerving of them all. A man and a woman, working as a team, encouraged me to open up. I imagine it must have felt like pulling teeth for them, while for me, the more they prodded, the more I wanted to retreat—shutting down, searching for some safe haven. I didn’t fully grasp what we were doing, nor did I understand the depth of its purpose. Then, suddenly, they told me I was full of anger. They insisted it was crucial to release it, marking the beginning of a recurring theme in my interactions with practitioners throughout my life.
Anger? I Don’t Feel Anger? What Are You Talking About?
It felt as if I were standing before the lions, tigers, and bears, trying to summon the courage to follow their guidance. Deep soul-searching at nineteen—when I had never anticipated such a journey—was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
During one session, the therapists sat close together on the couch, urging me to lie across them so they could support me while I screamed—letting the anger escape. But terror gripped me at the very thought. Even as I battled cancer, even as I knew I needed to summon my courage and trust these unconventional recommendations, I struggled. This particular exercise did not go well. I felt too exposed, too uncertain. Speaking up had never come easy for me, and the idea of screaming—alone or in front of others—was an edge I simply could not cross.
My journey with anger has continued to follow me, resurfacing time and again. There is much more to explore on that front, and I will write about it in due time.
The Road to Surgery: Frequent Pauses, Vital Preparations
Meanwhile, my meetings with the surgeons continued. Given the complexity of my cancer and its location, I was assigned four surgeons—each highly skilled and humble enough to recognize that no single one of them had all the expertise needed to treat me properly. But together, they formed an exceptional team.
It felt as though the red carpet had been rolled out for me. Every appointment my mom and I attended, we never waited—despite the packed waiting rooms. I was even given each of my surgeons’ home phone numbers, a rare and unheard-of gesture, but then again, so was the journey I was on.
Pressing Pause to Dig Deeper
Determined to understand my condition, I went to the library to research my cancer. In the medical books of 1987, I found limited information on chondrosarcoma. It was described as a rare type of cancer, most commonly occurring in men in their forties, specifically in the pelvic bone. Yet here I was—a nineteen-year-old female with a large tumor in my cervical spine. The survival rate statistics were grim: only about half of those diagnosed made it five years post-treatment, and beyond that, the outlook was even bleaker. I read of only one documented case of someone surviving ten years.
From extensive testing, we learned the tumor was affecting five of the six vertebrae in my cervical spine, infiltrating surrounding tissue, and pressing dangerously against my spinal cord. I met with each surgeon individually, and each explained the risks associated with their role in the surgery. The possibilities were severe—paralysis from the neck down or even death.
A Plan is Formulated
The plan was to undergo three separate surgeries. The first would remove the tumor, the surrounding tissue, the myelin sheath around my spinal cord, and my left carotid artery. Following that, they would fuse the area using bone paste and a metallic rod, which, measuring thirty-four to thirty-seven inches long, would be carefully shaped in the operating room into a hairpin form to align with the curve of my spine. The second surgery would focus on correcting anticipated complications in my left arm resulting from the first procedure. The third surgery would fuse the cervical vertebrae at the front.
Carving Out Time to Steady the Mind and Soul
This chapter of my journey along the yellow brick road unfolded between the Fourth of July and August 12th—the scheduled date of my surgery. During this time, my uncle, trained in Reiki, would frequently travel down from the mountains where he and my aunt lived to perform Reiki on me. These sessions were beyond peaceful—they filled me with joy. I would astral travel to incredible realms, experiencing visions that expanded my mind and relaxed my body in ways I had never known. Every session left me feeling more balanced, more centered, and somehow, more prepared for what lay ahead.
Harnessing the Power of Prayer
An essential part of this journey was the love and prayers of people across the country. I am blessed to be part of a large family, one woven with deep connections that reached far and wide. Through them, prayers were sent, voices lifted on my behalf throughout my battle with cancer. For each person who kept me in their thoughts, I hold deep gratitude. Among them was a kindhearted woman in Texas who sent me a card every single day—a quiet yet profound reminder that I was not alone. The power of prayer is stronger than most of us realize.
Books: The Spark That Ignites Knowledge
I continued reading the books my aunt brought me, each one expanding my perspective. Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach was among them, and I adored that bird. I read the book over and over, letting its words seep into my soul, whispering truths I didn’t yet fully understand.
A Ceremony with a Shaman
The next figure I encountered on this yellow brick road was a Native American Shaman. I was nervous, uncertain of what to expect. The experiences I had already embraced had stretched far beyond the boundaries of anything I had imagined, and now I was stepping into yet another unknown. Summoning my courage once again, I walked into the Shaman’s home, joined by my uncle, ready for whatever lay ahead.
The man before me radiated both power and humility. His presence was deeply grounding, his soul overflowing with care. The ceremony he performed included a rattle crafted from a turtle shell, a rhythmic sound that carried something ancient, something sacred. At its conclusion, he handed me his medicine pipe, inviting me to partake in the ritual.
I left feeling honored—forever changed by the experience.
The Date of Surgery Approaches
After my journey along the yellow brick road—meeting remarkable characters and embracing unconventional healing—I was approaching the date of my surgery. It was the weekend before, and my aunt and uncle had come to visit. My aunt checked in on me, sensing the weight of what was ahead. My uncle, ever a grounding presence, performed another Reiki session, bringing a sense of peace amid the uncertainty.
The Unexpected Change in My Decision
While they were there, I communicated an unexpected decision I made—one that I knew would be met with resistance. I told them, along with my parents, that I wanted to delay the surgery. Deep within me, I believed I could heal myself with the love and care of my support team. I was convinced I was already doing just that. My mother, overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation, was distraught at the prospect. In the end, she urged me to contact my surgeons and discuss it with them directly.
The Phone Call
Seeking privacy, I retreated to the pantry, where one of our phones was plugged in, and called my lead surgeon at home. He answered, and in the background, I could hear the innocent laughter of his children. As I explained my desire to postpone the surgery in favor of alternative treatments, he listened—fully present, compassionate, and understanding.
He acknowledged how difficult it must be to face the reality of living with a metal rod in my back. Then, gently but firmly, he told me the truth: if we had caught the tumor sooner, there might have been room to explore other options. But given its size, waiting at this stage would almost certainly mean that I would not survive beyond three months. His words were kind, but their meaning hit me with full force.
We talked for a while longer, and in the end, I made my decision—I would move forward with the surgery.
Stay tuned:
For my next post in My Journey with Cancer series: Dancing with Illusions: Faith Beyond Fear.
I’m curious what coping tools you used to navigate a challenging health condition or diagnosis? Please share them in the comments.
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