COMBATING CANCER WITH CHEMO-THERAPY AND CHI KUNG -

Reflections of a Cancer-Warrior

A Mind/Body Approach: Inner Weapons Against the Monster Within

By Bob Ellal

A shaved head is not really unusual among practitioners of martial arts and meditation, so I didn't think I would stick out too much. Of course, when my eyebrows and whiskers fell out, I knew I couldn't fool anyone. It was obvious I was undergoing a course of chemotherapy for a serious, life-threatening disease - in my case, lymphoma cancer. I had undergone my first course of chemotherapy, and was beginning my first in a series of chi kung meditation lessons with Mr. Ramel Rones, a senior instructor and disciple of Dr. Yang Jwing-Ming, head of the worldwide Yang Martial Arts Association (YMAA), based in Boston, Massachusetts.

Why bother to learn chi kung meditation, if I had already elected to be treated by western medicine? After all, western medicine had removed the disease four years earlier, when I was first diagnosed with lymphoma cancer in my right hip. But the cancer had come back in eighteen months, next in my left hip, so I underwent a bone marrow transplant in an attempt to knock it out once and for all. But here it was, another eighteen months later, and various tests and scans had determined that a new tumor was present, this time the soft tissue of my right shoulder, but nowhere else. My doctors urged me to undergo another even more rigorous bone marrow transplant.

Coincidentally, at the same time as this diagnosis, a physical therapist friend sent me a brochure he'd received announcing the opening of a YMAA branch school in North Stonington, Connecticut. The brochure detailed the beneficial effects chi kung could have on a practitioner's immune system, so I was intrigued. The information outlined the benefits of chi kung, but did not promise miracles, which appealed to a born skeptic like myself.

As a former student of Japanese and Korean martial arts, I was familiar with Chinese kung fu, as well as the reputation of Dr. Yang. I decided to attend the seminar and learn chi kung, because I'd been through a bone marrow transplant and knew I'd need an edge to withstand the gruelling treatment proposed by the oncologists.

The Western Treatment Plan

My doctors proposed a rigorous, six-month protocol beginning with several rounds of traditional chemotherapy to be followed by three, four-day hospital stays. In essence, during these hospital treatments, I would be bombarded with the same amounts of chemotherapy I had received during my bone marrow transplant almost two years earlier. These "mini transplant" hospital stays would culminate in a stay of up to one month when the heaviest-duty medicine would be administered and the actual transplant of my own bone marrow, or stem cells, (the "baby" white cells circulating in the bloodstream) would take place.

To deal with this exhausting schedule, I felt I needed more than a positive attitude and a will to succeed. Participating in my recovery, though chi kung, would allow me to be part of the cure, and to help keep me on an even keel. Instinctively, I felt that it was vital to stay as calm as possible to let the chemotherapy do its job. Although from the diagnosis onward I maintained a positive attitude and vowed never to quit, it didn't seem to make sense to strive to "make things happen" with an aggressive adrenaline-pumped, "keep your chin up" attitude. Who could sustain that for six months continuously?

No, it seemed far more advantageous to use meditation to set up the conditions to "let things happen." In other words, to allow the medicine to do its job as effectively as possible without negative thoughts and fears getting in the way.

In addition, my doctors warned me that because of the prior transplant chemotherapy, I probably would be sicker than most people during the ensuing treatments and that my stem cells would almost certainly not "mobilize" (be present in sufficient quantities in my bloodstream for harvesting) for use during the transplant.

This meant that the bone marrow would be removed from my hips for the actual transplant, which is less advantageous because the cells are not as pure (stem cells are actually "baby" white cells which are used to recreate the immune system after high-dose chemotherapy wipes it out; bone marrow itself contains mature white cells, which aren't as resilient as stem cells, as well as many other cells). The result of using bone marrow would be a much longer hospital stay during the transplant and the need for many more blood products, i.e. platelets and red cells, afterwards. I hoped the meditation would help me deal with these rigors.

Enter Chi Kung

One thing I liked immediately about Mr. Rones (Rami) is that he made no wild promises about the miraculous healing powers of chi kung. Instead, Rami focused on the ways meditation could build up energy locally in my diseased shoulder, as well as throughout my entire immune system. This approach fit in nicely with my expectations; I wanted chi kung to help keep me strong during the chemotherapy treatments and to help the medicine do its job.

Rami also took the time to ask about myself; my health history, my interests, my expectations of chi kung, as well as how I was handling the disease emotionally.Then he tailored a training schedule to suit my individual needs.

We began with the various general warm-ups familiar to all tai chi and chi kung students. Rami stressed the idea that my muscles were creating and absorbing energy, and that I should use my mind to absorb or remove energy from my body depending on the intent of the exercise. In this regard, I could see the difference from western stretching and warm-ups, which don't involve the mind to nearly the same degree, if at all.

In my case, the immediate concern was the tumor in my shoulder and the pain it was causing in my arm. To increase blood flow and energy circulation, Rami advised me to place a cane in the palm of my right hand and stretch out the affected arm slowly. This would allow the circulation to return to an area that I hadn't been able to move for months without intense pain. Next, we moved on to actual meditations.

The first chi kung was called embracing the tree. It involves standing, feet shoulder width apart, while holding your arms in a circle in front of your chest (thus the name). This was quite painful at first for my shoulder in particular and my body in general, but with daily practice I was able to build up from one or two minutes to twenty minutes.

What fascinated me about embracing the tree was that after a few minutes of holding the stance my body would shake from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. This shaking would continue for several minutes, cease, then begin again. This sequence would continue a number of times throughout the exercise. By being completely out of control in this fashion, it seemed that any bad feelings or negativity vibrated themselves out of my mind and body. Even my shoulder felt better afterwards.

The next meditation Rami taught me was a set of white crane chi kung. Because damage had been done to my hips and other bones from earlier tumors, I found this meditation particularly helpful because it emphasized a slow rocking movement which seemed to caress my joints. The movement started from the chest and spine, then the arms, hands and entire body followed, back and forth, from front-to-back and then with a slow twisting of the waist from one side to another.

I always practiced this facing a pond that abuts our property, because a large blue heron, a member of the crane family, had staked out a claim among the reeds on the other side of the lake. Once in a while he would spread his wings and sun himself, and I imagined he was rocking back-and-forth, pacing me. By watching the crane and focusing upon my breathing I was able to stop thinking about my health concerns and other worries, which was quite refreshing.

Rami also taught me seated meditation. Because of my injured hips, I cannot maneuver my body into any type of lotus position. Instead, Rami demonstrated how to sit properly in a chair, back straight and knees lower than my hips, to meditate. First I would practice reverse breathing through my upper tan tien in my forehead, exhaling to bathe my brain and the back of my skull in energy. Then I would imagine this energy expanding and contracting into my lower tan tien below my navel.

Symbolism Encountered While Meditating

I am a skeptic by nature, but a skeptic in the true sense of the word - a person whose mind is open to new things, but who will not accept wild claims or promises hook. line, and sinker. Without an open mind, I never would have tried chi kung in the first place. But, being a skeptic, some of the things I imagined or symbols I envisioned while meditation somewhat unnerved me.

For example, after several sessions of seated meditation a rhinoceros popped into my mind, then charged with his horn into the tumor in my shoulder, ripping it apart. Then it snorted and trampled the bad cells into dust beneath its hooves. This occurred after my second chemotherapy treatment. Shortly afterwards I achieved full motion and zero pain in my shoulder and arm. I know the chemotherapy was effective in my case, but what about the symbol of the rhinoceros? Coincidence? Wishful thinking? Or a message from my subconscious? Who could say?

Another episode involved the symbol of the snake. While inhaling into my upper tan tien, I had the feeling that a slit of skin had opened in my forehead and a snake wiggled its way into my skull and down my spine. Then the snake encircled its way up my spine, at times splitting into two, entwining my backbone like the double helix of the DNA molecule, the building block of all life. Then it would exit my forehead, like the representation of a snake on the headdress of an Egyptian mummy's sarcophagus.

When performing embracing the tree chi kung, I would envision what looked like a propeller with three, thick, curved blades spinning in my chest. When I guided the energy to my lower tan tien, a pair of hands would appear, open and closing on prayer, containing a ball of light within them.

During all my meditation, I would feel different pressures and temperatures at various points in my body - base of the spine, neck, back of head, forehead and lower tan tien. My hands would become warm and mottled white and red.

What did all this mean? The symbolism, the strange body feelings? I don't know. But the symbols seemed positive and made me feel positive about meditating and calm about my medical situation.

At times it was quite difficult, or impossible, to perform the standing meditations due to the withering effects of the high-dose chemotherapy. This was especially true in the first two weeks after each "mini-transplant" hospital stay. My body's immune system was taken down almost to zero and required time and the use of growth hormones for the white count to be raised to normal, acceptable levels. During these episodes, laying or seated meditation was the only course possible.

Then, after the white cells and other blood counts had returned to normal, I would proceed with both standing and seated meditations. Rami told me not to worry if I could not meditate every day; he said to meditate as much as possible on good days to build up an energy reservoir for the times when I couldn't.

Results

Regarding the inability of my body to mobilize stem cells, the doctors had been correct - initially. After my first chemotherapy stay in the hospital, my stem cell "count" was 0.1, when it should have been about 1.0 or more to enable stem cell collection. The doctors believed my stem cell count would remain suppressed, so they performed an operation to remove bone marrow from my hips for the transplant.

They tested my stem cell count after the second chemotherapy, and the result was about the same - a tenth of what they needed to collect. That made the chances next to zero that my stem cells would mobilize at a higher rate after the third round of chemotherapy. There were two reasons for this: First, to my doctors' knowledge, no one had ever mobilized after undergoing a previous bone marrow transplant. Second, no one had ever mobilized after the third round of mini-transplant chemotherapy - period.

However, the lab ran the test, almost as a formality, after my third chemotherapy stay - and the stem cell count showed a reading of 0.9, just a tenth underthe 1.0 needed! So my stem cells were collected that day. The next day, my readings bounced up to 1.2, so again I was collected. The two-day collection allowed the doctors to perform the transplant entirely with stem cells and without the use of my bone marrow!

As this stem-cell collection began, the head of the entire bone marrow/stem cell transplant program happened to walk by and exclaimed that "the age of signs and miracles is not over - this case will have to be written up in the medical journals." Another staff physician who had been kind but reserved throughout my treatments came out of a meeting and practically pulled me out of my chair to shake my hand, a big smile on his face. Earlier, I discussed with this doctor the value of meditation. He told me that it certainly couldn't hurt me, and that it might positively affect a part of the brain to trigger hormones to help the immune system. He advised me to continue practicing, which I did, of course.

The actual transplant and high-dose chemotherapy, which soon followed, went extremely well for me. I did not get sicker than most patients, as the doctors thought - on the contrary, I went through the procedure relatively easily. I did not have any nausea, vomiting, chills, or fevers, and was able to eat each day and get up to stretch and exercise in my room. I meditated whenever possible throughout the experience.

As a matter-of-fact, the record for leaving the transplant unit was ten days after transplant; I was released on the ninth day! Why? Number one, I must give credit to the chemotherapy protocols established by my doctors. There's no question in my mind that that was the most important aspect - the right doctors and the right treatment.

However, why did I mobilize after the unheard-of third round of chemotherapy, and "breeze" through the actual transplant? Perhaps I just have good protoplasm, or a fighters attitude? I believe the chi kung meditations helped my immune system weather the storm of both cancer and the chemotherapy treatments. But I cannot prove it statistically.

Conclusion

Recent nuclear medicine tests taken over a year from my transplant detected no signs of cancer. Indeed, the tests showed a marked improvement in the bone structure of my right hip. Five years ago the hip developed avascular necrosis, a severe deterioration, due to the tumors and chemotherapy I received. Then the orthopedic doctors recommended that I receive a hip transplant. Now, with the drastic improvement in the bone and the greatly-reduced pain, this may no longer be necessary.Why? I attribute it to daily practice of standing chi kung meditation. Perhaps it was chi flowing through my body, or maybe it was the force of gravity which caused the bone mass to increase and heal. A cynic would sneer that meditation had nothing to do with my body's reaction - it was just a belief system with which I'd fooled myself. Even if that is the case, so what? Something worked. And I think there's much more to it than fooling myself.

I don't know what the future holds for me, but at this point I'm healthy and feeling well. I'd like to thank my doctors for their expertise, Rami for teaching chi kung to me, Dr. Yang for teaching Rami, the symbols that appeared to me during my meditations (Rami calls them my guiding spirits), the universe-at-large, and God.

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