Здравствуйте, меня зовут Елена Чижмина. Больше 40 лет я читаю, думаю, пишу о здоровье, с тех пор, как сама получила онкологический диагноз. Моя первая автобиографическая книжка издана в 1996 -1997 годах. Текст на русском языке можно свободно найти в Сети («Случай выздоровления» или «Я победила рак!»)
Перевод текста на английский язык сделал Кирилл Бобровский. Впервые я публикую свою книгу на английском на этом канале.
Материалы канала имеют исключительно информационный характер. Любые решения, касающиеся питания и образа жизни, согласовывайте с лечащим врачом!
CHAPTER 1. - I think I'm flying! “You have just eaten something, my dear ...”
I often have a dream as if I wake up, hardly raise my head and feel that the whole weight of my hair separates from me and remains on the pillow. I open my eyes with a sense of longing and fear. I stay in bed, rolling over and looking at the pillow. There is a dusky spot of my hair on the white. Not whole, but a half of it. I wash my head in the evening and the other part is left in the washtub. I was injected with vinblastine, ordinary supportive therapy, two days ago. It wasn't the same as cyclophosphamide. The hair wasn't damaged so much by vinblastine.
Probably, I had been so crammed in recent years with all these chemistry procedures and X-rays, that my poisoned liver could not stand it and gave up everything with a wave of such problems. The very vinblastine had no success, however, it had been supposed to help in theory - I was getting worse.
My case history hadn't really begun from this fragment. It was a turning point - time full of despair, hopelessness... Life is the possibility of simple, ordinary existence on the Earth which seemed unthinkable for my fading body miracle at that moment. Unthinkable and dazzling - since love had already manifested itself. It was that autumn, when the fear of death had burned me mostly and when I had worn a wig instead of my own beautiful hair. I could not believe that I would live to be happy. However, every matter took place properly: our wedding, diploma defence and "random" pregnancy. They often said: "give birth - and every problem will go away". Nothing went away in reality. A completely imperceptible burden had lived in me for 6 weeks; I had not had enough strength even to walk to a local store which had been five minutes away from my home. The body temperature had often risen in evenings. At the moment I almost did not understand anything, but my mother cleared the situation. "If you don't want to have an abortion, then go to doctors and let them examine you". She worked in a hospital pharmacy and I was taken there without any problems. They called me for an X-ray in the morning. I managed to come there with a great difficulty. "It seems that an X-ray examination is impossible for a pregnant women. Why had they declared its necessity if it had been prohibited?". I had only dealt with Moscow doctors before and had been used not to ask stupid questions. The issue was raised only after the picture had been taken. The radiologist stared at me: "Are you pregnant?" A day later I was given my medical history in order to bring it somewhere, I opened it and read a doctor's record about the completed "examination". It turned out that complaints had been provided about pain in the left side of the lower back area (although it had hurt in the right part). I cried and was very angry: the doctor hadn't even looked at me, he had forgotten about the pregnancy. Everything was lost. Further the department specialist and my mom convinced me of the need for an abortion, completely wasting words - there was one single thought in my head like an inscription on the light board: "Everything is lost". A day later I was treated in the gynecology department and my heart threw out of a trick to which I had been used to for the last year or two – loosing of consciousness. The medical attendant and nurse were very annoyed that I could not move from the gurney to my bed, they brought me with a face directed downwards and left in such position: "Why shall we drag different people here!" I had never felt so much humiliation.
I spent a week in the urology department after that, in a children's ward - for some reason. A boy stayed there after the operation. His mother came to him - she was a very beautiful and young artist. Her name was Katya. She told me about a female friend who had had fibroids. She had decided to take on herself and had been cured according to some American system surprisingly to the doctors. I asked for her address and firmly decided to "take on myself". Just the thing I needed at that moment. Organism is the whole system - everything is treated in accordance with a unified algorithm. It was the best idea for my crumbling body. I became even more convinced that I would never go to the hospital again after a meeting with Galya. Even if I get pregnant, I would never come to the doctors. I would buy buckets of carrots, drink much juice, would solve the problem myself - it was the matter which had been determined at that moment.
- What hurts you today? - my husband asked mockingly.
I really wanted to say that he had been arrogantly mistaken: I felt wonderful and wanted to laugh quite naturally. However, he would certainly draw conclusions regarding the last night. In reality, my organism was bound to the ground, chairs, beds - it was a terrible heaviness feeling and I didn't know how it fitted in such a thin body. "It hurts, it hurts much", - I turned away and shut my lips. He sat in front of me, hugging my knees.
- Tell me, do you love me? Why don't you want me then?
He repeated the same question again despite my explanations... I pushed him away and did not know how to stop this agony.
- You do not love me! You love someone else!
I would have freed him at once and he would not suffer with me for at least another 4 years if I was a strong woman. Unfortunately, I was weak and told him the truth: I loved, I supported, I believed. The only variant remained for a decent person after such words: to wait... He waited, receiving only crumbs from me which could hardly be called "happiness". He often exploded, rebelled and boycotted me. And waited again...
I did not feel like a woman, there wasn't any thought about a child: the pregnancy could end in a disaster for me even at an early stage. I really wanted to live then - in the first year after graduation. It was a standard dream for all normal people. To live without any power consideration, carried out every minute, without any evening removal from everyday activities. Fever often occurred at the end of a day. I began to fill discomfort at about five o'clock and climbed onto the sofa in an hour or two, keeping a book or some writings with myself and constantly staring at one letter or word. I waited for the whole night, showing strong desire only to have some peace and oblivion. I had already overcome my passion for cakes, pancakes and fried potatoes. I would agree not to eat at all if there would be another source of life support. Food always brought troubles. Even the grated carrot and vegetarian diet with small addition of milk did not reduce the temperature. I wanted to direct my intellect towards recovery... However, the following thought often came to my mind: "I spend a lot of time on caring for my stomach, why is it mandatory to find additional hours for the new purpose?!" I often went to the theatre, known from childhood, and wrote about it in order prove the opposite to myself and to check my soulfulness.
Various wonderful events happened in my life, the theatre in Shakhty holds a special place in their chain. I was in a rather deep pit and made unsuccessful repetitive attempts to scramble out when Malashenko had suggested me to become a head of the literature department. I built some steps and climbed up thanks to this invitation. My material was issued in a city newspaper and I was going to write another one, that's why I was looming in the theatre again, waiting for someone in the lobby. Malashenko casually remarked after noticing me: "Finally, the first professional article about our institution appeared in newspapers. I'll tell this fact to the editor" Probably, he transferred necessary information and found out that I hadn't been working in media. I will never forget the way he jumped out of the office, having heard my voice. His beautiful grey hair fluttered from swiftness and agitation: "I want to offer you something". My heart sank sweetly on the long way to his room, which was really measured by a few steps. "Is it a teacher’s vacancy? Is it a teacher’s vacancy?!" Vladislav Ivanovich invited me to become his assistant in the literature direction. It wasn't very clear, rather being unexpected although seductive. It was a kind of dream: I would visit the theatre and would get paid for it. I asked to allow me to sort this matter out for two weeks. The situation with Sasha’s assignment was unclear and I had to go to Moscow in order to complete a check in the cancer centre.
I was consulted by Maya Aleksandrovna instead of Marya Mikhailovna. Their difference was not in some academic ranks and not even in specialities (Maria Mikhailovna often advised on lymphogranulomatosis and Maya Alexandrovna - on leukemia). They were interchangeable in their activities with patients.
The dissimilarity, which seemed actual to me, was the following: Marya Mikhailovna believed in human beings and Maya Alexandrovna - in science. An examination was carried out in autumn, when my skin had already come off because of vinblastine. It provided the following results: the liver damage was spreading and drugs had not helped. The consultation day was appointed. I was scared - so scared that I could not hold tears back while moving to the meeting room, while waiting for a conversation and when I asked my mother to come to me. Mom entered the Aunt Zina's apartments at night and the feeling of fear disappeared immediately. We went to a consultation with Marya Mikhailovna together. I recall her face and faces of several doctors. For some reason there is just an imagination of a kind of series, in which the first picture is my mother's face, and subsequently only variations are visible. Remembering her smile, I feel lightness, calm, hope, as in that gloomy autumn day. At that moment I understood that my body was full of chemical substances and I should have given it some a rest. It was necessary to follow a diet, to try some herbs, to visit doctors in spring again.
Once, we were walking with Sasha somewhere a year later and I learned something which I had not expected. The liver damage had increased. How? After such a strict diet, hungry days and other non-pleasant things... Moreover, Maya Aleksandrovna was a supporter of resolute measures and wrote a prescription for liver irradiation in Obninsk. It was necessary to make a choice: to remain obedient and humble patient or destroy the idol. I could not and would not dare to do it at the age of 18. The road to a cemetery was located near our fence and Moscow was far inaccessible. I did not want to get there. They had initiated every procedure possible to me. Assuming the overall hopelessness, doctors opened my chest, looked at internal organs, took a piece for diagnosis and sewed it up. They were delighted with a mild diagnosis (lymphogranulomatosis - not sarcoma) - and irradiated, needled, removed the spleen. Five university years passed under the motto "To live further, to study further, not paying attention to problems". Time to die came. To die or to grow wiser urgently. There wouldn't have been any continuation if Marya Mikhailovna had not "released" me once. The marriage and unsuccessful pregnancy - these events were also involved in my further insight. It was much more difficult to overthrow the image of medicine (in the face of a cancer centre with its amazing technology, doctors and huge waiting list) from the so-called personal pedestal than to be simply disappointed in omnipotence of the Shakhty hospital where every patient was simply "dumped". To look at the world through eyes of an ordinary woman is much more useful than to feel like being a chosen one, a cherished child, who is promised everything, which is not available to others. However, the oncology centre was still on a pedestal and I was conducting the last and generally hurried conversation with Maya Aleksandrovna:
- What is the nature of liver damage - is it continuation of my illness?
- Yes. You should go to Obninsk.
- Will an isotopic study show the character of changes? Perhaps it is an inflammation or is it something else?
- Maybe. Doctors will check everything.
The talk came to its end. They wouldn't have consulted me if I hadn't accepted their recommendations. These recommendations would be treated as orders in Obninsk and I would be irradiated despite everything, more than that the diagnosis had determined the “4b” stage which didn't oblige doctors to do anything. Well, no theatre at all. Even if I would have just stayed there to think and understand everything. What for should I do it? Tactics of the systemic diet treatment would not be changed still. I also knew the essence of all irradiation procedures perfectly well and could imagine what would happen next - probably nothing, no hope. The verdict which had been written by Maya Alexandrovna in my certificate ("4b" stage) was also damaging. It was the last stage. The next one - death.
Once, Sasha and I were sitting at the cinema, I tried to sort out all events which had taken place previously and I didn't understand what was happening on the screen. It was very stuffy. No, there weren’t so many people. However, I felt stuffy. "Let's go outside ..." Sasha came after me accustomed and annoyed. It seemed that we were sitting somewhere, entered the subway and Sasha carried me in his arms short way to home. I heard everything, but couldn't open my eyes and was not able to move, not feeling my body. The "emergency" doctor reproached me having learned about the diagnosis - "Why are you scaring your family? Lymphogranulomatosis can be treated completely, Maya Kristalinskaya is even continuing her singer career". I was already thinking how it was possible to move away and get home after the injection. (I hadn’t thought about the theatre in details yet). Consider of everything on one’s own began from that moment and subsequently. Sasha was ordered to purchase some grapefruits, oranges, lemons - everything according to Walker. I wanted to eat after juice drinking and ate a sweet cream cake or something milky (it was a nightmare – it seems to be even 10 years later). Probably, it was still better than sandwiches and tea which had been our preferential food in the capital. My cheerful smile and terribly swollen face were depicted on photos taken by Sasha in the train. Two litres of southern juices were consumed in conditions of a cold, slushy northern spring at that moment.
I would still work in the theatre. No matter what efforts it would cost me. The invitation had been accepted. I decided much for the sake of my dreams. I had been operated twice and what unpleasant moments had been experienced mostly? The organism was accustomed to the following preparation: enema in the evening, enema in the morning... It was necessary for lymph improvement: daily for a whole week, subsequently - every other day and so on - for a month. Mom had once talked with her friend in a tram. She quickly built a whole plan when she had learned about our troubles and had also provided issues of magazines where various methods of body cleaning had been promoted. I went to the library and made sure: there were no opportunities to retreat. My organism should be cleaned. Everything was mastered with the help of my mother and we were really involved in all procedures. I was amazed, however - hadn't considered any quick success: the temperature which had tormented me for almost a year - dropped after 3 weeks of procedures.
My first idea of recovery was the following: I perform detoxification courses, starve, follow a diet: a month, two, three - then it is necessary to return to the normal food. The snag was in the definition of these very "normal", healthy products, it was a task with the length of several years ...
Sasha was blissful, having tasted pies, cooked by me: "You're just a treasure, I am lucky. Nicely done to marryyou". I also consumed my wonderful creation (once, I had been possible to eat dozens of similar creations). It was a butter baked pie with liver. No effect. I could eat one more. Horrible things happened just on the next day. My body did not expect such a dirty trick after all these juices, separate feeding and other high-society ways of treatment. It did not rebel: I did not vomit, there was no diarrhoea, no high temperature. The stomach took everything, processed it, assimilated it and tissues got everything they wanted. I was crushed. The head was full of some kind of viscous mud, muscles hurt, the lower back and legs were not functioning properly, their movement caused difficulties. I had already used to feel myself an old woman after intervention and all these aspects hit me again.
The contrast was very stark. The weakness, hunger and torture, constant urination were problematic but brought purity, clarity, feeling of a compressed spring in the organism! I had traded them for some pastry ...
My desire to set everyone on the right path and to save myself from the illness was impacted by my husband first of all. He would no longer see sweet cakes and any other cooking. Moreover, he even tried to experience various options for "natural" nutrition together with me.
He held an educational conversation with me after a month without meat (I had been holding on for a year). I couldn't but agree that he had become a different person. Consumed food should bring at least satisfaction if not pure pleasure. I had left all extremes and experiments to myself and he got a milder compromise.
Let me remember one episode in order to round the topic of organism purification off. Sasha and I were visited by his parents. He stayed bolder with them and I was quieter; he ate much in the dining room despite my glances, even consumed the curd baked pudding after a portion of meat and got a toothache...
Of course, it was possible to triumph, however, it would be better to keep the beloved one from flour preferences at first. I gathered remnants of my juice therapy in the fridge: a couple of carrots and some wrinkled beets, processed them and made some juice. He drank the resulting sap and pain went away just in 15 minutes. Honestly, I did not expect such easy success. I understood the reasons for reliability of juices only when I had switched to the systemic level. They operate only in the traditional food system. Juices become healing for those who eat bread and potatoes, absorb dairy after meat without hesitation, carry out mixing, cooking and frying. I have not used them in recent years as now I live in a completely different dimension.
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