NUTRITION AND CANCER
Today, we had a speaker at the Amuma. She is a pediatrician at the Fe del Mundo Medical Center.
Her story is really amazing that kept us, her audience oohing and aahing. Hers has been the most astonishing cancer story I’ve heard. I’ll just give a super short gist of it.
She lost both of her parents to cancer. And then, out of nine siblings, six of them (including herself) got cancer.
In the mid-90’s, a mass as big as a head of a new-born baby was detected in her cervix. Added to that, she also had breast cancer. Having witnessed patients in chemotherapy, she refused to undergo one herself.
Until she had a blessed encounter with another doctor from the U.S., who was also a cancer survivor, and who shared with her about nutrition as a weapon against cancer. Now, our good doctor is already twelve years cancer-free. And she has made it her advocacy to share her experiences to the people especially to the ones afflicted with diseases. And I am lucky to have been one of those who are able to listen and learn from her.
The doctor just confirmed what I have already research about cancer—that it can be prevented and reversed. And at the risk of stepping on some capitalists’ toes, and even those of her colleagues, she candidly talked about the prescription drugs and other cancer treatments’ adverse effects to some other parts of one’s body while treating one part. So, she shared to us the 10 natural steps to fighting diseases including cancer.
10 Essentials of Health
1. Nutrition
She recommended the genesis diet, citing when Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden, they were vegetarian, and they were in perfect health. She recommended eliminating in the diet the following: red meat because they come from animals fed with artificial food; dairy milk since they come from animals fed with chemicals to produce more milk she recommends soy milk instead; white sugar because it feeds cancer cells although mascovado sugar and honey are ok because they are natural; processed food because they undergo chemical processes and they are added with foreign substances to lengthen their shelf life; and food with heated oil which are trans-fat, or, as she called it—plastic fat because they clog the organs thereby disrupting the natural flow of the body’s system. But she suggested virgin oils and add them only after the food is cooked. Therefore, frying and sautéing are strongly discouraged.
2. Exercise
The Doctor suggested at least four hours a week will weaken the tumor cells.
3. Water
We have already heard of this before. At least 8 glasses of water is recommended per day. The speaker, however, suggested 3 – 4 liters of water a day.
4. Sunlight
Again, this is nothing new—we have known about this since grade school. We get vitamins—particularly vitamin D from sunlight—something, which, lately has been found out to have a very significant effect on cancer. The doctor recommends go out and greet Mr. Sunshine before 9 o’clock in the morning and after 4 o’clock in the afternoon.
5. Temperance
Lately, a lot of studies have shown that stress, worries, negative emotions and negative environment shortens a person’s life. And with cancer patients, those who have sunny disposition, and are optimistic, have more chances of longer life and even surviving the disease. So, the Doctor suggested avoiding anything negative: pessimistic people, upsetting movies and shows, depressing news. Instead, be a patron of everything positive.
6. Clean Air
If you live in the city where there is so much pollution, you need to get out of this kind of environment at least once a week or better yet, live somewhere in the rural areas with less impure atmosphere.
7. Rest
Our bodies, like anything that works, need rest. Dr. Catibog strongly suggests setting your body clock to sleep at 9 o’clock at night to give our body ample time to cleanse and repair itself. She further said (and I just knew this from her) that the body's most active release of “repairing chemicals” or healing hormones is at 12 o’clock at night. So if you slept at twelve, your body won’t have enough time to fix itself.
8. Trust in God
It is said that stress can kill. It can also cause cancer. But worse than stress is despair: it can lead to self destruction. Therefore, turn to Someone who loves you unconditionally, put your trust, confidence and hope in Him. Leave everything to Him so you won’t worry about anything. Always lean on His love.
9. Gratefulness
Count the good things that you have and be grateful for them. For a grateful heart is a cheerful heart. And “A cheerful heart is good medicine.”
10. Benevolence
Once you are aware of and grateful for the things around you, you will recognize that you have so much to give. Then you can afford to be generous. Share God’s love.
If we just have a balance of all ten of these, then, Dr. Marylou Catibog assured, we can have a great disease-free life.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
A Christmas Mourning
There she was again, standing still in her own small compartment. Looking at me with those blue unusually big eyes crowned with thick eyelashes. I always wondered how a cute little face could hold such huge eyes. Her rosy cheeks pulling up to emphasize the permanent smile plastered in her red lips that were curiously smaller than the bottom of a pen. Her right hand suspended in the air in that stationary wave.
It was a look that would engage every child; captivate every kid.
She was Mimi, a life-sized doll—every little girl’s dream. But it was not that smile I wanted to see; not those eyes I longed to look; not that hand I wanted waving at me. To me, that countenance only haunted.
It never failed: a glimpse of her sent shivers down my spine. Not the kind of shiver one might feel watching a horror film. But one that accompanied anxiety, regret, the sense of loss.
In another time, that portrait could have delighted a child. A child who might not have been able to resist those eyes. The child would have run to her and hugged her close never meaning to let go. The child would have played with this inanimate being as if it were a sister.
Christmas was looming. Soon it would be here again. And with it would come the pain--of remembering, of losing.
It had been five years now since I had Mimi Doll.
Two weeks before Christmas, five years ago, I saw Mimi on a shelf at a toyshop. I took one glance at her and I knew she would be perfect. Little Kat would love her. Kat had been longing for a little sibling to play with. She was excited when Derrick came. Except that she couldn’t play with Derrick yet. Not the way she wanted to. Derrick could not yet talk properly, let alone walk. He was, after all, only a-year-and-a-half old. Yes, Mimi would fit the scene perfectly.
I had bought the huge doll but hid it from Kat. I wanted to give it to her on Christmas. I wanted to surprise her. To see the childlike glee in her face and the spark in her eyes. To hear the joyful shriek in her voice as she hugged her new playmate. On Christmas morning. If I had only known better…
Mimi would be an ideal playmate for Kat. This huge Blondie might not be able to talk back to Kat, but at least, our little girl could talk to it and do whatever she wished to do with it without fear of hurting it or being hurt by it. And with Kat’s special condition, she should never be hurt in any way.
Kat had been diagnosed of ALL—Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. It is a kind of cancer in the bone marrow that commonly hits children. She had been undergoing chemotherapy for six months.
We were so excited since she was supposed to be given her last shot in December. But two days before that long awaited date, Kat complained of much pain in her stomach. It got so painful; her mother rushed her to the hospital despite the rain. We thought it would be just like her usual visits to the hospital. But we were wrong.
When Kat’s mother told us the news that the doctors would perform a surgical operation on Kat, we were all shocked. We wanted the doctors to tell us there were still some other ways—ones that wouldn’t put our little angel in more pain than she had already been suffering.
But there seemed to be no better option. And we were afraid of what might have happened if the surgery wouldn’t be performed.
For hours we waited for the operation to finish. Outside the operating room, we chatted freely, trying to pacify the tension within. As if doing so would make us forget… would bring Kat back to us in her usual bubbly self. We wore a calm façade, trying to foil the turmoil deep down inside, pushing away the nagging thought that the worst might happen.
And when the operation did end, although the doctors had warned us about it, nothing could prepare us for what we saw: the Kat we had never seen before. Her limp body lay in bed, a large tube inserted in her mouth, and some other smaller ones pinned to her limbs. Her eyes closed. We listened intently as the doctor spoke. Hanging on to every word, we waited for that one phrase of assurance that never came. Not one in the family spoke.
But no word was necessary. No tear could express what was inside. We all felt the pain, the fear. But among us, one person bore it all—Kat’s Mommy. She felt the most pain. And then the sob…and the uncertainty. “My daughter will be fine, won’t she? She will be home for Christmas, right?” Her voice and sobs echoed through the thick walls of the hospital. Oh, I would never forget that look in her eyes.
Still we clung on. Hoped. Never gave ourselves chance to think of the worst. Never once did any of us thought all would come to this. Even when the doctors had said it was Leukemia, we all had thought this would come to pass.
It was four days before Christmas—Kat’s favorite time of the year. We thought…hoped Kat would be home by then. I could imagine the look in her eyes when she would see Daisy Doll. And she would see Mimi Doll. She should.
But it was not meant to be. On Christmas Eve, while the city buzzed with the spirit of the season, the house was deafeningly silent. For the sake of the other children who were anticipating merriment, the family celebrated the holy day as normally as possible. But even the children could pick up the tension, the anxiety. Even they knew something was missing—someone was not there with us. Kat’s absence was too tangible to be ignored.
And while the rest of the family was in the house, celebrating Christmas, at the hospital, Kat’s mother didn’t sleep. Her heart doing somersaults, not with excitement but with anxiety and fear. While the rest of the city went bustling for last minute holiday shopping, or simply merrymaking, Kat’s father hustled around the city for available blood to be transfused into his only daughter. On Christmas morning, the children gathered round the tree, excited to gather the gifts that bore their name. After the gift giving, there was a pile of gifts that were unopened. It was too much of a reminder that someone was not there.
Thus, Christmas came to pass. We hoped the New Year would fare better. We hoped we all would be together the way we had always been during such a time.
But again, it was not meant to be. December 30, over ten days since Kat was first brought to the hospital: after seeing how bruised Kat’s little body had been, we finally let her go. The doctors had tried to revive her, pumping life into her small body until Kat’s Mommy could stand it no longer, and screamed for them to stop hurting her little baby.
Thus, Kat left. It was surreal. Could it have been possible that the first to go in this family was only a six-year-old girl? Mommy’s ‘bestest’ friend, gone? Who would receive the gifts under the tree? The gifts with the tag “For Kat”? Who would embrace Mimi now?
New Year: a time when families should be together. The whole family was together, but not as we had hoped. We were all at the funeral parlor, with Kat among us--lying in a metal box.
That had been five years ago. Now, Kat’s no longer with us, but her memory remains.
It’s time to let her go. Kat’s already happy with her Maker. And it is time for us here to move on. And it’s time to let go of Daisy, too. And the prospect saddens me.
Somewhere, someone will smile at the sight of Mimi Doll. Even if it won’t be our Kathleen, she will have the smile that we will no longer be able to see from our one dear girl who once was. The twinkle in her eyes wouldn’t be that of our Kat-kat’s. But it will be a twinkle of anticipated joy.
The girl will be happy. And Kathleen will be, too.
Goodbye, Mimi.
So long, Kathleen.
It was a look that would engage every child; captivate every kid.
She was Mimi, a life-sized doll—every little girl’s dream. But it was not that smile I wanted to see; not those eyes I longed to look; not that hand I wanted waving at me. To me, that countenance only haunted.
It never failed: a glimpse of her sent shivers down my spine. Not the kind of shiver one might feel watching a horror film. But one that accompanied anxiety, regret, the sense of loss.
In another time, that portrait could have delighted a child. A child who might not have been able to resist those eyes. The child would have run to her and hugged her close never meaning to let go. The child would have played with this inanimate being as if it were a sister.
Christmas was looming. Soon it would be here again. And with it would come the pain--of remembering, of losing.
It had been five years now since I had Mimi Doll.
Two weeks before Christmas, five years ago, I saw Mimi on a shelf at a toyshop. I took one glance at her and I knew she would be perfect. Little Kat would love her. Kat had been longing for a little sibling to play with. She was excited when Derrick came. Except that she couldn’t play with Derrick yet. Not the way she wanted to. Derrick could not yet talk properly, let alone walk. He was, after all, only a-year-and-a-half old. Yes, Mimi would fit the scene perfectly.
I had bought the huge doll but hid it from Kat. I wanted to give it to her on Christmas. I wanted to surprise her. To see the childlike glee in her face and the spark in her eyes. To hear the joyful shriek in her voice as she hugged her new playmate. On Christmas morning. If I had only known better…
Mimi would be an ideal playmate for Kat. This huge Blondie might not be able to talk back to Kat, but at least, our little girl could talk to it and do whatever she wished to do with it without fear of hurting it or being hurt by it. And with Kat’s special condition, she should never be hurt in any way.
Kat had been diagnosed of ALL—Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. It is a kind of cancer in the bone marrow that commonly hits children. She had been undergoing chemotherapy for six months.
We were so excited since she was supposed to be given her last shot in December. But two days before that long awaited date, Kat complained of much pain in her stomach. It got so painful; her mother rushed her to the hospital despite the rain. We thought it would be just like her usual visits to the hospital. But we were wrong.
When Kat’s mother told us the news that the doctors would perform a surgical operation on Kat, we were all shocked. We wanted the doctors to tell us there were still some other ways—ones that wouldn’t put our little angel in more pain than she had already been suffering.
But there seemed to be no better option. And we were afraid of what might have happened if the surgery wouldn’t be performed.
For hours we waited for the operation to finish. Outside the operating room, we chatted freely, trying to pacify the tension within. As if doing so would make us forget… would bring Kat back to us in her usual bubbly self. We wore a calm façade, trying to foil the turmoil deep down inside, pushing away the nagging thought that the worst might happen.
And when the operation did end, although the doctors had warned us about it, nothing could prepare us for what we saw: the Kat we had never seen before. Her limp body lay in bed, a large tube inserted in her mouth, and some other smaller ones pinned to her limbs. Her eyes closed. We listened intently as the doctor spoke. Hanging on to every word, we waited for that one phrase of assurance that never came. Not one in the family spoke.
But no word was necessary. No tear could express what was inside. We all felt the pain, the fear. But among us, one person bore it all—Kat’s Mommy. She felt the most pain. And then the sob…and the uncertainty. “My daughter will be fine, won’t she? She will be home for Christmas, right?” Her voice and sobs echoed through the thick walls of the hospital. Oh, I would never forget that look in her eyes.
Still we clung on. Hoped. Never gave ourselves chance to think of the worst. Never once did any of us thought all would come to this. Even when the doctors had said it was Leukemia, we all had thought this would come to pass.
It was four days before Christmas—Kat’s favorite time of the year. We thought…hoped Kat would be home by then. I could imagine the look in her eyes when she would see Daisy Doll. And she would see Mimi Doll. She should.
But it was not meant to be. On Christmas Eve, while the city buzzed with the spirit of the season, the house was deafeningly silent. For the sake of the other children who were anticipating merriment, the family celebrated the holy day as normally as possible. But even the children could pick up the tension, the anxiety. Even they knew something was missing—someone was not there with us. Kat’s absence was too tangible to be ignored.
And while the rest of the family was in the house, celebrating Christmas, at the hospital, Kat’s mother didn’t sleep. Her heart doing somersaults, not with excitement but with anxiety and fear. While the rest of the city went bustling for last minute holiday shopping, or simply merrymaking, Kat’s father hustled around the city for available blood to be transfused into his only daughter. On Christmas morning, the children gathered round the tree, excited to gather the gifts that bore their name. After the gift giving, there was a pile of gifts that were unopened. It was too much of a reminder that someone was not there.
Thus, Christmas came to pass. We hoped the New Year would fare better. We hoped we all would be together the way we had always been during such a time.
But again, it was not meant to be. December 30, over ten days since Kat was first brought to the hospital: after seeing how bruised Kat’s little body had been, we finally let her go. The doctors had tried to revive her, pumping life into her small body until Kat’s Mommy could stand it no longer, and screamed for them to stop hurting her little baby.
Thus, Kat left. It was surreal. Could it have been possible that the first to go in this family was only a six-year-old girl? Mommy’s ‘bestest’ friend, gone? Who would receive the gifts under the tree? The gifts with the tag “For Kat”? Who would embrace Mimi now?
New Year: a time when families should be together. The whole family was together, but not as we had hoped. We were all at the funeral parlor, with Kat among us--lying in a metal box.
That had been five years ago. Now, Kat’s no longer with us, but her memory remains.
It’s time to let her go. Kat’s already happy with her Maker. And it is time for us here to move on. And it’s time to let go of Daisy, too. And the prospect saddens me.
Somewhere, someone will smile at the sight of Mimi Doll. Even if it won’t be our Kathleen, she will have the smile that we will no longer be able to see from our one dear girl who once was. The twinkle in her eyes wouldn’t be that of our Kat-kat’s. But it will be a twinkle of anticipated joy.
The girl will be happy. And Kathleen will be, too.
Goodbye, Mimi.
So long, Kathleen.
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