Jean Ross -- Success Story Of Anabiology

Cancer, I suppose, is almost always a surprise -- a very unpleasant surprise. It happens in the middle of something else and changes that something else to unimportant while survival takes center stage.

Cancer, too, often creeps in with little hints you don't take note of. An oncologist would see the sudden gagging, without bile, and suspect an esophageal blockage. To me it was an annoyance. It took several of those gaggings, with increasing frequency, before I did the usual thing -- asked my family doctor. He did the usual thing, sent me to a endoscopy specialist. He did the usual thing, but by now the result was no longer "usual."

Cancer, and large. The next day my husband took the photo to the right. We had gone out for a lobster lunch.

By now I was swirling in new words and medical terms, the CAT and the fateful visit with the Oncology "Team." They are oh-so-skilled at delivering the always-same bad news to unbelieving family groups -- and the news kept getting worse until we finally got the first firm prediction -- less than a 20% chance of survival for two years with this Stage III+ 7 cm esophageal tumor, cancer.

One of those on the cancer team, the surgeon, made it clear that the only standard treatment would be to shrink the tumor first, with chemo and radiation, then check out the status and remove it with surgery.

I did not realize that was a wrong path. I suppose that is the central lesson I can offer to others -- the patient is NOT in a very good position to listen and judge the advice given. The advice-givers are always sincere and professional -- they quote the finest of medical authorities.

I recall the radiologist, in particular, who promised me that two weeks after the last radiation treatment my swallowing would return to normal and I could go on a vacation trip and eat regularly. I got very familiar with that feeding tube and longed to be off of it.

In fact I got so sick from the chemo and radiation that I refused more after 20 of the 28 scheduled radiation treatments and after almost all of the chemo. The CAT scan showed a reduction of the tumor from 7 cm to 4 cm. There was no hint, yet, that the cancer was "gone."

I was eager, now to get the "good news" from the surgeon -- after all my tumor had shrunk and I was ready for him to cut the rest of it out.

He dashed my hopes with standard cancer technology -- he said that "in your case" the surgery would take more than 12 hours, with 30 days in ICU and a 5% chance of survival in this process. With my hopes of life gone I got admitted to the Hospice.

My husband and I planned my funeral. I could still smile for my faith was strong.

The only thing I could do, 2 weeks after the last radiation treatment, was to cancel a short vacation trip and enter a hospice to die. I much preferred death to living in the pain and discomfort of "treatment."

The hospice was a fascinating and helpful experience -- with nurses who couldn't fail -- after all they did not have the job of curing, but making you comfortable with pain killers. One of those nurses just couldn't get over how much better I felt the longer away from the chemo and radiation. She encouraged me to leave the hospice, where no medical treatments were offered, and get a swallowing test. I did that.

I got started to life in the Hospice and remained here comfortably because of Dr. Mary Maish at UCLA.

I could swallow!

Then the PET scan reported, "no cancer found."

But, the swallowing was so trivial, the feeding tube so much a part of the rest of my life that I despaired further. Maybe I didn't have cancer, but I could not swallow and could not imagine living the rest of my life on a feeding tube.

Then I found Dr. Mary Maish at UCLA.

What a world of difference between a very highly trained and experienced surgeon who told me I had a 5% chance of survival, and a young MD professor at one of the leading teaching hospitals in the world -- Dr. Mary Maish who looked at my records and told me that if SHE had been able to advise me, she would have put the surgery first, not last in the treatment sequence. This path was on the cutting edge of new and modern treatment. I guess the older guy could not be faulted, the insurance company covering HIS services had a standard of care that included exactly what he advised -- surgery only after chemo and radiation.

Nonetheless, Dr. Mary said that the surgery which would remove the remainder of the tumor and restore my eating function had a 95% chance of success and there would be nothing like a month in ICU.

The last good measure of the size of the tumor, after my last radiation, was that it had shrunk to 4 cm from the original 7 cm. I had been taking several very helpful alternative remedies and when Dr. Mary did her surgery she found NO mass left. It had all "gone away."

Not only had the mass disappeared but the 21 biopsies she did, as she removed the esophagus and did the "tummy pull-up," found no traces of cancer.

This was unusual enough, I guess, for two MD's to announce that my cancer was not in remission, but that I was cured.

Two six-month check-ups (CAT and PET scans) have continued the clean bill of health.

After I came out of that surgery, I still had the feeding tube. Dr. Mary told me that I would have to "learn to eat again," since I had gone for so many months without swallowing.

It was slow. At first I could only eat very small portions of soft foods. I was still depending on the feeding tube for most of my nourishment.

One morning, about a month after the surgery, I showered and the towel I used to dry myself caught on the "J - Tube" and pulled it out. That was certainly a dramatic moment. Fortunately Dr. Mary was available on the phone to reassure me that this was not overly dangerous and that she could re-insert it -- made a quick appointment for me to come right in.

That was another insight into Dr. Mary. I suppose she made the judgment on medical criteria, but she also noted my overall healthy outlook and good spirit -- she said, "Bonnie, you don't really need to have this J-Tube put back in place. You will learn to eat more quickly without it and you are already doing well!"

Amazing!

So, I had a few stitches and cleaning, but went home WITHOUT the feeding tube.

It has been gradual but steady, ever since, to learn to eat and take joy, now, as I do, in eating just about everything. At first I was careful about lettuce and bread. Now I eat those with pleasure. The only thing, now after a year has been beef and red meat. I never did eat much of that and still don't. But lobster and shrimp and Mexican food are welcome replacements.

I know that many people, already carrying around MD degrees, follow Dr. Mary around on her rounds and in her operating room -- they learn the medical stuff -- I can only report on the human stuff.

Dr. Mary has been a friend as well as savior.

Sure I lost weight and have a funny tummy now, but my husband loves the new look and I've joined him for Kung Fu class. The photo on the left is me doing a standard Kung Fu exercise.

Oh, yes, I continue to take those same alternative remedies that I think helped me -- I will take those for the rest of my life as well as I will treasure my wonderful friendship with Dr. Mary.

I'm known to my family as "Bonnie J. Troescher," but to the thousands of people who know me on our web sites, I'm Jean Ross, the "Friend of Goodwill," and with that title I offer this heartfelt testimonial to UCLA and Dr. Mary Maish, and offer to continue to answer phone calls to answer any and all questions about my experience.

Bonnie/Jean