Lebensenergie Energía Vital

Live energy against cancer

Before my disease, I led a carefree life with my family. We were spontaneous, liked to travel and had many plans. Of course, we also worked a lot. I was a dispatcher and area manager for four painting depots. The pressure to perform was great and the targets ambitious, but I enjoyed my job very much. Unfortunately, I had to give up my job due to a slipped disc. My em­ploy­ment is currently on hold.

My children and family have always been very important to me. I enjoyed playing tennis, cycling and painting in my leisure time. In December 2006, I fulfilled my long-cherished wish to have my own atelier. I exhibited quite successfully from time to time and dreamed of presenting my paintings to an international public. A gallery of my own was also on my list of plans.

My cancer diagnosis in April 2007 shat­tered my dreams. It was an incidental finding. During the rehabilitation phase after my slipped disc, the doctors became aware of my blood parameters. My GP then examined me from head to toe, but without any diagnostic findings.

The gynecologist could not find any ir­regularities either. Because I was also suffering from skin abnormalities, fevers and sweats, my GP did not let up. Finally, he recommended that I consult an onco­logist. He then ordered a bone mar­row biopsy and carefully prepared me for the possibility of a malignant disease. A few days after Easter, the diagnosis was made: Waldenström's disease.

The announcement of "cancer" threw every­thing out of whack. I always assumed that I would be unaffected by cancer and that I would live to be eighty-six. Although the oncologist had warned me, I fell into a very deep hole. You cannot prepare for such a diagnosis.

I don't remember what exactly I said to my family. I only remember that I must have been very harsh in passing on the mes­sage, as harsh as I was with myself at the beginning. Although we had talked openly about all eventualities beforehand, my relatives were stunned. Shortly after­wards, I asked one of the doctors about my prognosis, but did not get a sa­tis­factory answer. He simply pointed out that the course of the disease would vary from person to person and that it was therefore not possible to make a serious prediction. I researched on my own and attended various congresses. The results clearly showed that my disease was described as incurable and I had to as­sume that I would have 3, maybe 5 years left. Later, the oncologist confirmed this to me indirectly. In the beginning, my disease was only observed, but not treated. This form of therapy is called "wait and see". The doctors wanted to see how my general condition changed so that they could then react individually if necessary. But I was constantly nagged by the thought of what we were actually waiting for. Doing nothing was quite frightening for me. Against any other illness, one fights back and is actively treated, but I was just supposed to wait until I got worse. I couldn't cope with that.

My GP finally gave me a recommendation. Through a friend who had cancer herself, she knew a therapist who arranged a special form of therapy. I was very grateful for this advice and immediately made an appointment. That was in the summer of 2007.

When I came to the consultation, the the­ra­pist asked me why I thought he of all people could help me. I was irritated and didn't know what to answer. The situation was terrible for me. I was in tears. After I had recovered, I replied that I wanted to get well again and that I saw my hope in him. He then said that we would work on it and explained to me the main features of his therapy. Then we watched a film on the subject of "cancer and the immune system", in which it was shown what influence the body's own defence system has on the recovery of cancer patients. That was impressive.

Before we started the actual therapy work, I had to learn Concentrative Relaxation. In six sessions I learned to feel my body and to consciously perceive its contact sur­faces. That felt good to me. Finally, there was something I could do for myself and against the cancer.

When I came to the first individual session, I was terribly excited. At first, we talked briefly, then I was told to lie down on a comfortable couch and close my eyes. I started my relaxation exercise and felt the contact surfaces of my body.

In the next step, my therapist practised a wide-ranging programme with me. Right at the beginning, I go to my place of inner peace and security. Then I let my heart beat calmly and evenly and pump oxygen-rich blood to all regions of my body. Next, I send warm blood mixed with antibodies through the seven cervical vertebrae up into the top of the skull and then around the eyeballs. When that is done, I attend to the mucous membranes, the sternum and the kidneys. I stimulate them to eliminate all toxins and produce the growth factor erythropoietin. Then I look at my small intestine, go through the in­di­vi­dual in­test­inal loops and make sure that the intestinal wall is vigorously supplied with blood.

Then it is the liver's turn. I instruct it to convert excess proteins into positive energy. Next, I perfuse the stomach and the stomach lining. Because I sometimes have problems with the stomach, I am especially careful and give it the task of restoring everything in it to health.

Next, I send the blood up to my shoulders and specifically to my right shoulder. In 2009 I had an inflammation in the bursa there, but I was able to cure it myself by consciously perfusing the region. In the next step, I mentally take care of the scar tissue that my port left me. Sometimes I feel pain there, but if I take good care of the scar, it is nice and supple and I am free of symptoms.

Then I go to the spine to mobilize the bone marrow to make large red blood cells and strong defence cells. When this is done, I turn my attention to my pelvis, legs and feet in turn. When everything is well supplied with blood, I turn to my skin and let fresh blood flow through it too. At the same time, I calm the mast cells of my body's defences and tell them that there is no need to get upset. The problem is that they react sensitively to certain messenger substances, enlarge greatly and burst. This then manifests itself in unpleasant skin rashes.

Next, I greet my thymus gland. I have an image in my mind as if two people were hugging each other amicably. I say that we are now starting with the actual defence against cancer. The thymus gland is re­spon­sible for the production of defence cells. Once I have addressed it, it produces more effectively. I instruct the defence cells to go into the lymphatic system and bone marrow and there vigorously and with consistent composure attack and destroy the existing cancer cells.

I always set myself the target of getting certain blood values. That way I have a goal in mind that I can pursue. I see the defence cells differently. They always take on different shapes. Sometimes I see them as white cotton wools or clouds. The female phagocytes take the cancer cells to a shredder to destroy them. The remains are then transported to the kidneys and flushed out of the body. The male killer cells literally eat up the cancer particles.

When I mentally go through my lymphatic system, I start with the throat area and work my way through the shoulders and armpits to the sternum and from there to the abdomen. I look at everything care­fully. Most of the time I recognise the cancer cells as black structures. If I see something suspicious, I tell the thymus gland that we need help and accordingly more defence cells. When my killer cells are fighting the cancer, I often see flames. I can then feel the heat in real terms.

Next, I go through the bone marrow. Some­times I watch a gang of monkeys raging around my vertebrae, grabbing and eating the cancer cells. Watching over the group is an old baboon who admonishes the others to pay attention as soon as they become unfocused. When I'm done with the marrow, I ask my inner counsellor if he has a message for me. I see him as Tweety, the little yellow bird. The last message from him was, 'No overtaking, and I should take more time for myself.' He also told me he was on holiday and then I saw him lying on a bunk in the sun. In the beginning, he was always rushing around. In the mean­time, he is more relaxed. I take that as a sign that my situation is stable and the therapy is working.

Finally, I imagine myself back in my place of inner peace and security. For me, it's a place by the river Oder. I sit there and look relaxed towards Poland. Everything is very quiet; I only hear the birds chirping. Short­ly after the diagnosis, I went for a walk here with my family. It is the place where I decided to beat cancer. A few minutes later, I let the images fade, wake up slowly and take the good feeling with me into the day.

Despite my positive experiences, I also had to cope with setbacks. One year after the diagnosis, my general condition and blood values deteriorated. At this point, I was physically pretty much at rock bottom. I could hardly climb stairs and even putting the dishwasher away was a great effort for me. I collapsed several times. Then my therapist said: "Mrs Paul, you need chemotherapy now". I was then given two cycles, but they did not bring the desired success.

Shortly afterwards, my onco­logist sug­gested me to switch to a different sub­stance. Of course I agreed. After the first of six cycles, my hands and feet kept falling asleep, and I also had the constant feeling that I was walking on cotton wool. The chemo was then changed again in its composition. After the sixth infusion, the oncologist stopped the therapy because my blood values had not improved since the fifth dose of medication. In his opinion, another infusion would only have caused damage to the organs without destroying the cancer and without significantly im­proving my quality of life.

Before the therapy, I mentally packed my hair roots with a kind of bathing cap from the inside each time and managed to keep my hair from falling out. I treated my organs with a coat of foam to protect them from the poison. These imaginings helped me to protect areas of my body that would otherwise probably have suffered from the chemotherapy. I am sure that my measures kept the overall side effects in check.

It wasn't until a few months later that my blood values improved sustainably. My oncologist doubted the work of his la­bora­tory. Although he knew that I was working consistently with my therapy, he preferred to believe in laboratory errors rather than in its effectiveness. I felt deeply mis­un­der­stood and not taken seriously, so I looked for another onco­logist.

In April 2009, I had to go to the clinic because of frequent fever attacks, as the doctors feared the outbreak of a new disease as a result of the chemotherapy. After a while, however, I was released without an explanation for the episodes being found. In the meantime, I un­der­stand these attacks as a helpful reaction of my body, which I gladly accept, because I know from my therapist that cancer does not like high temperatures.

In addition to individual therapy, I practise at home once or twice a day. I also take part in group sessions. At first, I was nervous about doing this because I felt uncomfortable talking about my illness in front of others. I also found it difficult to concentrate on my exercise in the pre­sence of others. In the meantime, I feel that the groups are very helpful and supportive.

It's nice to be able to exchange ideas with like-minded people. When I see how well the people in my group are doing, I have the hope that it will stay that way for me too. My family is enthusiastic about my therapy. My children are also very in­ter­ested and want to take part in a weekend workshop for family members soon. They regularly ask how I am doing and how far my blood values have nor­malised.

At the beginning of therapy, my ima­gin­ings were much more aggressive than today. There were rockets, cannons and fireballs. Other times I saw the battles inside me as a big, bloodthirsty eating and being eaten. Some time ago I discovered Sherlock Holmes inside me, looking for cancer cells with a magnifying glass. For me, this is a sign that the number of cancer cells has decreased and that they are therefore more difficult to detect. Sometimes I also imagine an inner eye looking out for threats. Over the past three years, I have painted many of my ima­gin­ings. In the meantime, I have more than two hundred therapy pictures. The special thing is that I paint them with my left hand, as advised, although I am right-handed.

Thanks to psychotherapy, I feel good again. I also attribute the fact that I came through the chemotherapy relatively un­scathed mainly to the work with my therapist. I have set myself new objectives and found my courage to face life again. I can now do things myself that I needed help with a while ago. I am now also more relaxed about my fears. That was un­thinkable until a year ago.

At the moment I think that my disease situation is stable and that I have every­thing well under control. My blood values have now reached 600 IgM, in the meantime I had 6,500 IgM, normal is 200 to 250 IgM. Now my therapist and I are heading for the four hundred mark.

I recommend not only trusting con­ven­tional me­di­cine, but also trying alternative methods. It is important to listen to your inner self. I advise people who have just been diagnosed with cancer not to bow their heads and to fight. Under no circumstances should you lose con­fi­dence and let yourself down permanently.