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See,
I'm a performer. I've spent my life peeling off the layers,
asking, "What's authentic?" I show up on stage and you
see me. Then I come to a place where the protection is
so damned thick. I have to ask, "Who am I talking to when
I'm talking to you? Who are you?" So, for me, the place
is incomprehensible. I don't know what's appropriate.
I feel completely lost in this environment. To me it is
an illness in and of itself.
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The
doctor looks at me, and says, "We found cancer in your
lungs. You now have stage 4 cancer." I ask, "Well, what
about stage 5 and 6?" He says, "There is no stage 5 or
6." And then, "Because your cancer is estrogen-positive,
the only thing we can recommend at this time is hormonal
treatment. You can do Lupron, or Tamoxifen; you can have
your ovaries removed." So then he gives me Lupron, and
within forty-eight hours I'm a Sexless Cow. I don't
care about anything. Do they not understand, when you
mess with a person's hormones, you're messing with their
spirituality?
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Now,
for your average Joe who reads Robert Ludlum, watches
television, and eats fast food, there's not too much vibration
going on in the chakras. I totally understand, they probably
hate their job, and beat their dog. Whatever. But for
someone who has spent their entire life shedding unhealthy
habits, studying, practicing, eating — you put me
on that drug, you might as well slit my throat. You've
just castrated me, and I don't mean just sexually, I mean
in every way possible. I'm an artist. I work on my feelings
and impulses. You've just killed me. I wanted to jump
your bones and you killed me, so now I really hate you.
So I call and leave a message on the unbelievably inefficient,
hard-to-get-through, I-hate-this-place phone system. I
finally get him and he does his "How are you doing?" And
I say, "Fine. How are you doing?" He answers, "Fine. I'm
getting ready to leave on vacation as soon as I'm finished
here." I mean, I don't even think he realized what he
said. He was so out of touch with what was going on.
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I've
always believed that in these enormous "god halls," if
it's not protocol, it's not done. And as the patient sits
there and says, "Excuse me. I am losing the feeling in
my feet," the response is, "Well, that's too bad." So,
I ended up doing treatment at another place, one that
included diet, exercise, mindfulness practice, and supplements.
I wanted o maintain my level of health while undergoing
chemotherapy. My hair did not come back dark and curly.
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I
also have issues about infusion units. Whoever designed
them is an idiot. I'm speaking at the symposium on American
Healthcare Design and I can't wait to talk to those people.
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