the shelves and shelves of books lining her walls as if they were conclusive evidence, she continued, “There is not one case history in all these books of a woman who has healed naturally from a pelvic mass the size of yours. So even though you may have the best intent in the world, I can’t in good conscience let you out of here in the condition you’re in. As a doctor I’m in the business of saving lives, and you need to check into the hospital this afternoon.”
“What if you had to give me time; how much time could you give me?” I pleaded. And so the negotiation continued, until finally, after another thirty minutes, we reached an agreement that if I could somehow get the bleeding to stop over the next couple of days, I would have one month to do what I knew how to do—to give it my best shot. If the symptoms worsened, I would call her immediately, and if after one month the pelvic mass was not completely gone, I would come back and let the surgeons do what they knew how to do—remove it surgically.
As I left her office, I looked back into her concerned eyes, and at that moment I saw that she really cared. Yet I could also see that there was no doubt in her mind that I would fail at healing myself. Quietly, with a knowing tone in her voice, she said, “I’ll see you in one month’s time,” absolutely certain that surgery was my destiny.
My heart still pounding, I stepped out into the Los Angeles sunshine and felt that I had been let out of prison. Though I’d never been very fond of L.A., that afternoon somehow it seemed the most beautiful place on earth. The trees seemed to scintillate with color, the air was intensely fragrant, and I felt incredibly lucky just to be alive. My senses were so aware—so keen, so sharp. Life felt so very, very precious.
At that moment something radical happened. It seemed as if time stopped altogether. In that moment, all fear subsided into a deep calm, and a quiet but certain “knowing” arose from within—a knowing that I had been given a big wake-up call and that, in fact, this tumor was a gift, that it had something important to teach me, and that somehow I would be guided to heal myself.
It wasn’t even a question of if I would heal, but how.
Though I didn’t know what my healing journey would be, somehow I realized that the same part of me that had been responsible for creating the tumor would also be responsible for un-creating it. And in this recognition I felt a childlike innocence and trust that somehow I would be guided to discover what it was this pelvic mass had to teach me.
And so my healing journey began.
As I stood in the L.A. sunshine for that brief moment when it seemed as if time stood still, I felt that the whole of my life had been lived to bring me to this very point. Snatches of memories of the various spiritual and mind-body healing teachings I’d experienced through years of study flowed through my mind.
I felt a welling up of gratitude for all I’d learned, for all the teachers I’d learned from, and for all the case histories I’d studied of people who had been diagnosed with illnesses more serious than mine, people who had, with great courage, been successful in healing themselves. Not only had I read, studied, and learned of hundreds of these cases, but also over many years I had been privileged to therapeutically help others as they successfully underwent their healing journeys. I realized that their experiences had been a real-life example for me, and their courage had kindled my own. I knew that if there was just one person who had been successful in healing at a physical-cellular level, then it meant that every human body was capable of cellular healing. So I knew without doubt it was possible; I just didn’t know what my healing journey would be.
I turned around, realizing that I had been immersed in my thoughts for some time, and that my dear friend Catherine was still standing next to me. I gave her a look of incredulity, and said, “Well, at least I’ve got a month’s time. Let’s go get some juice. I’m feeling a little shaky—I need to pull myself together.”
From the Good Earth health food restaurant I called my husband, Don, who was out of town, giving seminars as Head Trainer with Anthony Robbins. I tried not to let my voice sound overly concerned as I relayed the news—“Remember that appointment I had with the surgeon to check out why my stomach was getting so fat?”
“Oh, yeah, how did it go?”
“Well, I’ve been diagnosed with a tumor the size of a basketball, and I’ve been given one month to sort it out.”
There was a long silence over the phone—Don was speechless.
Then, “Shit, one month?”
Though an articulate, erudite Ph.D., he seemed utterly at a loss for words. Mumbling something unintelligible he handed the phone over to Tony, who was also my boss. I hadn’t expected that. I felt very exposed and on the spot, but tried to sound chirpy and confident as I gave Tony the news. Stumbling, I said, “Hey, Tone, I don’t know if you’d noticed my stomach has grown kind of fat in recent months.” (I thought I’d been successful in covering it up in long, flowing, romantic dresses.)
“Yeah, Brandon, as a matter of fact I had noticed . . .”
Embarrassment washed through me, and I suddenly felt at a loss for words. After a long, awkward pause, all my words came rushing at once—“Well . . . I’ve been diagnosed with a tumor the size of a basketball, and I’ve been given just one month to sort it out . . .”
Another long pause seemed to hang in the air, as I waited in anticipation for what I feared would be a humiliating response. But, unexpectedly, he replied in a breezy, encouraging tone, “Not a problem, Brandon, you’ll get it handled—I’ll see you at Mastery” (a seminar taking place in Hawaii in only one month’s time).
Tony passed the phone back to Don, and I gave him a condensed version of all the medical details, assuring him I’d get the blood loss problem handled immediately, and I got off the phone.
I stood by the phone box mildly stunned, mused over the conversation with Tony, and thought about his response. “Not a problem, Brandon, you’ll get it handled.” I realized the absolute confidence he had in me, and also the certainty he felt about how quickly healing can take place in the body—cellularly. I thought, “He’s right, it can and does happen that quickly, and I need to make sure I only tell people who have this knowledge and certainty. I can’t afford to invite the negativity of well-meaning people who project their own doubts, fears, and ill-judged sympathy onto me. I’ve only got one month. It’s precious time.”
At that moment I made a silent promise to myself that I would tell only those people whom I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt would wholeheartedly support me in a positive way—who were certain that I could and would heal.
I ended up telling only eight people.
After lunch, I immediately went to our local homeopathic pharmacy and spoke to the pharmacist about my condition. He suggested a few herbal and homeopathic remedies, including one to help stop the bleeding, and cautioned me to stop all caffeine intake, as there are statistics that indicate that caffeine can increase tumor size dramatically.
I then went home and did a simple neuro-linguistic mind-body healing process on myself to stop the bleeding. A day and a half later I was surprised and relieved to discover that, except for occasional spotting, the bleeding had stopped.
I then called the doctor. Upon hearing the news, she sounded skeptical but somewhat open, making sure she cautioned me before ending the conversation with “. . . if any of your symptoms worsen at all, call me immediately.”
It wasn’t until after I put down the phone that I realized I’d actually succeeded in safely buying myself an entire month. I relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. Then it began to dawn on me that now my real work lay ahead.
In one way I felt an almost childlike curiosity and an openness as to what my journey might bring. And yet I was all too aware that