Wednesday, October 1, 2014
When the American Brain Tumor Association announced an online webinar about the Ketogenic Diet, I realized that alternative medicine and the Ketogenic Diet have gone mainstream (at least for brain tumor patients).
I’ve been reluctant to jump on the Ketogenic bandwagon because I’ve read blog/victim posts about the diet working and about it not working. I also worry that some alternative medicines are being promoted without the scientific rigor and examination that traditional treatments have had.
At the same time, I also worry that traditional western medicine isn’t open to new or alternative or creative solutions to our ongoing brain tumor problem. In fact, Clifton Leaf’s wonderful book – “The Truth in Small Doses” – makes clear that our current system for evaluating new solutions for combating cancer is hugely flawed and practically shuns creative, out-of-the box solutions.
So if you’re a victim or caregiver or friend or family member affected by brain tumors, here’s the promotional blurb for the webinar:
“More and more patients and families are turning to integrative medicine to fight their brain tumor diagnosis. One such integrative treatment is the Ketogenic Diet. Join Leonora Renda, RDN, of University of Arizona Cancer Center at St. Joseph’s Hospital and Medical Center as she discusses what the Ketogenic diet is, how to achieve ketosis, the challenges associated with this specialty diet and the results that have been seen thus far in the research studies.”
You can read more about the webinar and sign up for it here: https://www3.gotomeeting.com/register/666442558
And here's a link to info about Clifton Leaf's book: http://www.amazon.com/Truth-Small-Doses-Losing-Cancer-/dp/1476739994/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1412177121&sr=1-1&keywords=the+truth+in+small+doses
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Monday, September 29, 2014
According to an article posted on Accelerate Brain Tumor Cure “Brain tumors fly under the radar of the body’s defense forces by coating their cells with extra amounts of a specific protein, new research shows.
Like a stealth fighter jet, the coating means the cells evade detection by the early-warning immune system that should detect and kill them. The stealth approach lets the tumors hide until it’s too late for the body to defeat them.”
Now that’s just unfair. We have a hard enough time killing the little buggers when we find them. And, disturbingly, these occur in “…some of the most dangerous brain tumors, called high grade malignant gliomas.”
Learning that lethal gliomas have stealth capacity is just another reason to sleep uneasily.
Here’s a link to the article I originally read: http://abc2.org/article/brain-tumors-fly-under-radar-stealth-jets-new-u-m-research-suggests
And here’s a link to the original abstract in the journal Cancer Research: http://cancerres.aacrjournals.org/content/early/2014/07/18/0008-5472.CAN-14-1203.abstract
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Friday, September 26, 2014
I have mixed feelings about MRIs. Actually, that’s not quite true. I have several strong feelings about MRIs, mostly fear and loathing.
At a rational level, I understand that some nice, technologically advanced MRI identified my brain tumor and enabled all the wonderful follow-on treatments I received.
Emotionally, though, I still get the heebie jeebies before and during every MRI.
For starters, every time my sixth month MRI check-up pops up on the calendar, it reminds me that, yes, I still have some unreachable and un-removable brain tumor remnants left in my head. And, those remnants might just decide to wake up some day and wreak havoc with the rest of my brain.
When I climb into a MRI machine and am locked in, I somehow get the foreboding notion that this is what it feels like to be in a coffin and have the lid nailed shut.
And when I get especially paranoid, I wonder if the medical technicians aren’t experimenting with one of those new combination coffin maker-grave digger gadgets. If I remember correctly, those machines dig their own holes and fill the dirt back in automatically – putting lots of scary-looking grave diggers out of work and saving funeral homes lots of time, money and effort.
If, of course, you have some strange thought of trying to calm your nerves during the ordeal by meditating during the MRI, you must be completely deaf or live in Colorado and be smoking some newly legal marijuana, because the noises inside the MRI should wake up the dead, let alone distract anybody trying to meditate. I say "should" because I haven't seen any zombies walking around in the nuclear medicine department ...although I haven't looked all that closely at all the technicians.
I described the cornucopia of reactions I had to my first MRI in Chief Complaint, Brain Tumor - http://www.chief-complaint.com/ - and have excerpted it here:
“... the doctor recommended that I have a magnetic resonance imaging (“MRI”) test. For the uninitiated, MRI tests are normally scheduled for folks who have something lousy going on inside.
To take an MRI, you go to a lab hidden deep in some medical facility where they store the really high-powered medical equipment. Over in a corner you’ll probably see a lab technician peering at a backlit green screen that reminds you of the sonar technology they must use on a nuclear submarine.
You are instructed to take off all your jewelry (this took about a nanosecond) as the technician asks you questions like, “Do you have any metal in your body?” “Have you ever had a joint replacement using metal?” “Does being enclosed in very small space and having abnormally loud sounds clang and bang around your head drive you berserk?”
While I may be wrong, I think that no matter what your answer is, you are then told to lie down on a cloth-covered surfboard at a perpendicular angle to the MRI. It’s so the technicians can easily slide you into the machine and bombard you with x-rays. I’m just guessing on the kind of rays, they could be beta rays for all I know. (Actually, I was hoping that they weren’t beta rays because, as everybody who’s ever worked in software knows, the “beta” version is pretty iffy stuff.) After you lie down, the technicians strap you down and quickly run out of the room.
No, it isn’t reassuring.
The machine started and the vibrations reminded me of some large ship leaving port. It began as a low hum that pulsed and shook. Abruptly, the promised clanging and banging commenced at erratic and irregular intervals. It felt as if something was really wrong with the machine, like maybe they forgot to add oil during the last seventy-five-thousand-mile overhaul or the thing needed new brake pads.
While I half-expected the MRI to explode or shoot me out the front like torpedo, it didn’t.
And I walked away thinking, “Boy, I’ll bet I won’t have to do that again.” Little did I know that I should’ve quickly joined the MRI frequent scanner club for the “points.”
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