Warrior watercress

The University of Southampton recently published a study suggesting that watercress may help stop the reoccurrence of breast cancer. Isn’t that convenient?

Apparently they had a small group of women fast 24 hours and then eat a cereal bowl of watercress, after which blood samples were taken. The results were promising.

Findings suggest that watercress blocks a signal vital to tumour growth. You may or may not know, but cancer tumours need a lot of blood to grow. When scanning the body and looking for tumours (e.g. with the MRI, etc.) they are looking for splotches where an abnormal amount of blood has developed. Probably there is a lot more to this body-scanning science, but I’m happier without the details. Point is, tumours need blood. When they use up the blood around them, they send out a signal for more. Like waving over the waiter at a restaurant.

But in this case the cancer cannot signal the waiter. No blood arrives. Tumour dies. DIE TUMOUR! AH HA HA HA!

Obviously this is just the start for watercress research, and is only one of the many studies with many possible cancer solutions.

But it’s been published at my university, and it targets my particular problem. I’ve taken it as a sign, and have now started eating a small cereal bowl full of watercress per day.  Because, like I once mentioned, 50% of the pizza is not enough. I don’t want to play with my life expectancy like someone flips a coin. Screw that.

So along with everything else, I’m eating watercress. Add that to my pile of cancer fighting treatments, supplements, and therapies. Fifty percent is bullshit, though better than the ten percent they first quoted. Bit by bit I’ll raise my chances. By the end, we’ll eat that entire freaking pizza for  dinner, and a watercress salad on the side.

What I shouldn’t think

Here is a secret – and I’m going to write it down, right now. This is something that I’ve said before, and feel guilty about every time. The guilt just swarms me because it’s not only about fear, it’s also about pride.

So here is my secret. I am afraid that the cancer is going to reoccur. I am afraid it might spring up in another part of my body and go unnoticed, or even in my breast – maybe I could lose the other; I’m afraid that my efforts will be ineffective, afraid about the uncertainties, afraid that despite punching and visualizing and saying ‘I’m a fighter’ I’m ultimately a fool because this sick part of my body might come back and take over.

That’s my secret. It’s a thought I don’t want in my head. Preferably I would never, ever think it again – and I wish that having admitted to my worry it would dissipate from my mind; the thought would float away and never again would I doubt myself.

Positive thinking is very appealing, but also difficult. I might say I’m a fighter – but I’m also a worrier, and a thinker, and a feeler who has been swamped with emotions during the past two months. It’s embarrassing to imagine my determination could be for nothing. And it’s embarrassing to be embarrassed.

But it is good to be honest, which is why I’m writing this post. Hopefully it brings a little freedom, regardless of whether it banishes the thought. My secret is my doubt; it’s something I’m only starting to realize, and only starting to work around.

I guess we all worry that we’ll fail. There must be some natural instinct or programming that is ingrained in our psyches. Who knows .  .  . my psychology knowledge is up to a BA level, but that was  years ago and I don’t claim to be an expert in anything expect Zsolt, my front yard with the maple, that feeling when you write, and how to make a fabulous Eggs Benedict.

My name is Catherine, and I stress about reoccurance.Whew.

And now having admitted that, it’s time to move on.