"I'm not dead yet!"

...in fact, I think I'll go for a walk!

I am now eight weeks beyond the initial MRI confirming the presence of a deadly tumor in my brain. It's been eight weeks, and my health is better than it was for that entire month preceding the diagnosis, when I just kept getting worse and worse.

This is a significant milestone for me, because left untreated, a GBM tumor will kill most people within two months. And apparently certain specialists in my case thought early on that I wouldn't make it regardless of the treatment. And one of them had no problem telling my family so, either.

It's a good thing that doctor forgot to tell me that part, because here I am. I didn't know this had been my prognosis until two days ago, when I'd already had the new, thumbs-up verdict for some time, and at this point I already know even on my own that I'm almost back to normal. But you know what--even finding this out two days ago was a huge shock. I'm supposed to be dead already? I'd had no idea.

And I now I'm wondering whether, if they had told me that, I would be here now. I seriously might have just given up.

I wonder if that doctor feels stupid now? Does he have any regrets? He should. He caused a lot of needless grief to people who needed all the support they could muster. What kind of person thinks it's his duty to remove any kind of hope from a family facing a long, uphill battle toward recovery?

That kind of pisses me off.

It is true that the glioblastoma multiforme tumor is one of the most aggressive and lethal kinds of tumors out there. The survival rates on people suffering from GBMs are much better today than they were even five years ago, but even so, the statistics, if you read the stuff out there on the internet (which I don't recommend) are a little grim.

But the survivors are there. They're always there. So no doctor can ever say with absolute certainty, "Your daughter has two months to live," as happened in my case when we consulted with an outside specialist from Cedars Sinai. There are people who have had these tumors who have seen them disappear altogether, never to return. And for whatever reason, I knew from the very day of the initial diagnosis that I would just be one of those people. It was a gut feeling, the kind that just says, "It is what it is, but I'm going to get better."

Practically speaking, there's probably a lot that would indicate that my odds should be about as good as anyone's. I have access to great health care; I was in good physical condition before this happened; I've never done anything that would have in any way compromised my health. Those things all help.

But at the same time, I keep wondering about what it is that allows some people to survive. We've all heard the miracle stories. I myself personally know people who have overcome overwhelming odds and beaten terrible forms of cancer. What is it that makes some people survive? Is it their innate genetic makeup? Their will to live? Or is it something they're doing: the diet and/or lifestyle they adopt post-diagnosis, for instance?

I'm convinced that some of the things I started doing in tandem with the radiation and chemo have improved my prognosis significantly. I started eating flax seeds and flaxseed oil mixed with yogurt--I down a big helping twice a day, along with a serving of raspberries and blueberries. I'm a big believer in supplements, which I've nuanced as I've done more research. I take fish oil tablets now with omega-3s; I take vitamin D3, and I've just added two proven anticarcinogenic supplements: milk thistle and turmeric (the standard spice used in curries).

Plus I exercise. I always did, but I'm more disciplined about it now. I do yoga for about a half hour every day; I do spot exercises for the areas most impacted by the trauma, and I walk--I'm now up to 2-3 miles every day. These things together make the kind of difference I notice immediately. In terms of how I feel, exercise focuses me and eliminates much of the residual disorientation I'm still feeling from the radiation and various meds. It helps me reassert control over some of those muscle groups that aren't entirely working yet. Exercise also seems to get rid of much of the fatigue. Many days I don't need naps at all, and I seem to be back to a regular sleeping schedule.

In terms of the studies out there, there's a reason for all this: exercise oxygenates the cells, and tumors don't like oxygen. So exercise adds yet another wallop to those overzealous cancer cells. But exercise has also accelerated the amount of control I have over those muscle groups for which I've lost sensation. I may not be able to feel my right foot, but I can make it do pretty much anything I want it to now. I'm to the point where I can pass as normal when I walk--no limp, no discernible flop in my foot. The same thing goes for my right hand. A little exercise can go a long, long way in terms of getting back what you once had.

I've heard this multi-tiered approach--the one in which you don't rely on a single treatment such as radiation to do it all for you--referred to as the "cocktail" approach, and it follows the model that has proven most effective for AIDS patients. One single treatment doesn't do enough: you have to try a variety of approaches. If the supplements are food-based and good for you anyway, you're certainly doing yourself no harm in taking them now.

And now, on top of my own gut intuition that things were--and are--going to be okay, I have my doctors saying so, too.

Things are looking way up.