If it Clucks Like a Chicken...

Reports that I went around the house this afternoon clucking like a chicken are apparently false.

I say "apparently" since I was under hypnosis, so I don't really know what happened.

I also say "apparently" because I assume my daughters were pulling my leg and I'm not even sure I know how to cluck like a chicken.

What I remember is this: A therapist friend of Emily's had gotten me to totally relax and actually fall asleep while she suggested that a positive attitude would be a valuable tool in my trying to defeat this cancer. She made a persuasive case that there's really no harm in believing the outcome will be positive and that the payoff is a better quality of life while the issue is in doubt, to say nothing of improving the chances of actually beating it.

One can safely call me a skeptic about such alternative approaches to medicine, which befits somebody who has been a journalist for 40 years. But this perspective has been changing the more I hear stories about people who have recovered against long odds with the help of such attitudes.

Another influence is the consistent prodding of Emily, who's a big believer in this approach, which she's used successfully in her psychotherapy practice for years. So what the hell? If going around the house sounding like a chicken would improve my chances of recovery I would start clucking away immediately.

In other news, we got an unusual promise from a radiologist today. He said he would "do a happy dance" if he were to administer radiation to someone like me with seeds implanted in a tumor. What sparked that reaction is that the seeds would improve the odds that the radiation goes to the right place. He refused to either demonstrate or describe just what such a dance would look like, saying it was not yet 5 p.m. and he had not yet had a glass of wine.