SECTION II - FAMILY ISSUES

Promoting Pagan Family Values - Selene Silverwind
Darn Kids!!! - DreamDancer
"WITCH TIT?" "MY RITE TIT!" Part 2 - BabooKyra

Promoting Pagan Family Values
by Selene Silverwind
Slvrwind@aol.com

Summer is here again. We hail its official arrival on June 21, but for some of us it is already here, and for the rest it's still a little way off. Either way, we'd all do well to start celebrating the season of fun as soon as possible.

Just because the kids are out of school, doesn't mean they have the summer off from learning. This is the perfect time to teach them about ancient myths and legends. You can make it fun by having them create a play based on what they have learned. First, have your children choose one story they want to perform. After they have written a script, go outside and help them make masks that represent the characters they will be playing. All you need are plastic eye-masks from the party store and feathers, beads, sparkles, glue, leaves, and flowers to decorate them with. Grab some sheets and old scraps of fabric to create simple costumes, then call over some friends or nearby family members to watch the performance with you.

No summer would be complete without camp. If your kids are in day camp, offer to give the counselors a break while you take their charges on a nature scavenger hunt. You may recall that I recommended this activity in the Lammas 1998 issue, but here's a refresher for anyone how may have forgotten. A few days before the hunt, scout out a path. Give the kids photographs of the plants they are looking for, and the plants they are to stay away from, and send them out to collect their own photographs , sketches, or snippets of each of the safe ones. Now here's the new part. After the hunt, have the children make a souvenir guidebook by gluing or taping the plant samples, sketches, or photographs to thick sketchbook paper and writing the plant name, date, location of sighting, and a brief description. Make a cover with another piece of construction paper and staple at the top. It will be a souvenir they will treasure for years. I still have the guidebook I made 15 years ago at summer camp. It's lost some leaves, but I still have my descriptions.

And finally, how about throwing a Midsummer Night's Eve party? Invite your friends and neighbors to dress up in their faery best, with masks and all, and come to an evening frolic under the stars in your backyard (or a friend's if you don't have one) . Your guests should bring summery food like fruit salads, broiled chicken, and fancy chips. Serve mead and sweet wines for the grown-ups, fruit punch for the wee ones. White holiday lights and small Japanese lanterns hung from the trees will set the mood and well-placed tiki torches will light the rest of the yard. Scatter leaves and vines across the table too add a touch of the wild to it. Enya comes to mind as the perfect background music, or maybe something with panpipes. Whatever you do, get creative with your party, but don't work too hard. The point is to frolic, not to faint!

Summer is the season of carefree fun under the sun and stars. Kick off your shoes and join me under the tree for some lemonade.

Darn Kids!!!
by DreamDancer

After a stressful day at work the other day, I decided to take a little swing thru the woods to unwind. I followed along my usual path, and just kind of lost myself in the afternoon sunshine. After a while, I know not exactly how long, I noticed that the path was different than I had ever seen it before. Hmmm.., had I taken a wrong turn, lost in my reveries? Oh well, not to matter. It was a glorious day, and I decided to go forth and see where this new path would lead me.

I came across a little glenn, and in which I saw the most beautiful woman, just sitting there alone in the sunshine. I stopped and just looked at her for a few minutes, as I'd never seen a woman quite like her. I can't really even now describe her. As I looked, the lines of my sight seemed to change, as she seemed at once childlike, a young mother, and someone who has experienced many years. It's kind of hard to describe, but I felt something warm inside of me as I looked at her. Well, not wanting to seem too weird and make her nervous, I started walking again. As the path came near to her, she looked up at me. I smiled a friendly smile at her. She smiled back at me, but it was the saddest smile I had ever seen.

I'm not usually one to talk to strangers, but somehow the sadness in her eyes seemed to draw me to stop and talk to her, and, for some reason, she didn't really feel like a stranger, tho I am sure I'd never seen her face before. "Are you allright" I asked. "You look so sad sitting here all alone like this". "Oh, I'll be fine" she said. "It's just that, from time to time I get just a bit sad and frustrated. I'm a Mother you see, and those darn kids kids of mine can be a real trial".

I asked her, "Would it help to talk a little about it, or would you rather I left you alone? Sometimes it helps just to get things off your chest." She patted a spot next to her and gave me a warm smile. "It's just those darn kids of mine" she told me again. "Sometimesit's hard to be a Mother. You do your best for them, but it never seems to be enough". "I try to give them a good home, but it seems that every time I turn around, they are messing it up. You've never seen the amount of trash that my children seem to be able to make. I try and I try to clean up after them, but a Mother can only do so much you know. Sometimes I fear that they will mess things up so badly I will never catch up".

"I try my best to teach them of life and the world around them, but of course, they know more than me. Or at least that's what they believe. It's almost like they come into the world thinking they know everything". "I do my best to feed them well, but some of them won't listen to me and poison their bodies with junk food instead. Others, while there is always plenty of food in our house to share, selfishly horde what they have, and don't share with their brothers and sisters". "I try to teach them about Love and caring, but again they seem not to listen. They fight among themselves constantly it seems, and some of my children even go so far as to hate their brothers and sister solely because they look a bit different, or even worse, because they have read and believe in different books. I don't think I'll ever understand that in them".

"I always give to my children, do my best for them, embrace them. Sometimes they act like I am not even here. They take me for granted, and it seems they always expect that I wil be here to pick up after them. Now, don't get me wrong, not all my children are this way. I do have some good kids too. They help me to clean up after their brothers and sisters, they share what they have, they give love to the family. I just wish there were more of my kids that felt the way these do".

"Well", I said. "It sounds like a tough job being a Mother. I don't have kids of my own, and I don't know if I could have the patience to deal with children the way you do. I doubt I ever will. Don't you ever just want to give up and quit on being a Mother, and just go out and live your life for yourself?"

"I am their Mother, that is my life. I'll never quit while I have life left in me, because they are my children, sprung from my body, and while not all of them love me, I love them all, each and every one." "Oh, and you will have children of your own one day, and you will make an excellent father. You will teach them and love them and feel pride as you watch them grow."

Well, children have never been part of my lifes plan, but somehow I believed her words, and the idea felt so good to me. I had a sudden impulse, and I drew her close and hugged her to me. She returned my embrace, then looked me in the face and said "Thank you. Sometimes you just need someone to listen to you, and some days, a hug is all that's neeeded to make everything seem right again."

I felt it was then time to go. I stood up, then I stretched my hand out to her. "I guess I forgot my manners for a bit there. I go by a lot of names at times, but you can call me Roger. I happen to think that you are one terrific Mother."

"Thank you Roger for being such a sweet man and being here for me today," she said as she took my hand. "Folks call me by a lot of names too, but you can call me Gaia".

"WITCH TIT?" "MY RITE TIT!" Chapter 2
By BabooKyra

I had already bought all the herbs that were not growing in my garden or the canyons, made my infusions and tinctures, and started my regime.

I made arrangements to attend a ritual with Circle of Aradia on Saturday, and to have the children over for a smaller family drum ritual in my garden on Sunday.

Saturday was wonderful. A woman friend invited me to her house for a pre-ritual party with body-paint and sisterhood. I cooked some lovely nut loaves for the pot luck, and picked out a ritual robe that would leave my breasts bare. I had not participated in rituals bare-breasted previously, but this seemed to be appropriate. I wanted to honor my breasts, and to affirm my journey from nourishing mother to teaching crone. As Crone, my breasts are no longer sources of food, but of pleasure and womanliness. Although I would prefer to keep them, I could now release them without being devastated by the loss. I decided that if I were to become a single-breasted Amazon, I would definitely study archery, and take the middle name of Artemis.

I went to Sammy's house at the top of Topanga Canyon. Her house was airy, light and beautiful. In back, there was a small herb and vegetable garden and a koi pond covered with water lilies. This wonderful space came to her as the outcome of her Lammas magic.

While I painted my breasts into flowers, I thought about how I felt about them. I have always loved my breasts. When I was Maiden, I wanted them to be large, with cleavage, just like those adorning the silver-screen love-Goddesses of the fifties. Passing into the stage of Mother, they grew voluptuously. I loved to touch them, and to have other people touch them, not always an erotic act but softly sensual. They felt wonderful, like great soft pillows against which babies and animals loved to fall asleep. I breast fed my children with joy. My husband adores them, again, not always erotically but because they just feel so nice.

Since now my breasts are pendulous, I can lift and turn them. I was doing just that while painting them. One of the young women said that she wished she could manipulate her breasts like that. I told her to breast feed two children for two years and gain fifty pounds, and she would be able to do so.

Another woman had brought her six-year-old son with her along with one of his friends. While her son was not particularly surprised by our activities, his friend (who was from a more conventional home) could not believe his eyes. In her best nursery school teacher voice, she told him that it was part of our religion to honor our breasts. She then asked if he had ever seen breasts before. He replied, "Only my mother's." I said, "I bet mine are bigger." (Just a little target practice -- everyone was so serious.) Finally, the kids got into the activities too, and we were all painting our faces and chests. We looked wonderfully wild.

When we arrived at the Topanga Community Center, it was already bustling with activity. Circle of Aradia is growing by leaps and bounds, attracting women hungry for the spiritual company of other women. My background is not Dianic, but Matrifocal. I have been to rituals given by different groups. I am always in awe of the intensity and power of the Dianic rituals.

(Theory: at sexually mixed rituals, some men seem to become distracted. They get competitive as to who is more magical, who can chant the loudest, and whether or not there will be an available witch for a Great Rite later. While this is okay, it does detract from the raising of power and the work of the ritual. Women's groups seem to stay more focused on the job at hand.) It was wonderful to see so many of the friends I have made during the past few years. There is a special relationship that develops during the camping events, spent during a long weekend with a group of women who are sharing workshops, food, rituals and life experiences. It seems to compress time.

I shared my situation with friends, receiving feed-back, experience and understanding. I could finally let my hair down emotionally. At home and work, I had to maintain some control. Everyone in my family was too directly involved with me. I couldn't deal with all the tumult of their escalating emotions. Now, here, I could express my fear and grief, and receiving support from people who could maintain some detachment. It was a huge relief not to worry about how I made everyone else feel.

The rituals were perfect for my needs. The focus was inward, selfish, introspective and healing. The harvest was of all that occurred during the past year. We were to draw all raised energy within for our own use.

The most effective portion of the ritual for my needs consisted of facing the coming darkness, and symbolically being planted into and reborn of the Goddess. It seemed that all my feelings were so confused that I could not define them. I found myself sobbing in the darkness. Then I felt a sister take my hand. She let me to a small bed of black cushions, where I curled up into a fetal position. Another sister covered me with a light black scarf. Then I began to hear soft whispers through my sobs. "Come home to the Mother, do not be afraid. All that dies is reborn, sister, through the Goddess. Let yourself feel the love, the warmth, the nurturing..." Slowly my weeping began to subside and a deep peace descended upon me. When I had totally relaxed, the scarf was lifted, and a hand was extended to help me rise.

A sister held out a bowl of seeds, and another held a basket of earth. I took the seed and planted in the soil. We would all share the results of these plantings in following spring. I returned to my place, and my drum and watched my sisters continue until all had participated in rebirth.

Before and after there was dancing, chanting, drumming, raising energy, and all the wonderful things done at COA's rituals, and then feasting and socializing. However, that ceremony was what I needed to touch the Crone within and without, to walk between the worlds, and to come to a place of serenity.

The next day, the kids descended on us. Lisa and Sean, the couple they live with, Shannon and Tim, and their two and a half year old child Ashleigh, my Goddessdaughter. Naturally this meant total chaos, noise, and activity. I love it. As usual, I paired up with Ash. The young women took to the kitchen to cook and the garden to harvest herbs. The guys wandered around, getting underfoot, playing on the computer, and talking about future plans to move to Oregon.

Ash and I set up the area outside for the drum circle, filling my cauldron with dried herbs and putting out the chairs. The kids are very independent when it comes to religion. They hate organized rituals, rules of just about any kind, and doing what I want them to do. It took a lot of guilt-tripping, playing on their fears and calling in my emotional markers to get them to cooperate. Finally, I got everyone outside at the same time, with their drums, in one place, long enough to call the quarters and cut a circle. (I really needed to be quick about it -- they are a slippery bunch.)

Once this was accomplished and the drumming started, everyone began to have a good time. When they were lulled into a false sense of security, I sprang the MA chant on them. I kind of slipped it in before they realized what I was doing. Once started though, as usual, it took on a life of its own, and we raised quite a respectable cone of energy. They were even a little impressed. I knew that I had to work quickly before anyone got restless. We sent the energy outward toward Oregon, (the direction in which we wanted to move), and inward to heal ourselves in any way needed. I closed the circle in the nick of time, (the natives were getting very restless), and took a breath of relief.

*********

I went to work the following two days. I preferred to be busy and distracted and not sit around working myself up into a state.

On Tuesday, I went to have another electrolyte test to see how my potassium level was doing. My regular doctor had wanted me to take a laboratory concocted potassium supplement. I replied that he knew me better than that. I would work with diet and herbs, and would not take isolated potassium products that are nasty to say the least. Of course, he was skeptical. After all, how could anything natural work as well as a scientifically formulated, FDA regulated, sterilized, safety packaged, commercial product? He also knows me, so he just settled for the follow-up test.

The previous week, during my pre-op tests, I had forgotten that I have an allergy to tape, and had purple bruises on my skin as a result. This time I came prepared. I had my little cup with freshly picked Yarrow, Comfrey and St. John's wort. The lab tech is from India. When I told him not to use tape or cotton, but to let me use my own stuff, he became intrigued and asked if I had studied Ayervedic herbalism. I replied that I had, but only a little as I preferred to use plants I could grow or gather locally. He called all the other lab techs into the room to watch.

Now, yarrow is a terrific "dog and pony show." It's actions as an almost instantaneous coagulant and anti-infective are dramatic. Its botanical name is for Achilles, who used it to heal wounded soldiers on the battlefield. It can heal a bleeding wound in minutes.

After the tech withdrew the needle, I crushed my plants into a small poultice and put them on the puncture that was welling up with blood. I explained that the herbs I was using would stop bleeding almost instantly, prevent infection, and close and heal the would before I left the office. All these scientific laboratory types were standing there gaping. The chief lab tech said that he had yarrow in his garden, but never knew it had medicinal properties. (Snake oil anyone?) Of course, in five minutes when I removed the herbs, all that they could see was a tiny pink spot on my skin.

Suitably impressed, they all wanted to know which herbs they could use for various conditions, what books were good to read, and where could they find the herbs. One woman said that I would put the doctors out of business, but I replied that I was only after the pharmaceutical companies. If everyone knew about yarrow, Johnson & Johnson would be in deep doo-doo. I left them with the rest of my cup of herbs and a list of books. I'm a triple Leo (have I told you that I was a triple Leo?) and love putting on a show, so that pretty much made my day.

*********

And then it was Wednesday.

I woke up very early. It was still dark. I went outside into my garden and stood skyclad under the light of the waning Moon. I whispered, "Take what you must, leave what you will. The peace of the Goddess shall remain in my heart, mind and soul."

I was to be at the hospital by 9:30, not having had anything to eat or drink since 11:00 the night before. By 6:00, I was dying for a cup of tea. My mother arrived at 8:30. I love my mother dearly, but she can be difficult. She is usually at her worst when she feels she needs to compete with other people for love and attention or when someone she loves endangered. This was going to be that sort of scenario. Chuck, Lisa and Sean, and my spirit daughter Ellen, were going to be there, and were prepared to deal with anything she could throw at them.

Chuck is my soul mate. We have been married for twenty-five years in this life, but I suspect we really have been together since the Big Bang. We complement each other by being totally incompatible and are the perfect example of the attraction of opposites. He is the emotional member of our relationship, and is a left-brainer. I am cool and logical, and a right-brainer. That may sound contradictory, but it's an accurate description.

Our motley crew arrived at the hospital and Chuck immediately took over all the paperwork, organization, and coordination. I would actually have killed for a cup of tea. At this point, everything becomes rather muddled, and I don't really remember too much about that morning. I was staying in an Alpha state, keeping a high endorphin level and conscious contact with the Goddess. I remember everyone massaging my feet and hands, and laughing and telling jokes. The fear was there, but seemed very remote. Finally, I went to the operating room. My last thought was, "Suppose the anesthetic doesn't work?" It did.

The next thing I knew, I was conscious, and stoned in a horrible, Demerol sort of way. I really hate opiate highs. I was surprised to find that I felt quite well, the drug induced dizziness notwithstanding. There were two nurses asking me questions, and I started doing breathing exercises to clear my head. All I wanted to do was go home.

There was a blank period, after which I awoke back in my room with the whole family (except my mother who had gone to my house to clean my refrigerator -- don't ask why, I didn't). I was much more awake and ready to leave as soon as possible. What I didn't know until a couple of days later was that the lumpectomy was more extensive than had been previously anticipated and the surgery lasted two hours longer than expected. The hospital staff were sure I would stay the night, but I was up and walking around, conscious, peeing, etc., so they let me go home. I was surprised that I had so little pain.

I got home and settled into bed with ice packs on my tit, pain killer in my bloodstream, and a pile of books and magazines. I have yet to find an analgesic herb as effective as Vicodin, but I'm still searching. Meanwhile, as I said, I'm pragmatic and will use anything that works until I find something better. It works.

I have vague memories of being on the phone a lot, but I can't remember with whom. I know that I felt deeply cared about by many people. Having been an outcast for most of my life, the different one, I am very grateful for being accepted and loved just as myself. It's wonderful to not try to fit in any more, and to just be. Later Chuck told me that just about everyone I knew in Circle of Aradia had called. I was extremely touched.

The next few days were a blur of ice bags, sleeping, waking, eating, and more ice bags. The days and nights were running together and time had very little meaning. I was surprised at how little actual pain there was. Oh, my breast was achy, and the incision where the lymph glands were removed was quite sore. Relative to some other experiences like a root canal, childbirth, a bad relationship, etc., this was pretty low on my pain list.

My follow-up visit to Dr. Lim was not a pleasant one. He removed stitches and the drain tubing. I had forgotten to take a pain pill before going, and it was quite uncomfortable. His prognosis of my condition was in the category of mixed blessing. Even in the face of all the evidence to the contrary, I think I was still hoping that the growth would turn out to be benign. Hearing the word "cancer," no matter how prepared I was, was still a shock. He explained that the tumor was very small, in fact too small for the hospital laboratory to analyze. It had to be sent out for evaluation as to whether it was "hormone negative or positive." However, the lymph glands were clear, as was the surrounding tissue, so the situation looked very good. Through all this, though, I kept hearing the word "cancer" echoing in my head.

My next step would be to start radiation and possibly hormone treatment at the hospital cancer center. I was very cranky, to say the least, for the few days prior to my appointment with the oncologist. I was physically more uncomfortable than I had been so far. The removal of the stitches and the tubes left my underarm and breast very sore, and dealing with the reality of having cancer did nothing to improve my disposition. I've never been very good at maintaining a doom and gloom attitude for very long, and after a couple of days, I started feeling better.

Chuck had been even more afraid and nervous throughout this entire ordeal than me. When he's nervous, and feels like life is out of control, he tends to hover, control and overprotect, which makes me feel smothered. That hurts his feelings, which makes me feel guilty, etc., and off we are, down a rabbit hole spiral of codependency. At this point, he was taking over more and more of each of my doctors' visits, talking for me, answering for me, and becoming upset with me if I tried to participate in discussions. He was driving me crazy, and seemed to be annoying everyone else as well. (Having had no sex for a while did nothing to improve the situation. Neither of us do well with celibacy.)

My way of handling things is to try to be sensitive, considerate and polite, and to get a word in edgewise whenever possible -- for a while. Then I blow. I endured my visit with the oncologist, during which Chuck monopolized the discussion and gave me dirty looks every time I tried to ask a question...and my visit with the radiology oncologist, ditto.

I'd finally had it with trying to spare his feelings. When he announced that I needed to change my appointment time for my radiology treatments so that he could come with me, I told him NO. I backed up and let loose all the resentment I had been building up, and told him that I felt he was taking over my illness, treatment and life, and that that was not okay.

He, of course, immediately became defensive and hurt, saying that he wouldn't say anything anymore. I calmed down. I am well aware that his behavior stems from his deep love and fear of losing me. I explained to him that I was not telling him not to talk at all -- only that he should not crowd me out of my own treatment. Although he heard me, he is so compulsive that I knew he will never be able to control himself. Therefore, I decided that I would just have to kick him hard under the table. I have found that a little physical behavior modification goes a long way, much further than a request.

*********

My next experience was the preparation for treatments. This was very difficult, because I am very prejudiced against "traditional, (that is, AMA)," medicine. This was a time where I had to really listen to my intuition, rather than my intellect. In every way, the entire process has felt "right." All the doctors I have accumulated have been wonderful. Every step I have taken has been smooth as silk -- no monkey wrenches, no pitfalls, and no feeling of wrongness. So, even though what I was doing went against most of my training and disposition, it was the correct path.

On our first meeting, the oncologist, Dr. S., was very positive. He told me that he wanted me to take a medication that would inhibit my production of estrogen. Given my family history of breast cancer, I was considered very high risk and estrogen increased the probability of a recurrence of breast cancer.

I produce more than my share of estrogen, and was about to resign myself to be the oldest menstruating woman in the world. I asked him if the medication would cause me to crone He was quite taken aback at my glee when he said that it would. I explained that in my family, reaching menopause brought respect and credibility. (My brat of a daughter said, "Mom, you're still bleeding -- you don't have Crone authority!", and my mother loved being the only living Crone in the family.) He also recommended that I no longer use Dong Quai and Black Cohosh, as these herbs stimulate the production of estrogen. Estrogen seems to cause the type of breast cancer cells that I produced to grow and multiply.

He removed the large dressing that had been covering my breast. I was delighted to find that my breast looked quite good -- no scar or malformation. It felt wonderful to get all those bandages and tape off my body.

The radiologist and the radiology tech had been selected for me by the head of the cancer center, based not only on their competence, but because he felt I would get along well with them. This was the sort of sensitivity I had been experiencing all along. Each doctor chose the next doctor using these criteria, and it was working very well. Dr. E., radiology oncologist, and Dory, her technician, were nice people, open minded and caring.

The initial simulation was tedious and boring, consisting of lying on a table and not moving for about two hours, while they measured, marked and tattooed me. I did ask if Dory would make small flowers instead of just dots, but she said she had no talent whatsoever in that department..

Dr. E. explained what possible side effects I might experience. She said that my breast may become a bit harder, hair would not grow under my arm, and my breast skin would take on a rosy cast. I asked if I could have the treatment on both sides. I can think of worse things that having a firmer, rosy breast and no underarm hair, although my pits have been au natural for years now.

I received my schedule of treatments. I would be going five days a week for about six weeks. I called my boss and told him that I would be able to return to work, but would have to leave early. I probably could have arranged my schedule so that I could work full time, but frankly, I just didn't want to do so. This way, I could leave work at 2:30, arrive at the clinic by 3:15, and be home by 3:45.

Now this seemed to be a pretty good plan -- radiation, estrogen negating drug -- all things which I intrinsically don't believe in, but my intuitive alarm bells were silent. Goddess wasn't kicking me in the rear and yelling "NO!". So I agreed to the conventional treatments, using my herbs in conjunction with "modern" medicine. I had agreed to stop taking those herbs that regulate estrogen, Dong Quai, Black Cohosh though I still used Wild Yam Cream moderately, and set about awaiting the onset of my treatments.

All of this was thrown into a tizzy when I received a telephone call from the oncologist on Friday. My husband answered the telephone. When I heard who was calling, I picked up the extension in time to hear the doctor saying that my hormone test had come back "weakly estrogen positive." Considering this, he had postponed my radiation treatments until I had completed six months of chemotherapy.

The long awaited alarm bells sounded! Not just bells, but sirens, flashing lights, and every other signal the Goddess had ever sent me. I promptly burst into tears.

I cry for various reasons. I cry when I've been at a wonderful ritual retreat in the mountains, and a hundred women are chanting the closing of the circle. I cry when someone dies on one of my beloved soap operas; I cry when I'm very tired, or in major physical pain (like most women I have a fairly high pain threshold). When I'm scared, I never cry -- I make jokes. When my feelings are hurt, I don't cry -- I withdraw and put a pearl around the grain of sand. Mostly, I cry when I'm angry. The angrier I am, the harder I cry.

Men don't understand this. I usually have to explain through my sobs (and by then I'm sobbing), that this is not weakness, intimidation, fear, or anything other than fury.

I was absolutely furious that the doctor had taken it upon himself to make the decision to change the course of treatment without consulting me first. My husband started telling him how upset I was, that I was crying. I interrupted to say that I would take no course of action without thinking long and hard about it first.

I asked the doctor what "weakly positive" meant. He said that that, along with the tumor being larger than he first thought, (1 centimeter), put me into "Stage 2." I replied that I was under the impression that anything under 2 centimeters and hormone positive was still Stage 1. I realized he was lying to me.

At that point, I stopped hearing him. I can't remember what he said, because the Goddess was yelling in my ear -- "NO!". I told him I would get back to him and let him know my decision after I had time to think about it. I made it very clear to the doctor that it was indeed my decision. I also decided against taking the estrogen inhibiting drug after additional research on its side effects.

The greatest surprise was the support I received from my husband. He is a pharmacist, trained to look to conventional medications as a solution, and to respect the opinion of doctors. Here he was saying to the doctor, that this was my body, my treatments and my decision. I cannot say how much that meant to me. I did not have to do battle alone.

Needless to say, my decision was made by the time I hung up the telephone. Five minutes later, the radiology doctor called. She told me she had spoken to the oncologist. I told her to reschedule my treatments as originally planned, that I was not going to undergo chemotherapy and decided to postpone taking the estrogen inhibitor. Dr. E. said that after our initial talk, she pretty well figured that would be my choice.

Later that day, I had my post-surgical exam with the surgeon, Dr. Lim. By then I had had time to check my data and confirm that according to all opinions I could find, I was categorized as Stage 1. I told Dr. Lim about the pathology report and my decision. He said that we were lucky enough to live in a country where we were allowed to make our own choices and that no one could force us into an unwanted line of treatment. (I don't know if that is entirely true, but in my case it was.) He said that I was healing remarkably well, and that the herbs I was using were obviously accelerating my recovery. Then he said that he enjoyed working with me, and that we made a good team.

I felt very comfortable with my decision of reconsidering the use of the hormone blocking drug. There were several issues involved. On basis of health, while the drug would decrease the chance of additional breast cancers, it would greatly increase the chance of uterine cancer. Adding into the equation were my spiritual feelings, as the drug would push me straight into menopause.

I have been wanting to crone. I have really been wanting to crone. I have felt that I would be the oldest woman still bleeding. I have a few symptoms of menopause. Those symptoms I have, I enjoy. The temptation to chemically induce croning was very strong. The feeling that croning as a process was not something that I should interfere with was equally strong. Physically, I am a high risk for breast cancer, and a low risk for uterine cancer. This was truly a dilemma.

The Dr. E. told me that I should make a decision before my treatments were completed. This gave me about five weeks to think about it. I decided to wait until Samhain ritual, and see if drawing upon Hecate's energy would clarify the direction I should take. I figured that since she was Crone, Goddess of Magic and Wisdom, and Goddess of the Crossroads, she was the obvious choice of Goddesses in this situation.