Chicken Soup for the Cancer Survivor's Soul Read Online Free PDF Page B

beat the odds.
    Three hours into the operation, one of his resident physicians grew concerned that Kassell was moving too deep into Craig’s brain. “Don’t go in there,” the resident cautioned.
    Kassell paused for a moment. The operation had been a big gamble from the start. Now, as he looked through the operating microscope and saw the final remains of the mass nestled in Craig’s brain, he knew he had to gamble again. He went even deeper.
    Kassell left only one small section, mostly scar tissue, in a very risky area. The tissue appeared dead, incapable of ever regrowing.
    The surgery took more than five hours. Kassell did not need the gamma knife. Drained and exhilarated, he left the operating room and went to tell Craig’s parents the good news. Marion leaped up and kissed him.
    In the intensive-care unit, Marion leaned over Craig’s bedside and whispered, “Craig, the cancer is gone. All gone.”
    Craig’s eyes flickered open, and he smiled.
    Craig’s recovery was remarkable. His speech became faster and clearer immediately. He pronounced words that had been impossible for him before the operation. Two days after surgery, when Kassell walked into Craig’s room, Craig said, “Doc, you’re supercalifragilisticexpiali–docious”— and broke out laughing.
    Lab tests found no trace of malignant cells in the tumor tissue. No one would ever know for certain what eliminated them. The important thing was that Craig’s tumor was benign.
    A few weeks later, John Kluge came to the hospital to meet the Shergolds. When the businessman entered the room, Marion grasped his hand and thanked him. “You are our guardian angel,” she said.
    Kluge handed Craig a two-headed quarter. “This way,” he said, grinning, “you’ll never lose.”
    Then Craig presented a gift to Kluge: a mounted photograph of himself in a triumphant “Rocky” pose taken by his mother several months earlier. In it, Craig wore boxing trunks and gloves; an American flag hung in the background. The inscription read: “Thank you for helping me win the biggest fight of all.”
    John Pekkanen

Hope
    As I ate breakfast one morning, I overheard two oncol–ogists conversing. One complained bitterly, “You know, Bob, I just don’t understand it. We used the same drugs, the same dosage, the same schedule and the same entry criteria. Yet I got a 22 percent response rate and you got a 74 percent. That’s unheard of for metastatic cancer. How do you do it?”
    His colleague replied, “We’re both using Etoposide, Platinum, Oncovin and Hydroxyurea. You call yours EPOH. I tell my patients I’m giving them HOPE. As dismal as the statistics are, I emphasize that we have a chance.”
    William M. Buchholz, M.D.

Amy Graham
    W here there’s life, there’s hope.
    Marcus Tullius Cicero
    After flying all night from Washington, D.C., several years ago, I was tired as I arrived at the Mile High Church in Denver to conduct three services and hold a workshop on prosperity consciousness. As I entered the church, Dr. Fred Vogt asked me, “Do you know about the Make-a-Wish Foundation?”
    “Yes,” I replied.
    “Well, Amy Graham has been diagnosed with terminal leukemia. They gave her three days. Her dying wish was to attend your services.”
    I was shocked. I felt a combination of elation, awe and doubt. I couldn’t believe it. I thought kids who were dying wanted to go see Disneyland, or meet Sylvester Stallone, Mr. “T” or Arnold Schwarzenegger. Surely they wouldn’t want to spend their final days listening to Mark Victor Hansen. Why would a kid with only a few days to live want to come hear a motivational speaker? My thoughts were interrupted....
    “Here’s Amy,” Vogt said, as he put her frail hand in mine. There stood a 17-year-old girl wearing a bright red and orange turban to cover her head, which was bald from all the chemotherapy treatments. Her bent body was frail and weak. She said, “My two goals were to graduate from high school and to