THE BIG C WORD
THE BIG C WORD
I had not spoken to anyone in my family for about 8 years, except for the letter that I wrote to my father when I was told he was on his deathbed. They had been trying to reach out to me through so many channels and through so many people, but I never responded. To the point that in 2018, I was in my apartment in Santa Monica, and it was about 2:00 in the afternoon. I was just finishing up my lunch, listening to music, when I heard a loud and aggressive knock on my door. “Open the door, it's the police!” The first thought that came to mind was, 'Oh, this is a joke. Some of my friends, probably Dan’s idea, are fooling around.' I took a peek from the peephole and saw two police officers in uniform. My heart started pounding. 'I haven't done anything wrong in my life, have I? Maybe I was driving too fast? I glanced across the living room. Did I do something wrong?' Unrealistic doubt started to creep in. I heard another knock on the door. “Open the door, this is the police!” I slid the mounted door steel chain across its track and lowered my hand to turn the door handle as the door opened. “Are you Maha Al-khaledi?” the young handsome officer asked me. “That's my old last name, but yes, that's me” I responded in a shaky voice. They both immediately noticed the utter fear and confusion on my face. “Your family is worried about you; we have received a call from a friend of your father’s who lives here in the United States. She said that your father is concerned about you and hasn't heard from you in a long time” they explained. “Officer, these are very old family issues. I'm currently in therapy working on healing my PTSD and cannot be in communication with them during this time” I responded. “Do they know this? Did you tell them?” he asked me. “Yes, they know. I have told them so many times” I responded. “Well, this is an invasion of privacy then. They can’t do that; we’ll let them know,” he said. “Yes, yes it is! It is an invasion of privacy. Thank you, officer!” I responded. At that moment, I had a major revelation. I didn't know I had privacy rights. Not only do I have privacy rights, but the law protects me if someone tries to violate my privacy, my boundaries, and my choices. The girl from Yemen whose violently abusive mother made her father unhinge the door lock in her own bedroom at age 22 years old has privacy rights. God bless the U.S of A!
Living the Yogi life and staying healthy has always been my thing. I never bothered with a regular doctor or annual checkups – it just wasn't on my radar. I left the corporate world in 2018 and only got medical insurance in 2021, and I gotta admit, I went for the cheapest one. But hey, I knew as a yoga teacher, I'd need physical therapy and sports medicine down the road if I wanted to keep teaching till I hit a century. My insurance was an HMO, everything had to go through a designated primary care physician (PCP) chosen by the insurance company. I got the insurance card in the mail with my new PCP deets - name, number, the whole shebang. Her name was Dr. Mezia Azinge. I needed that referral for my shoulder and back pain, so I rang up Dr. Azinge's office in December 2021. They explained to me that I had to go in for a physical exam because I was a new patient and they needed to establish a medical record for me. Despite my attempts to skip the physical exam, there was no way around it. I explained to them that I simply did not need a physical because I pretty much live a life of a bodhisattva, but it didn’t work. I had to go, get poked and prodded, and finally snagged that referral and ran with it.
The process took months and months, to approve the authorization and for the insurance company to find a physical therapist “within the network” for me and finally schedule an appointment. I went to physical therapy and the therapist had shown me a few great exercises that I quickly learned and started doing on my own at home to heal the strains in my upper body. It was different from my regular yoga practice, because these movements involved lifting weights and using a resistance band. I was already reaping the benefits of these exercises and feeling a more fluid range of motion in my shoulders and upper back. But on October 7 of 2023, I think I might have overdone it on that specific day and pulled a muscle in the left side of my chest all the way to my left armpit. I took a shower, grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and put it on my left armpit.
I looked at my phone, and found a new email alert, the sender was from Hael Kl. “Dear Maha, I know that you are busy with your own life and that you no longer want to know anything about us, but I could not help but tell you what is happening. Unfortunately, our sister Maysoon has been diagnosed with cancer, which is in the second stage, and we do not know what will happen next. Perhaps she can resist the disease and perhaps not, because when Maysoon learned of her illness, she had a breakdown and her psychological state is very bad. She is currently in Jordan. My mother and father do not know what happened to Maysoon. We are hiding the matter from them. They only know that there is a tumor and it will be removed. None of us could go to stay with her because the airport was closed. I hope with all my heart that we will all come back and open a new page together. Don’t worry about anything. I am with you. I am no longer a child. War and circumstances in Yemen have made me older than my real age. Please, my sister, no matter what happens. We are still a family.”
I reply: “Hadeel, is this you little sister? My heart is broken! This is so sad! Where is the tumor in her body? And who is with her now in Jordan? Who is paying for her medical care? Please know that I miss and love each and everyone of you. It’s not like I am busy living a happy life here and forgot about you. It’s hard for me too. I am in pain, I can’t speak Arabic anymore and don’t know what to do”
She replied immediately: “Yes, it's me.. It's okay and don't worry that you no longer speak Arabic. Everyone changes and forgets, and I'm okay with English.. The tumor in her left breast is in the second stage, and her husband Essam is covering all the costs.. Unfortunately, no one is with her. She is alone there. All of this happened suddenly.
Maysoon, my father, and Essam and I were in Jordan in July until the end of September 9. We were performing surgery on my father’s knee because he could no longer walk.
We split up to return to Yemen, and she stayed there for a week, and her husband would return. Unfortunately, because of the war, problems occurred in the country, the airport was closed, and she was stuck there.
When she was alone, she felt pain in her chest and went for an examination and it turned out that it was cancer in her breast in the second stage. Now we are trying to find a way to travel to her because she must have the operation this week and she is afraid to have the operation because she is alone”
I reply: “Hadeel, is it possible for her to come here? Breast cancer is highly treatable in the U.S. women recover from it all the time.”
I immediately sent another reply: “What’s her number? I want to call her!”
Hael is a male name, and KL is short for Al-khaledi. It's not uncommon for women in Yemen to use male names to preserve their dignity. For example, my sister Maysoon has a son and his name is Ali. In public and to strangers she can only be called “The mother of Alli”. But because my younger sister Hadeel does not have a male offspring, she got creative, and used the name Hael KL online.
“Maysoo! Sister!”I say in a yearning tone. “Maha!” she responds. “I'm heartbroken! I'm so sorry that you are sick! Don't worry sister, this is the easiest cancer to beat. Come here! Come to the United States. Treatment has advanced so much now, it's like a root canal, they'll pull it out of you and you'll be good as new! It's not what it used to be, you're going to be okay! I promise you!” I keep going “I miss you so much! I miss you my dear sister! I'm so sorry that I haven't spoken to you in such a long time. I forgot to speak Arabic and was ashamed. Please forgive me!” I finally stopped to take a breath and wipe off my tears. “It's so good to hear from you, mahmohi, my little sister. I know, I know! I understand, it's okay! I don't care about anything, It's okay if you forgot to speak Arabic, we can speak english. I'm just happy that you called me. It only took cancer for you to call me” she laughs. “It would be difficult for me to come to the United States, the Visa would be impossible to get, also it is very expensive to pay for medical expenses out of pocket. We would also need to rent a place for me and my husband, Essam. It's okay, I'm here in Jordan and they're taking really good care of me. The doctors are so knowledgeable” she said. To be with his wife, Essam, had driven across the country in a war zone to another city in Yemen, Aden, so he can fly to Amman from another airport that is not closed because of the war. I wondered, who would do something like that for me?
Our phone conversation lasted 4 hours. There were tears, there were laughs, there were hard and sad memories, there were beautiful memories. It was deeply cathartic and profoundly healing. I told her about the pain in my left chest, that I had somehow energetically felt her pain across the vast planet, and it manifested into empathic symptoms. How deeply connected we are. “Get a mammogram! I already told everyone in the family, all my sisters and even my daughter Razan who's only 22 years old, to get mammograms regularly” Maysoon urged me over the phone.
I remembered that 10 months ago during my physical exam, Dr. Azinge had recommended a mammogram, stating that being above 40 years old, it was time for me to get annual screenings. They would request authorization for my first mammogram and I should get it in the mail. I had completely forgotten about this mammogram thing until I spoke to Maysoon that day on October 7th of 2023. Which right after I immediately went and got my mammogram.
It was a Tuesday appointment at 1 P.M., they said the whole process should take about 1 hour, I figured I have plenty of time to get to my classes, I’ll be out of there in no time! On Tuesdays I have back to back classes at The MINDRY in Malibu. 4:00 p.m. - 4:45 p.m., Activate Miracles Meditation, and 5:00 p.m. - 6:00 p.m. Candlelight Yin Yoga. Dreading going to medical centers, I made sure that my energy was protected from any fearful projections before I even walked in. I imagined a sphere of light 360° around me, a protective healing light. This sphere will filter any condemnation that comes my way. I set my intention, “I stand in my seniority, and I radiate light, health and peace” and I walk in the imaging center. The technician administers the mammogram, and as soon as we're done she walks me out of the room into another little room. a 20-something year old technician hands me a paper with a checkbox next to “your exam shows findings that are abnormal. See below for recommendation”. I glanced down to three other checkboxes, a check next to “ultrasound core biopsy”, a check next to “right”, and a check next to “left and marked 2x”. I asked the young technician what does this mean? “It just means you're going to have to come in for a biopsy to get those lumps checked in your breasts and your left axilla. “Can I speak to a doctor, and get more information?” I ask her. “The doctor is busy and can't talk to you right now. You can go to the front desk and schedule your biopsy” She quickly responds as she walks away. I look at the time and its 3:45 PM, I text Chrissy, The MINDRY studio manager “I’m sorry to do this last minute, but there's been an emergency, I'm in the medical facility right now and won't make it to the 4:00 p.m. class in time, I probably can make the 5:00 p.m. class”. She responds “Oh no! are you okay? I feel like I should also sub the 5:00 p.m. so I'm not scrambling last minute”. Since teaching yoga is my favorite thing to do in the world, I almost never sub my classes. I always think about how people arranged their schedule, block the time, drive for miles to come practice with me, and I do not take that responsibility lightly. I took a breath and closed my eyes, I tuned into my heart and noticed that it was tender. As much as I was resisting the possibility that I might have breast cancer, in fact I was in complete denial, something inside of me told me that there was no way I can teach this class and that I need to honor the moment and go home and process this. I respond to Chrissy “yeah go ahead, sub the 5:00 p.m class”.
The earliest appointment was after 3 weeks. I have to anxiously wait 3 weeks for my biopsy appointment, and after my biopsy I have to wait another week for my PCP to get the results. Then I have to wait for my PCP to schedule an appointment to go through the results with me. It has been two months of waiting. In those exact two months, Maysoon in Jordan (a third world country), had her lumpectomy within the same week of her diagnosis and already completed her third round of chemotherapy. I, on the other hand, am still waiting for my diagnosis and have not spoken to a single physician. I have died a thousand deaths anxiously navigating the complex process of the U.S medical system talking to lab technicians, radiologists and insurance agents but not able to see or speak to an actual doctor.
At 8:30 in the evening on Thursday, December 7, 2023, two months after I requested an appointment to get a mammogram, my phone rang. I never answer strange phone numbers, but I had a feeling. I picked it up. “Hello, Maha? Dr. Azinge here, how are you?” she asks in a warm tone. “I'm well, doctor,” I respond quickly hoping she will get to the point as soon as she can. “Do you have someone with you right now?” she asked me. “No, I don't,” I responded rapidly. “Is there someone that you can call that can come and be with you?” she kindly suggests. “It's okay doctor, please just tell me, I already know this is bad news, otherwise you won't call me this late and I know you're on vacation. I don't have anyone to call. Please just tell me what it is!” I plead. “ Your biopsy results came out positive for breast cancer, in your left breast, it is grade 2/3 and it has metastasized,” She says. “Metastasized, what does that mean?” I ask. “It is invasive and it has spread to the lymph nodes” she responds. “I want you to listen to me carefully, you must control your mind, do not fear. Do you meditate?” She asks. “Do I meditate!?” A bitter chuckle slipped out. “Yes doctor, I am a meditation and yoga instructor. It is all I do, all day every day” I respond. “Okay, good! Listen!” she persists. “I want you to practice ho'oponopono meditation, every day. Do you know it? She inquires. “ Yes I do,” I responded. “ Very good!” She cheers. “Every night before you go to sleep, I want you to put your hand on your left breast and say to it, to whatever is going on in me that is causing cancer cells to manifest in my left breast and left axillary lymph nodes:
I'm sorry
Please, forgive me
I love you
Thank You
“I understand and I will. But my sister has the same diagnosis. On the same side, her left breast, invasive ductal carcinoma. We are only 18 months apart. She lives in Yemen and I live in the United States. She has three children and I do not have any children. She smokes and chews khat and I live the healthiest yogi lifestyle. What does this all mean? What is being revealed to me here by the universe?” I desperately ask. “You have to release your ancestral pain. Call in your ancestors to help you during meditation” She advises me. “I am so grateful to have you as my doctor, you are speaking my language. it is very rare that a physician understands how powerful these spiritual practices are and how the body responds to one's intention. Thank you, Dr. Azengi” and we end the call.
I brushed my teeth, put my pjs on and turned off the lights. My favorite part of my day is when I slip under the crisp sheets. I closed my eyes and placed my right hand on my left breast and said out loud “to whatever is going on in me that is causing cancer cells to manifest in my left breast and left axillary lymph nodes:
I'm sorry
Please, forgive me
I love you
Thank You
I repeated the ho'oponopono phrases 10 times. I drifted to sleep, and within minutes, I woke up to what felt like somebody punched me in the stomach with an iron fist. I gasped and gagged, and before I could take my breath, it happened again, and again, and again. A thousand punches in the stomach, I can feel my organs seizing up. I sat up right and practiced Breath of Fire followed by Box Breathing. Breath of Fire focuses on rapid exhales through the nose, the focus is only on the exhales, as the inhales happen naturally. It sounds almost like a little sneeze, like you're trying to get something out of your nose. Every time you exhale, the belly button snaps in towards the spine and that contracting movement massages all the organs in the belly. This friction invoks the body's natural ability to create heat from within, what in yoga is known as Agni (fire). Box Breathing is practiced by Navy Seals to help them self-regulate their nervous system and heart beat creating a sense of clarity and equanimity in extreme tense situations. The practice is done by inhaling for the count of four through the nose, holding the breath for the count of four, exhaling for the count of four through the nose, and holding the breath for the count of four, what is known as 4-4-4-4 breath. I did the breath work for about one hour and the punches stopped. The moment I blinked my eyes open, they returned! I closed my eyes again, and practiced a body scan meditation, which is scientifically proven to ground and soothe someone experiencing a trauma response. When my eyes were closed and I was meditating, the punches stopped. The moment I came out of the meditation, the punches returned. I continue to meditate for 6 hours straight. Intellectually I knew that the survival rate for breast cancer is 80 to 90%, and the odds are in my favor. I told myself the same thing that I told Maysoon “it's like a root canal”. The doctors will take the tumor out of me, and I will go through the treatment and then I move on with my life. It's the easiest type of cancer. The punches in my stomach, wouldn't listen to my brain. My body and my mind were out of sync. The animal body within me, is in survival mode, and no matter what my intellect says, my body is going to do its thing. I had to accept that, and relinquish control. I looked at the time. It was 3:00 in the morning, which means it is 2:00 in the afternoon in Jordan, Amman. My mind is racing, should I tell Maysoon? Is it too much for her? She’s dealing with her own cancer journey, do I want to add to her suffering? Is it selfish of me to tell her? I closed my eyes hoping that I could hear past the rattling of my heart, hoping that I could transcend the punches in my stomach and communicate with the truest part of me. I didn't want to call anyone else or tell anyone else in the whole wide world but Maysoon.
“Maysoon, Remember when I told you that I was having empathic syndromes and I was feeling a pain in my left breast, and the moment we spoke, it faded away? Well, I went and got it checked, and I have the same thing that you have” and I start sobbing, and she starts sobbing. “What do you mean, the same? she asks. “It's cancer in my left breast, just like yours, Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, grade 2/3.” I responded. “Yes, yes, yes! Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, that's exactly what I have” she responds. “That's why I didn't call you for the last month, because I did not want to worry you, and I knew that if I would talk to you I couldn't keep it a secret, and would probably blab it out. Remember how I told you I will call you every single day, I felt so bad I'm so sorry. But that's why I didn’t call you” I told her. We both cry over the phone, and she starts to comfort me and tell me it's going to be okay and that we will get through this together. Maybe this happened to reunite us and bring us closer together.
We continued to talk for another 4 hours, ending the call both feeling fatigued and filled with raw emotions. I managed to fall asleep for a couple of hours, I felt so alone in the world. I remembered how whenever I fill in a new patient's form, I lie and make up a fake name and a fake phone number under my emergency contact because I couldn't think of one person close enough to me to add in that field. How am I going to go through cancer treatment, mastectomy surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation therapy all on my own? I drove myself to the biopsy. Who's going to drive me home after hours of chemotherapy? Can I Uber to chemo? I thought. Still in bed, I check my phone, and I saw that Maysoon had left me a voice message “mahmohi, don't be scared little sister, you're going to be okay I promise! Come here, come to Jordan and be with me and we will do our cancer treatments together. Don't worry about money. I will buy you a plane ticket for you to come here, and pay for all of your treatment expenses. I will sell all of my jewelry and everything that I own to cover all your medical expenses. I have a giant spare bedroom here in the apartment that you can have all to yourself. Please come here sister, let's be together and support each other. You need a solid friend! Let me be your friend! You can't do this alone sister” her voice quivered with the weight of her tears.
I let out a raw, primal wail that I’ve never heard come out of me before. Despite not speaking for 8 years and facing her own battle with cancer, my sister is ready to go into financial ruin for my sake. I felt deep guilt, I felt unworthy. Unworthy of her love, and deep guilt for not being there for her in the same way that she is for me. This is the epitome of unconditional love, sisterhood. How I longed to just say "yes!" hop on a plane, plop in her bed, cuddle up next to my loving sister, and never leave her side. But there was this underlying crippling fear of what the consequences might be for me having to interact with my mother again (my abuser), returning to a Middle Eastern country oh yeah, on top of that battle cancer alongside my sister.
“Maysoon my love, save your jewelry and your money, you don't know how long your treatment will be and how much more it might cost you. You're going to need every penny since you are paying out of pocket, and on top of that you are paying for living expenses in a foreign country for the unforeseen future. I have insurance here in the U.S.. Even though it is a government sponsored insurance, meaning, it's really slow and complicated. Meaning, I can't pick my own medical team, just like I had no say in things back in Yemen. But, I'm grateful it covers my treatment costs” I tell her. “But Maha how are you going to pay for your living expenses, rent, food and unexpected medical expenses for next 6 to 8 months, if your body is too weak to work and make a living? After chemo I can barely walk to the bathroom for a week, and don’t get me started on the nausea and waves of grief and depression. Living in Los Angeles is beyond expensive, and without any source of income, what are you going to do? You don’t have anyone else to support you financially, no husband or any one! Treatment expenses in Jordan is affordable, chemo is about $200 a round” she replies. “I guess, I’m going to have to do the hardest and bravest thing a human being can do, ask for help from my community” I say.
I spent my birthday December 22 on the phone all day, navigating the excruciating medical insurance system, and until this Christmas Morning, its been almost three months, the cancer is invasive, meaning is its spreading, and the insurance company has still not found a surgeon oncologist to operate on me to remove the tumor. They told me I only have two surgeons in my entire network, and one of them refused to take me as a patient because my insurance LA Care, would not cover the surgical center cost, and he does not have a facility to operate on me. To help support me in this fight for my life, my lovely community created a GoFundMe campaign for me. Please join us in this heartfelt initiative by helping spread the word - share the donation link below - and donate, if you can. Your kindness and contribution regardless of the amount can truly save my life. Think about it, if 1000 people, donated $10 each, that’s $10,000. Please act quickly!