Dying to Be Me (17 page)

The conference was attended by members of the medical profession, particularly professors from the oncology department of the local teaching hospital. In addition, there were a number of people there who’d been invited by myself, Dr. Ko, or some of the professors. Subsequently, Dr. Ko, Dr. Walker, and I were all invited to be interviewed on the radio about my case. (The newspaper article and radio interview are currently on my website:
www.anitamoorjani.com
.)

As a direct result of the conference and my meeting members of the medical faculty at the Hong Kong University, I was invited to be a consultant in their department of behavioral studies, speaking and advising the professors on the psychology of facing cancer and death. I was asked to speak to both the faculty and the students on a regular basis on this subject, and I enjoyed it tremendously.

Dr. Ko compiled a report of his medical findings from my file, along with his questions, and sent it to cancer institutes around the globe. To date, none of them have been able to answer his questions, and none of them have come across anyone on record who’s had such a dramatic turnaround.

These are some of the unexplained phenomena that Dr. Ko shared with me that still remain a mystery:

— My medical records show that my organs had already shut down at the time I entered the hospital, yet something caused them to start functioning again. Dr. Ko is intrigued by what would cause their recovery. He also noticed a remark written by the oncologist saying: “patient’s family have been informed,” which Dr. Ko interpreted as the doctor making a note that my family had been notified that I was dying.

— My records confirmed that I had tumors the size of lemons throughout my body, from the base of my skull all around my neck, armpits, and chest, all the way down to my abdomen. But several days later, there was at least a 70 percent reduction in their size. He’s curious as to how it was possible for billions of cancer cells to leave my body so quickly when the organs were failing.

— I had open skin lesions, and it’s recorded in my file that they needed reconstructive surgery since my body didn’t have the necessary nutrients to heal, because I was completely malnourished and my muscles were already wasted when I entered the hospital. The doctors’ notes indicate that reconstructive surgery would be scheduled when I got stronger. Yet the wounds healed completely by themselves, well before the medical team was ready to operate.

These all come down to the main question that Dr. Ko and others want to understand about spontaneous remissions:
What flicked the switch, to turn the body around from dying to healing?

As for my own situation, I know the answer…but it’s not something that can be found in medicine.

CHAPTER 12

Seeing Life with New Eyes

For the first few months after coming out of the hospital, I felt euphoric, as though on a permanent high. Everything and everyone appeared beautiful, and there was magic and wonder in even the most mundane of objects or events. Take my living-room furniture, for example, which had been with us for many years without seeming special in any way. After returning home, I saw beauty in the woodwork that I’d never noticed before, and I was able to sense the labor that went into the construction. I felt wonder at being able to operate my car again (which I couldn’t do in the last eight months of my cancer). I was in awe of my ability to coordinate my hands, eyes, and legs to drive through the streets. I was amazed by the human body and life itself.

As the months passed, I began to feel that I needed to do something with my life again. But as I thought of what I might want to do, I felt overwhelmed. I didn’t know where to begin to pick up the pieces. The world wasn’t the same place as the one I’d left behind. I’d spent the past four years dealing with being sick. During that time, my entire focus was on the disease. I’d spent years reading up, studying, and learning everything I possibly could about cancer. My entire purpose had revolved around my disease and trying to heal it. In a way, I’d begun to identify more with being someone who had cancer than with life. And now it was gone. What was I going to do with the rest of my life?

Prior to my diagnosis, I’d been fiercely independent. However, during the time I was sick, I was completely reliant on Danny and my other family members. Once I was well and back on my feet, everyone resumed their respective roles. Danny returned to work, my mother and brother flew back home, and I was left to figure out what I wanted to do with myself.

I couldn’t imagine going back to being a relocation officer. I’d left my job shortly after being diagnosed, and had even interviewed my replacement. I hadn’t been working for the last four years, as I was immersed in dealing with having cancer. Thinking about going back to work now felt different, and I realized
I
was different.

I felt as though I couldn’t relate to anyone around me—or more accurately, that others couldn’t relate to me. If I thought about going back to work, I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do. Nothing felt right anymore. I felt as though I didn’t fit in with the people of this planet and their values. My priorities had changed, and I found that I was no longer interested in working in an office, reporting to anyone, or earning money for its own sake. I didn’t care to network, go out with friends after work to unwind, deal with morning or evening rush hours, or commute to work in the city. And so for the first time since my NDE, I felt lost…and lonely.

I
T BECAME INCREASINGLY DIFFICULT FOR ME
to engage in conversations about everyday events. My attention span seemed to have shortened, and I found my mind wandering off on various tangents, even while talking with friends. I completely lost interest in what was going on in the world of politics and news, and even what my friends were doing. Yet I was riveted by the sun setting over the horizon while I sat on the beach enjoying an ice-cream cone, as though I were experiencing the loveliness of this world for the first time. The beauty of the sunset’s orange glow reflecting on the water as I felt the wet sand under my feet and between my toes filled me with awe in a way it never had before. The tantalizing taste of creamy Belgian chocolate ice cream on my taste buds made me feel as though it was the first time I was having ice cream!

I saw divinity in everything—every animal and insect. I developed a much greater interest in the natural world than I had before. I couldn’t even kill the mosquitoes that came buzzing around me. They were life forms and needed to be respected as such. They had a purpose. I didn’t know what that was; I just knew they had one, as I did.

Each morning, I woke up wanting to explore the world anew. Every day was a fresh adventure. I wanted to walk, drive, explore, sit on the hills and the sand, and just take in this life! I was also deeply interested in the urban environment, and reconnected with it as though it were all new. I spent my time exploring markets, enjoying city views and the beautiful skyline of neon-lit skyscrapers, admiring our highly efficient public transportation system and the incredible suspension bridges that stretched across the water to connect the various islands that make up Hong Kong. I was awed by it all.

The deliciousness of each day made me feel as though I’d just been born. It was as if I’d entered the world as an adult, as if I’d been born for the first time on February 3, 2006.

At the same time, I found myself unable to reconnect with many of my old friends, whom I attempted to meet over lunch or coffee. Everyone was anxious to catch up with me, but most didn’t understand how deeply and profoundly this experience had changed me. I found that I got restless and impatient in social situations. I couldn’t sit still for long periods of time or engage in conversation about mundane routines.

I felt that people had lost the ability to see the magic of life. They didn’t share my wonder or enthusiasm for my surroundings—and just being alive. They seemed caught up in routine, and their minds were on the next thing they had to do. It was exactly what I used to do before my NDE. Everyone was so caught up with doing that they’d all forgotten how to just be in the moment.

But most of all, I felt that I was at the edge of something wonderful that was about to unfold. I felt that there was some greater purpose to having experienced everything I’d just been through. Even with this inner excitement, however, with this feeling that I was on the precipice of some great adventure, I still didn’t feel that I had to
do
or
pursue
anything for it to happen.
I just had to be myself, fearlessly!
In that way, I’d be allowing myself to be an instrument of love. I understood that this was the best thing that any of us could possibly do or be, for both the planet and ourselves.

Since I realized this, problems just didn’t seem that big anymore. I felt that people were taking life and their problems too seriously—which is what I used to do. In the past, I was drawn into other people’s dramas, as well as my own. But following my NDE, I just felt blessed to be alive and to get a second opportunity to express myself here. I no longer wanted to waste even one minute of the great adventure. I wanted to be as much
me
as I could possibly be and savor and taste every delicious minute of being alive!

I really didn’t want to get bogged down with all the mundane, minor problems and issues such as worrying about the future, money, work, or household and domestic issues. All these things seemed so minor somehow, especially because I trusted in the process that I could feel was unfolding before me.

It seemed important to have fun and laugh. I felt a lightness that was completely new, and I laughed easily. I enjoyed the company of those who wanted to do the same.

W
HENEVER
I
HAD CONVERSATIONS
about illness, politics, or death, my views were so radically different because of my experience that I simply couldn’t involve myself in the topics. I began to realize that my ability to judge and discern had become “impaired.” I was no longer able to draw definite distinctions between what was good or bad, right or wrong, because I wasn’t judged for anything during my NDE. There was only compassion, and the love was unconditional. I still felt that way toward myself and everyone around me.

So I found myself with nothing but compassion for all the criminals and terrorists in the world, as well as their victims. I understood in a way I never had before that for people to commit such acts, they must really be full of confusion, frustration, pain, and self-hatred. A self-actualized and happy individual would
never
carry out such deeds! People who cherish themselves are a joy to be around, and they only share their love unconditionally. In order to be capable of such crimes, someone had to be (emotionally) diseased—in fact, much like having cancer.

However, I saw that those who have this particular type of “mental” cancer are treated with contempt in our society, with little chance of receiving any practical help for their condition, which only reinforces their condition. By treating them in this way, we only allow the “cancer” in our society to grow. I could see that we haven’t created a society that promotes both mental and physical healing.

This all meant that I was no longer able to view the world in terms of “us” and “them”—that is, victims and perpetrators. There’s no “them”; it’s all “us.” We’re all One, products of our own creation, of all our thoughts, actions, and beliefs. Even perpetrators are victims of their own self-hatred and pain.

I no longer viewed death in the same way as others did, either, so it was very hard for me to mourn anyone. Of course, if someone close to me passed on, I was sad because I missed them. But I no longer mourned for the deceased, because I knew they’d transcended to another realm, and I knew that they were happy! It’s not possible to be sad there. At the same time, I also knew that even their death was perfect, and everything would unfold in the way it was meant to in the greater tapestry.

Because of my radically changed views, I became cautious about expressing my opinions, as I didn’t want to be misunderstood. I knew it would be hard for others to understand concepts such as there being no judgment after we die, even for the worst of terrorists. Even for them, I perceived only compassion, total understanding, and clarity for why they acted out in the way they did. On a more mundane and down-to-earth level, I also knew that there wasn’t going to be any judgment waiting for me in the afterlife if I chose not to follow religious or cultural dogma that didn’t feel right for me.