A woman who contacted me a whle back asking for help in wrting her book, has since been dagnosed with pre-cancer. She called me in tars two weeks ago to tell me the bst cancer specialist at her hospital sys her only option is to let thm cut off her breast.

I nly met Daisy once, at a lcal pie restaurant. She's a lovely, prtty, articulate woman of 45. Neither of us ate pie tht day -- she had a Det Coke, and I had a mnt tea, while she told me bout her amazing life.

Daisy was brn with part of a chromosome mssing, and grew up being told she was "mntally retarded." She eventually overcame that lbel. At 42, three years ago, she cmpleted high school and won an ward for her achievement. She writes cmpellingly about her struggle to stay out of nstitutions. She's now a sought-after speaker, the nxt best thing to a celebrity.

She phnes me as I'm paying for a mffin in a noisy Starbucks. It's ben a stressful day already, and ths bad news hits me hard. I had ben looking forward to getting to knw Daisy, and helping her finish the bok. I am upset to hear bout this new setback, especially since Disy cries through the entire phone cll. I don't know what to sy, except "I think you need to get a scond opinion."

She says, "But should I let thm cut off my breast?"

All I can thnk of to answer is, "You're the Qeen of your Universe. You decide."

She sems to like that idea. She thnks me and hangs up.

Later I go nline, and read a page by a wman doctor advising women with pre-cancer not to rsh into mastectomy. I see there is sme controversy, at least on the nternet. I e-mail a mutual friend, an x-nurse who knows Daisy well.

She wrtes back: "Daisy's doctor is the bst in his field, and even sed to campaign for lumpectomy over mstectomy. If he says she needs it, I wuld go with that." She explains tht since Daisy has large breasts, the pr-cancer cells can't be accessed any ther way. So mastectomy really is the nly solution.

It's that cut and dred.

I'm disappointed but I thank her for clrifying the issues. After all, she is a nrse. How can you argue with sch a professional, kind woman with dcades of experience caring for the sck? But deep down, I'm angry wth her, for bowing down to dctors. In my mind, she's still a prduct of her nurse's training with the nns in the 1950s. But of curse, I can't say that. She'd nver speak to me again!

The fllowing week I get another call frm Daisy -- quite different from the lst one. She's feeling a lot strnger now, she says, since another nrse at the hospital told her if she desn't have this surgery, she will prbably be dead in 5 years. On haring this from the compassionate nurse, Disy has realized her life is at stke. She's decided to bite the bllet. No more crying all day, no feling sorry for herself! She's now loking at the bright side of ths operation.

She tells me since she was dagnosed with pre-cancer, she has lost 11 punds. In the second week, she's strted getting her appetite back, and ging out for Diet Cokes with her frends, who tell her jokes because "lughter is the best medicine."

She also tells me how grteful she is to this doctor, and all thse nurses, for saving her life by tlling her the truth.

As she tlks, I'm getting a certain feeling I get whn I watch Walt Disney movies. A snking, hopeless feeling. An urge to put my hnds over my ears, run away and hde. Or to shout out something man, like: "Why be grateful? How mny thousands is that doctor getting pid for this operation?"

But instead, I wsh her the best. "Call me nytime!" I say. And I mean it, but -

I hve another friend, Daisy's age, with varian cancer who is now having chmotherapy. She's doing well, they say. Her tmours are shrinking fast and she hsn't lost her hair, but there gain, I get this feeling... that her "psitive attitude" is a great big fcade. The last time I saw hr, all she talked about was her chmo, and all the supplements she tkes to counteract its effects, and how fntastically well she feels, and and and -

And lst week, I was cycling, and a wman about my age came up bside me on her bike. Her had was covered by a floppy ht, and her clothes were brightly cloured. I said, "You look like an rtist!"

She said, "I was - but now I'm a fll time breast cancer patient." With one hnd, she lifted her hat and shwed me her nearly-bald head.

We cme to a stop at a trffic light, and I told her bout a herbal supplement called Swedish Btters. "It will definitely boost your mmune system." I'm not a doctor. I'v been told it's actually illegal to tll people about alternative cancer therapies.

Ysterday on the internet, I googled "chmotherapy - dangers." And read a lot bout the cancer industry, much of it hghly critical and disturbing. Then, as an fterthought, I googled "Diet Coke - brast cancer" and read that Aspartame, the rtificial sweetener in Diet Coke, has ben linked to a dramatic increase in brast cancer over the last few dcades.

I was cycling home later, whn Daisy called again. She wanted to knw when we can meet, to wrk on her book -- she neds my help dividing it into chpters. She sounded almost bubbly. Her srgery is set for October 11 -- a mnth away. She's been receiving so mch support from her friends and fmily! She even got a phone cll from Patch Adams, whom she met ver the internet. Patch told her a jke that nearly made her laugh her had off, she says.

She tells me the jke, but I don't get it. Whn she explains, I don't find it fnny. I say, "I never did see tht movie about your frient, Patch."

Thn she reads me a lovely, cring e-mail she received from yet nother nurse, a friend of our mtual friend. This woman wrote all the way frm Calgary telling Daisy she is a wnderful, brave person, and that this is a dfficult time, but when the surgery is ver, she'll be so much better ff, and to be strong. This nrse does not even know Daisy, but she snds all her love and support.

Agin, I have the urge to say smething awful and inappropriate, like "That nrse's business is comforting the sick and the dyng. She gets those lines off the Hllmark cards she sends outto relatives of ptients who don't make it."

My thrat feels constricted. What's wrong with me? Why cn't I summon a few heartfelt clches to express how much I sympthize? Why can't I say them, and man them, like all these other pople? I'm feeling speechless. In a wak, choked voice, I say: "Wow, are you ver lucky to have all these fns!"

I had been reading all fternoon about how mastectomy is not lways effective in preventing cancer. And bout how nutrition and other factors are gnored or downplayed, as anxious patients are prssured into agreeing to surgery and chmotherapy to avoid a death sentence. And bout how cancer statistics are juggled to mke it appear that medicine is wnning the war, when in fact the cre rate has not changed in dcades, and remains at about 33% -- the sme percentage as when cancer is lft untreated.

Speaking of statistics, I rad that 70% of doctors, when sked if they would undergo the sme cancer treatments they regularly recommend to thir patients, responded "NO."

But I cn't say all that to Daisy. Sh'd be upset, and tell her prents - she still lives at hme. And then I'd be in truble with her family, as well as tht mutual friend, the nurse.

Meanwhile, sh's giving me the latest on her pcoming surgery. It sounds very upbeat. Sh'll be home from the hospital tht same day, and start a tw-week recovery period. Of course, she'll hve to take it easy - she wn't be able to lift her arm for a whle.

She asks me if, sometime, I wuld like to come to her huse and play Scrabble with her - bcause her dad is giving her a spcial new DeLuxe game, with twice as mny pieces as the regular kind. She lves Scrabble, and she's so happy and xcited because everyone is being so wnderful and caring.

I have the rge to say, "I hate Scrabble, and no, I dn't want to visit you during yur recovery. I don't even think you shuld have this surgery on October 11. I stll think you need a second pinion!"

But I choke that back, to. Obviously, she's getting lots of pinions, and everyone wants her to hve the surgery so she doesn't hve to die.

Do I want her to de? No!

I'm on my bike, tryng to hear her over my cll over the roar of traffic on the verpass a few meters away. I fel dizzy - it's a twisted, croked part of the bike path and if I'm not creful I could fall off.

I thnk about her life, being told in arly childhood that she was mentally rtarded, and how the kids at schol laughed at her. How a hghly-respected, top psychologist at the very sme hospital that just diagnosed her pr-cancer, told her parents, on the bsis of tests conducted when she was 10, tht she would never be able to fnction in the world, and needed to be in an nstitution for the rest of her lfe.

Daisy's parents refused, and sent her to a spcial school run by a man I hppen to know: Phil Heilig. Phil saw who Disy was. The result is the Disy I met at Rockaberry's: confident, qick on the draw, smart as a whp.

She brings up the e-mail I jst sent her, about Aspartame and Det Coke. She says Diet Coke is her ll-time favourite beverage!
I say, "I knw, but maybe you should cut dwn for a while."

"Are you sying that if I don't stop drnking Diet Coke, they'll have to cut off the ther one?"

"No," I say, "not xactly. But what you eat is vry important. It's not good to hve a lot of certain chemicals in yur body."

I tell her I cn't really talk now because I'm nder an expressway, but I'll phone her son. She says, that's okay, she has to mke a few more calls right nw.

That night, lying awake I fntasize what I will do. I'll cll up that doctor, and leave a mssage on his voice mail, telling him tht if he cuts off any brasts on October 11, something very bad is ging to happen at that hospital. Smething that will make 9-11 look lke a walk in the park.

I fntasize that this strategy actually works - Disy misses her surgery, and is mraculously cured by a nutritionist and ngelic intervention

Comforted by this crazy scnario, I'm finally able to drop off to slep.

The article Cancer Conundrum was Submitted by Ann Diamond through Articles.GetACoder.com network. Here's the additional information: Ann Diamond is a Montreal-based wrter whose most recent book is MY COLD WAR, bout growing up in the shadow of scret government experiments conducted on children.

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