: Oleg I. Reznik
: Bob Rich
: Cancer A Personal Challenge
: Modern History Press
: 9781615998753
: 1
: CHF 4.50
:
: Klinische Fächer
: English
: 202
: DRM
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB

Cancer: A Personal Challenge by Bob Rich, PhD is a tool for achieving better health by everyone. It will help you to protect yourself and those you love, so that your chances of developing cancer will be reduced. It will help you to look after someone who is battling cancer, and above all, it will help you if you are the one whose body is the battleground.
Contributors: Andrea Oz, Paul Bedson, Siegfried Gutbrod, Steve Hawley, David Hooper, Phyllis Phucas, Oleg Reznik M.D., Bob Rich, Yvonne Rowan, Victor Smith, Carl Stonier, and Cheryl Wright.
'As a lay-person and one who has seen family and friends rage against cancer, one of the most fascinating parts of this book are the first-person stories from those who are 'bloody-minded' enough to refuse to give in. Their courageous accounts allow us inside the mind of those ordinary people whose lives have been turned upside down, and paint a picture far more complex than the media's single-dimensional image of 'cancer victim.' On the contrary, their poignant stories are ones of hope, strength and faith in becoming a survivor and treating cancer not as a death sentence, but as a challenge along life's trail-or transition along a path of ultimate perfection'. --Brandon Wilson, Lowell Thomas Award-winning author
Oleg I. Reznik, M.D. is the author ofSecrets of Medical Decision Making: How to Avoid Becoming a Victim of the Health Care Machine
Bob Rich, PhD writes in several genres: historical fiction, contemporary, science fiction, psychology, and practical self-help. He is also a professional editor, a counselling psychologist, and several other things that are none of your business. Two other books by Bob Rich have won international awards.

Part I: There is Hope


1. The Meaning of Life and Death


A fictional story by Bob Rich

The battles you have to fight on the Cancer Journey will be fought, not in the hospital ward, but inside your head.

Victor Smith

It's a bastard, facing a death sentence at nineteen.

My eyelids are a blessedly black barrier between me and the world. A light breeze is using the long grass to tickle my bare arms and legs. But most of me is in my ears, on the song of the creek. It's better to listen to the liquid symphony than to think about dying in three months. And hopefully, no-one will find me here.

I wish I could be a football hero or a karate black belt or something. I wish I was six feet tall. I wish I was anyone but myself. In particular, I wish I wasn't dying.

So, I listen to the burble of the water, and for minutes at a time my mind goes blank. I don't think I've slept, but the soft sound of a footstep jerks me out of the refuge of not-thinking, and when I open my eyes the sun is considerably further to the west.

“Hi, Dale,” Sheila says, “Your Mom said you