A heart

Lot of love

I´m sending to you and your family lot of love, strength and hope. Thinking of you all. Wish there was something I could do. If there is any connection between people by thoughts I hope my power will get to you and will help you in every possible way. 

With love, M.

Here comes the sun

Thinking of you, Silvia

The soldier’s sword

Moon, stay with me a little longer
Let me come close to you
Illuminate me with your gentle glow
Moon: how long has it been
That you light up the world from north to south,
That you give your light to blacks and whites?
Moon: you are so high in the sky,
Above the jujube and the tamarind trees,
Above the soldier’s sword and the priest’s holy water sprinkler!
New moon as young as Ricardina
Rounder than the sumptuous Putchutcha,
More generous that Sheila’s breast!
Full moon, shine on me,
Moon, your full light is in the heavens

Today

Personal fight

Hello Kristian, 

Like a lot of people from all around the world, I’ve been thinking about you a lot recently.

Everybody has their personal fights and you got yours. No matter what everybody else has experienced, we can’t imagine what you are going through.  You’ve got your own fight and your own way of dealing with it.

The difference is you don’t know us but we know you.  You don’t know our personal fights but we know yours. What’s more, you let us know what’s on your mind in your blog. It means a lot to a lot of us. Your strength and your spirit help to create images in our heads. Images of what kind of person you are. Of what our relatives who don’t share their feelings and who are fighting the same enemy are thinking. Of the truth hidden behind your words.  

There’s much more behind your words than we can imagine.

And I feel I need you to survive.

A rather selfish wish. 

Thinking of you a lot, Olga

It cannot...

From Sanna, Finland

Far away

Dearest Kristian, 

If I could then I would grab you and take you far away from all of this, if we ran far enough, no cancer could catch us. Never. But I can't do that. So instead, I'm sending to you, your family and friends all my love and power I have. 

With all my love, Anna

A hug

Once you said that nothing is as healing as human touch. I hope you have many people around you who give you hugs when you need them or at least one special person who heals you with touch all the time. I'm sending you one hug even though I am far far away from you. Hope it will get to you and will help a little bit.
Love. 

Lila from Norway

Och vi får aldrig tappa hoppet

Vi som vet vem han är och som läst hans ord och som känner empati vi kan
inte låta detta hända. På något sätt är det förbjudet, inte accepterat.
Det måste komma en vändning. Det finns ju mirakel. Kan sådana ske nu?
Vart skulle vi vända oss om inte hoppet fanns? om än så litet...
Vi vet att det kanske blir svårt och tungt och att vi kommer bli ledsna
mer än vi är nu...men vi får aldrig tappa hoppet.

Kan alla våra tankar och all vår styrka all vår kärlek och livstro kunna
hjälpa honom? Kanske inte rädda honom, men vara där hos honom -
vi är ändå alla bara människor – sjuka eller friska – och någonstans inom
oss är vi alla lika och ska samma väg vandra oavsett vem vi är.

Men låt oss mötas i mörkret med Kristian och lysa upp hans tillvaro, vi
vet inte vad som händer med honom nu men vi måste finnas där, nånstans
nära honom. Han blir vi och vi blir han. Så ljuset kommer att lysa där -
helt utan förbehåll, ett ljus som vi alla håller – tillsammans. Med
Kristian.

Och vi får aldrig tappa hoppet...

Till Kristian och alla som följer honom.

Original article by Elena Helsinghof to be read here

Love

Everybody’s searching for it.  And not everyone’s gonna find it. Although it’s everywhere.
The closest people, your family and plenty of friends, your fans and people who just have no idea who you are, all those people are sending it to you. Love. 

So much love is sent to you every day.
Feel the love.

He doesn't need them anymore

"The song How Do You Like My Earrings from the new album Someone With a Slow Heartbeat was originated on a train where I met a friend I hadn’t seen for a very long time. She had very strange earrings, I noticed. Then I found out they were screws from the broken jaw of her boyfriend. He had just had them taken out. And she wanted to wear them to show to the world that her boyfriend recovered and he’s all right. For me the song symbolizes overcoming something hard in life, moving to the next base and the desire to show it to the world. To show that you have made it, that you were capable of it and now finally a new era is coming." //Charlie Straight

You can do it

Sent by Kathleen

We´ll always love you

 

From Laly, Chile

Power of my pray

From Lujza, Croatia

Cause there's no one like you in the universe

Follow through
Make your dreams come true
Don't give up the fight
You will be all right
Cause there's no one like you
In the universe

Don't be afraid
What your mind conceals
You should make a stand
Stand up for what you believe
And tonight we can truly say
Together we're invincible

And during the struggle
They will pull us down
But please, please let's use this chance to
Turn things around
And tonight we can truly say
Together we're invincible

Do it on your own
Makes no difference to me
What you leave behind
What you choose to be
and whatever they say
Your soul's unbreakable

There’s still magic

This year two impossible things happened to me. Absolutely surreal things. Something that is not possible to explain. First I thought I’d gone crazy, then I was pretty sure I was dreaming. But it really happened.

Now I think that is how the world sometimes works. When you wish something SO MUCH, when you’re SO SURE about it, then it will happen. You have to be sure, that’s it. Open to everything, full of humility and believe. It doesn’t always work, of course. But sometimes all the cosmic laws stops existing and you have it...

This is not just an ordinary wish. This is too serious. This is too hard. But  Kristian, be sure that you will make it. So many unbelievable things happen this year. This is not the end. There’s still too much left.  For you. There’s still magic that no doctors, nobody can understand. There’s still the power. Of us all. And there are so many of us. So much love. Cancer is weak shit against us and against YOU!
Keep on walking, Kristian.

Strangers

We're thinking of you, Kristian. Fortsätt kämpa!

Strangers shot in and around Lund, Sweden

Picture: Allan Runefelt, Främling, Lund & Borlänge

I know that you will make it

It's really wierd how you can feel so strong for a person that you've never really spoken to face to face, but there is something in me that makes me feel such a strong compassion for Kristian...

Maybe it's because I myself have lost relatives in cancer, maybe it's because he's famous, or perhaps it's because he's, just like me, born and raised in Borlänge.

I just want to tell Kristian that the whole town of Borlänge, including me, is praying day and night for him to get well...

And even though the doctors say that he's not going to make it, I do really believe in him.

Last time, it all seemed hopeless as well, and I was almost completely sure that he would pass away. 

But he fought the cancer and managed to escape the jaws of death.

Now, it's round 2... and this time, Kristian has support from people across the world that will be there by his side til the very end.

I know that you will make it. Be strong, Kristian. ♥

Sanna Olsson

It´s never too late

You're braver and stronger than you think, Kristian. Give yourself a chance. It's NEVER too late!

Mária

Can you help me find my long way back home?

It’s always said that the last thing that dies is our hope.

Hope is ambitious, high-flown and unattainable; hope is uncontrollable, passionate and desperate.

 

I guess that’s the sense in the things we’re hoping for, that they seem like they will never come true – just to have an aim that is worth fighting for, something that is always somewhere in our head to push us forward.

But it’s not always easy to keep hoping –the whole world seems so cruel sometimes, destroying all our plans, dreams and wishes.  And although it doesn’t feel like that, hope is there nevertheless. Deep inside it’s there, and maybe it’s stronger than ever in these times. Because these are the times in which we need our hope the most – sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps us alive. That gives us back our feelings when nothing else can.

 

Hoping for better times, hoping for luck, hoping for your dreams finally coming true. There are so many reasons for hoping, although it may seem hard.

There are always miracles. And I really do believe and hope that you will experience one of those miracles, Kristian.

I’m sure you can fight it again somehow, and we will help you fighting as much as we can. 

 

From Isii 

Against all the odds

Told they had terminal cancer and had as little as weeks to live, the miracle survivors' club have proved the doctors wrong

The four women pictured share a miraculous secret: they were all given a terminal cancer diagnosis and, in some cases, just a matter of weeks to live. Yet years later — against all the odds — they are still here and living life to the full. here, as they meet for the first time for a special Mail photoshoot, they share their inspirational stories of survival.

Inspirational, from left: Jane Plant, Angela Profit, Sue Wigg and Anne Freeley

GIVEN TWO MONTHS TO LIVE IN 1993

Jane Plant, 65, is professor of geochemistry at Imperial College, London, and lives in Richmond with her husband Peter Simpson, also a professor. They have three children and six grandchildren. She says:

Last year I became a grandma for the sixth time. Considering I’d been given two months to live 17 years earlier, when my kids were still children themselves, it felt like a remarkable achievement to be holding yet another grandchild in my arms.

I was first diagnosed with breast cancer when I was 42. I thought I’d beaten it, but five years later it returned with a vengeance. I carried on fighting, but when it recurred for the fifth time I asked my doctor to end my life for me there and then — I didn’t see how I could go on battling a disease that seemed ­hell-bent on finishing me off.

But as I wept I heard my little boy, then just six years old, crying out for me in another room. I knew then I could never again allow myself to feel as though it was an option to leave him. 

Five weeks later, when I was told that I had, at the very most, two months to live, I wasn’t upset, angry or frightened — I’d already hit rock bottom a few weeks earlier. I was on the way back up now and had already begun to search my own scientific mind for a way out of this mess.

I was gripped with a great sense of urgency that I had to find an answer quickly if I was to stand any chance of surviving.

That night, in my office, Peter and I looked at a map that showed the ­incidence of various types of cancer across the world. In China the breast cancer rate was one in 100,000 compared to one in ten here.

Further research convinced me that it had to be diet-related, and so I adopted the kind of diet predominant in China — low in animal protein, with no dairy produce but lots of fruit, ­vegetables, nuts and pulses.

Six weeks later my tumour had gone — my oncologist told me it had simply responded to chemotherapy and that it would return when my treatment finished.
It was a blow to hear that, but I stayed on the diet and lived the best life I could. It was a very precarious existence, endlessly checking for lumps and forever wondering how much time I had left. But I was lucky — the tumour didn’t come back.

Six years later I stepped off a train in Reading, where I was giving a lecture, and I was struck with this epiphany: ‘I’m not dead — I’m still not dead.’ Those words repeated in my head over and over for the rest of the day. And I knew I could finally allow myself to believe I had beaten cancer.

I’m 65, but unlike most women, the ageing process causes me no anguish. I look at every new wrinkle as a mark of victory — my wonderful prize for having beaten cancer when my doctors were certain it had beaten me.

GIVEN A YEAR TO LIVE IN 2001

Angela Profit, 67, lives in Solihull, West Midlands, with husband John, 68, a retired managing director. They have four sons between them from their first marriages and seven grandchildren. She says:

This week I saw the first snowdrop of the year in my garden. It’s amazing to think that’s the ninth time I’ve seen them push through the soil, heralding the start of yet another unexpected year of my life.

I planted the bulbs in 2001, not long after being diagnosed with ovarian cancer. No one thought I’d live to see them flower, but now they are a ­symbol of my survival.

When I cast my mind back to the days immediately after my diagnosis, hope was the last thing I had.

I’d known for 18 months that something wasn’t right. At first I was told I had irritable bowel syndrome, but when my stomach swelled up, making me look heavily pregnant, I was admitted to hospital for tests.

Not for a moment did I expect to be diagnosed with cancer, but two days later I was told that’s what I had and, worse, it had spread to my lungs and was terminal.

My oncologist said he would operate to remove my ovaries, but that he wasn’t hopeful for me. 

My first thoughts were of my ­parents. They were in their 80s and I wondered if they would survive the shock of my death. Then I became angry that I would never be a grandmother, or get to visit Venice — a place I’d always longed to see. I was also filled with regret that I would never marry John, the man I love.

After my operation I begged my ­family to take me home, certain that if I stayed in hospital, I would die. ­Family and friends kept telling me I could beat it. After a while, I started to believe them. 

I spent time in my garden, appreciating the beauty of things I’d never had time to notice before. This gave me the resolve to get through the chemo. I knew — even if my doctors didn’t — that I had more fight left in me.

A year after diagnosis, my first grandson was born, I married John and we went to Venice.

In realising those three ambitions, I saw the importance of setting new goals to keep myself going. It’s something I’ve done ever since, with the help of ­conventional medicine and alternative therapies such as reflexology and meditation.

It hasn’t been plain sailing. The ­cancer has returned three times to my groin and lymph nodes. But that hasn’t stopped me travelling the world, and starting a new career — as a supporter of the Eve Appeal and a spokesperson for people living with cancer.

I am living with it, and hoping every day that the drugs will keep it at bay. If they don’t, I will have more chemo and another dose of positive thinking. But, until then, I’ll continue to enjoy the lease of life this supposed death sentence has given me.

For more information, go to eveappeal.org.uk

GIVEN TWO MONTHS TO LIVE IN 1998

Sue Wigg, 56, a special needs teacher, lives near Brighton with her husband Michael, 59, who’s retired from the electronics industry. They have two sons, aged 29 and 31. She says: 

Thirteen years ago I was referred to a dermatologist after an irritating skin condition failed to clear up. It turned out I had an extremely rare and lethal form of internal skin cancer.

I was relieved I had a diagnosis and they knew how to treat it. At that stage, no one was talking life and death. The real blow came when my doctors discovered a huge secondary tumour in my liver. I couldn’t believe I had known nothing about it.

I had surgery to deal with the ­primary tumour, and chemotherapy for the secondary. And I clung to the hope that I would survive.

After three rounds of chemotherapy I started suffering headaches and fits. They found a new tumour in my brain and my treatment was halted.

The prospect of losing my cognitive faculties frightened me more than anything. I asked my doctors how long I’d got, and at first they wouldn’t say. Then they said the cancer was growing faster than they could contain it and that I was unlikely to ­survive more than a few weeks.

I was engulfed by sadness. I wouldn’t see my boys through university or watch them marry and become ­parents. But after laser surgery on my brain, the impossible happened: the cancer started to retreat.

Little by little my confidence grew. I felt better and I dared to make plans for the future.

There have been setbacks — a ­cancerous mole removed from my leg, and, in July last year, cancerous lymph nodes were taken from my groin. But I no longer wonder when cancer is going to ‘get me’ and just live my life.

In my mind I have two ages: I am 56 and also 13 — the number of years I’ve enjoyed since my terminal ­diagnosis.

Those years have been richer and fuller than any others in my life.

Sue will do Moonwalk this May, to raise money for breast cancer. For more information, visit www.walkthewalk.org

GIVEN A YEAR TO LIVE in 2006

Anne Feeley, 56, owned a bakery for 15 years, and lives in London with her husband, Jonathan, 50, a retired lawyer. They have two daughters, Molly, 23, and Sadie, 20. She says:

There was no stiff-upper-lip ­bravery from me when my consultant told me my condition was terminal. I sat in his office, convulsed by tears. At one point I was struggling to breathe I was so distraught.

I had a fast-growing, recurring brain tumour — a condition that usually claims the life of the victim within a year.

My husband broke my dreadful prognosis to our children, and my anguish was temporarily quashed at the sight of theirs.

In those first few weeks I was often immobilised with self-pity and shock. But as those despairing feelings wore off, so my determination to steal more time grew stronger.

Jonathan and I retired so that we could focus on keeping me alive for as long as possible, and enjoy whatever family time we had left.

I had surgery to remove the bulk of the tumour, followed by radiotherapy and chemotherapy. After the operation, I hired a personal trainer to help me get stronger and — together with my treatment — I slowly started to get better.

The turning point came four months later when my daughter, Molly, who’d won a place at University in Chicago, said she couldn’t bear to leave me in case my condition deteriorated. I insisted she went and told her I wouldn’t have her turn down golden opportunities for me.

I set myself the goal of living another two years. I focused on enjoying simple pleasures with my family: like cooking and eating together and taking our dog for long walks. The tumour was still there, but regular check-ups showed that, contrary to expectations, it wasn’t getting any worse.

So I started to set myself little challenges. The following year I completed a half marathon. Jonathan and the girls came with me and were cheering for me at the finish line. Last year I cycled 3,702 miles across America and raised almost £2 million for Macmillan and the neuro-oncology department at the Royal Marsden, where I was treated. This summer I will row across the English Channel to raise more money.

When the two-year mark since my diagnosis approached, and I hadn’t relapsed, my husband, ever the lawyer, said to me: ‘So, you’re still here — time to re-negotiate!’

And that’s what I’ve been doing ever since. It’s more than four years since I was told my death was imminent, yet the cancer remains ­contained in one part of my brain, and I don’t feel any more ready to leave my family than I did then.’

To find out more about Anne’s fundraising, visit www.brainsonbikes.org

...AND SUPERGRAN BEATS THE LOT!

Century: 100-year-old great-grandmother Ellen McDonald has beaten cancer five times

Great-grandmother Ellen McDonald is looking forward to celebrating her 100th birthday later this year  -  a remarkable enough achievement in itself, but even more astonishing given that she has beaten cancer five times.
At one point she was even given the last rites by a priest at her hospital bed. But that was nearly 50 years ago and she is still here to tell the tale.
Ellen, from Leeds, was born in 1911  -  the same year as King George V's coronation. her health problems began when she was diagnosed with breast cancer in the early Fifties and underwent a double mastectomy.
Ten years later she had cancer in her gall bladder, and it was removed. She also underwent a hysterectomy after the cancer was found in her womb.
But in 1963, when cancer was discovered in her bowel, she was not expected to survive.
Ellen, a mother of five sons and great-grandmother to eight, says: 'I made it through because of my spirit and the surgons' skill.'
Ellen, whose husband, Jim, died 18 years a go, lives in sheltered accommodation and puts her longevity down to hard work and 'the occasional glass of wine'.

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1349105/Told-terminal-cancer-little-weeks-live-miracle-survivors-club-proved-doctors-wrong.html#ixzz25aaJS1i5