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Chapter II Continued
The Way We Look at Life Determines Our Experience
Many years ago, my mother had surgery
for breast cancer, followed by radiation treatments.
Several years later the cancer reappeared in other
parts of her body. Operations and additional radiation
therapy disfigured and disabled her. Her dying process
overwhelmed her and the rest of our family for years.
Not long after her death, we received
a phone call from a researcher at the famed hospital
where she had been treated, inquiring as to her current
health. When informed of her passing, the researcher
asked for the date of her death. I realized, on reflection,
as he did, that she had died only a little more than
five years after her initial surgery, although the
cancer had continued to spread and more invasive treatment
ensued. Since she had survived five years past the
initial surgery and the study did not inquire into
the quality of life during those years or the possibility
of recurrences, the hospital representative indicated
that my mother would become a favorable statistic
for the hospital's cancer clinic.
Months later, major journals carried
the news of this hospital's success in treating and
effecting breast cancer cures based on a five-year
survival rate. The agony of my mother's final journey
had been filtered through the statistician's hand
and transformed into data supporting the hospital's
claims. The evidence had been gathered to support
the beliefs of the gatherer and to further enhance
the reputation of his facility and its methods. And
so often we, the consumers of beliefs and evidence,
buy just such "facts" as gospel.
Exploration of the belief-making
game becomes even more beguiling as we pursue it further.
Many years ago, after trying unsuccessfully to deal
with a minor medical problem I sought the input of
an elderly Chinese physician and acupuncturist who
had been educated in Beijing and Shanghai. In accordance
with his beliefs, he began his examination by checking
the twelve energy meridians in my body. He placed
his fingers gently on my wrist and then, to my surprise,
continued to stare at his watch. Finally, he shook
his head.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Weak heart," he declared
with great conviction.
My mouth dropped open. "Impossible,"
I countered.
"Weak heart," he repeated
pointedly.
Surprised and concerned by his comment,
I asked for further explanation. He noted that my
heart beat only fifty-two times per minute, rather
than the "normal" seventy-two to seventy-six
times per minute.
"Oh," I sighed with relief,
"I'm a runner. I jog six miles every day and
have done so for over twelve years. My cardiovascular
system has been well exercised," I added. "That's
why, at rest, my heart beats so slowly." I had
had a complete physical exam recently, including a
stress test with an electrocardiogram, which determined
that I had a well-toned and strong heart. I repeated
what I had read, sprinkling my summary with additional
information from my regular physician and the latest
cardiovascular statistics.
"Now understand why weak heart,"
he said authoritatively. This eastern physician then
explained that because of my continuous running, my
heart had been fatigued; thus, it was no longer capable
of putting out seventy-six beats per minute.
"Ever watch dog?" he said.
"Breathe very fast. Heart beats fast. Twelve
years, maybe fifteen years, dead. Big whales. Hmm,
breathe slowly. Heart slow. Easy. Can live one hundred
years. More, maybe." Then he explained that,
in accordance with his "vision," the heart
can beat only a finite number of times in a lifetime.
By running, breathing fast and making my heart beat
fast, be maintained, I had been using up those beats
unnecessarily and had exhausted my heart muscle as
well.
The exact same evidence in the hands
of two different doctors led to profoundly opposing
conclusions. I did note that the Chinese physician
was a lively man in his late eighties (perhaps he
had been saving up his heartbeats). What did I want
to believe? In this case, my intention was to be healthy.
Although keenly aware that two cultures held different
"truths" about the same data, I still wanted
to find a meaningful way for me to select beliefs
and behavior which would support my health. I resolved
the dilemma by choosing to consult what I call my
"nonverbal/nonconceptual resource within."
I would make a decision about running based on what
felt good to me physiologically. I had pushed myself
for years to make a certain quota of miles each week,
sometimes ignoring fatigue and an internal inclination
to ease my standard. I decided now I would run only
as long as I felt energized to do so. I would gather
new evidence to support my new criteria or new belief.
Within weeks, I trimmed my mileage by almost fifty
percent.
Our conclusions follow from our chosen
biases (our chosen beliefs).
Chapter
2 Continued - We Are Belief-Making and Belief-Consuming
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