Retire Early Lifestyle
Retirement; like your parents, but way cooler

In 1991 Billy and Akaisha Kaderli retired at the age of 38. Now, into their 4th decade of this financially independent lifestyle, they invite you to take advantage of their wisdom and experience.

Transitioning from Asia to Mexico - My Intimate Journey with Cancer Part 8

Billy and Akaisha Kaderli

San Javier Hospital - the number 1 hospital in the western part of the country of Mexico

From Asia to Mexico and from Eastern Medicine to Western Medicine

At this point we were finishing up both our Asia trip (Thailand, Japan, Vietnam) as well as our visits with the Chinese Medicine Doctor.

Billy and I decided that I will continue the Eastern style treatment while in Chapala, so I bought 2 more bags of the ground Panax Notoginseng powder with Ingzhi and Ganoderma mushrooms. As a bonus, the Chinese Doctor gave us an extra complimentary bag of the same.

Meanwhile, Billy had found another oncologist, a Dr. Hernandez, at St. Javier in Guadalajara. I was able to WhatsApp him, tell him the basics, and get an appointment for the date and time I needed when we returned home to Mexico in a few days.

We thought that was pretty remarkable. Call from Asia for an appointment, show up, then walk into the doctor’s office. Where else could you get that kind of service?

When I tried to register at the online platform they use for verification of appointments, it would not go through, because my Mexican Sims card needed to be activated first. This, I planned to do at the airport in LAX in order to receive the verification code they send me. 

There is much to think about when living an international lifestyle – and our Sims cards are one of the puzzle pieces.

Once again, everything seems to be falling into place with this Doctor, which is our signal for a “Yes.”

We are again encouraged, and we move forward.

Keeping a “Secret”

Over the decades of my travels, I call my sister in the States once a week. I had been doing this regularly, but these days I had not been keeping her informed about my current health status.

There were two reasons for this. 1 – we didn't know enough about my condition to actually tell her – or any of my family members – anything definite just yet, and 2 - we didn't want to worry them unnecessarily until we knew more.

My sister, who knows me well, kept asking how we were doing, and how we were enjoying our Asia trip. She could sense something was up – like I was holding something back - and I began to feel as though I was lying to her, that is, not being fully truthful. 

Since many of my days in both Thailand and in Vietnam were filled with doctor appointments, tests, and “those difficult conversations” with Billy, it was hard to give a glowing report of our travels. Due to this, I tended to gloss over things, which is not my style. My sister enjoys my detailed stories of our world travels, and at this point I wasn't telling her much.

But I had to keep my promise to myself and to Billy, and I had agreed that I needed to wait until I knew more before I shared my situation. At this point, it would be a couple more weeks before I would know anything definite.

We readied ourselves for our flight home to LAX, then to Guadalajara and a taxi ride home back to Chapala. 

Moving swiftly now

After about 5 days of getting over jet lag at home in Chapala, we took the hour-long bus ride to Guadalajara, then a taxi to St. Javier Hospital to meet Dr. Francisco Hernandez in person.

This young, handsome, upbeat man greeted us. He physically examined me; my breasts, lymph nodes, arm pits, neck, and stomach. He also asked several questions.

We told him about our experience in Thailand, the sonograms, the biopsies and about Dr. Death's prognosis and warnings. We mentioned the Chinese Medicine doctor in Vietnam, and we could immediately feel that - while he understood the Western medicine ways - he had never come into contact with any Eastern medicine approach before. He was cautious with his words, but we could sense that he didn't put much stock into “sticks, leaves and mushrooms”.  

In our consultation after my exam, he let us know what we might expect in terms of surgery, and then made an appointment that same afternoon with a Medical Oncologist to let us know about treatment after surgery.

We exchanged What'sApp phone numbers and went outside the hospital to catch an Uber to take us to see Dr. Fernando Cruz.

It's a lot to take in

Things are moving very quickly now, and as we drive to Dr. Cruz's office, it begins to get dark and starts to drizzle.

“How appropriate” I thought to myself. “A perfect dreary scene for this part of the movie”.

We get turned around a bit in the Uber, as the doc's office is on a side street and we weren't sure we were at the right location.

Once we were out of the Uber, we see that there is a 7 foot metal fence in front of this house-like structure, and the fence gate is locked. We jiggle it, push and pull, mess with a latch, and then finally, I What'App Dr. Francisco and let him know that no one is here, and that we are locked out!

It's about lunch time and we hadn't eaten anything since the morning. I don't do well on an empty stomach, and I could feel myself slipping down emotionally because of that.

“Stop it, Akaisha” I told myself. “This is as easy as I will allow it. Take your foot off the break and move forward. You don't have to make it difficult on yourself.”

Dr. Francisco got back to me nearly instantly, and said he'd contact Dr. Fernando to let him know we were waiting at the office...

And now the sky was darker and it was raining harder. (Perfect for the movie scene, right?)

Bingo, bango, presto! Someone from inside the office comes out, walks down the sidewalk to the gate and lets us in.

Boy, this is going quickly.

When we got into the office to wait for the Medical Oncologist to arrive, I might have taken a bite or two of my sandwich. I wanted to buck myself up to listen to the doc without getting faint of heart (or light-headed) at this stage of the game.

It was about 15 minutes before another young, handsome, upbeat doctor came in to the office and we followed him down the hall.

A nurses station at San Javier Hospital, Guadalajara, Mexico

We tell the story once again

Dr. Francisco, the surgeon, had taken photos of our medical records which we sent to him from Thailand and had already shared them via phone to Dr. Fernando, the medical oncologist. So, Dr. Fernando was semi-familiar with my “case.”

I had these same records physically with me, including the biopsy which was encased in paraffin wax.

I start taking out all the papers and keeping them in proper order. I show the good doctor the box of wax with my biopsy. Dr. Fernando takes out a large sheet of paper and starts making notes and drawing pictures.

We tell the whole story again, including how frightened we were by the Oncologist surgeon in Thailand, whom we nicknamed “Dr. Death” - just so we could laugh a bit in this heavy situation. We also mention the Chinese Doctor and once again it was sort of – "Not Western Medicine, Not Applicable".

However, this man was brilliant, kind, informed, and spoke perfect English.

One of the first things he tells us - besides that we need to have some further testing – is that breast cancer is not the death sentence it used to be.

This lightened our mood considerably.

Depending on the results of these certain tests, and how large the tumor is, he will be able to dictate my personalized course of treatment after the operation.

Our every question was answered, and the pictures he drew on the paper were useful in his explanations.

Preparing for the Mastectomy operation

At this point - even considering that I was still going in to have a mastectomy - we were encouraged.

Dr. Fernando asserted that basically, no matter what, I did not have a death sentence. The findings from the operation would let him know what direction my treatment would take. Chemo, radiation, hormone therapy, and treating it as a chronic disease.

But before any of that, I still had blood tests, an electrocardiogram, an MRI and other tests that I had to get done before my hospital stay on Thursday, just a few days away.

We were in high gear now, and in a flurry of calls, appointments were made. Trips to my local doctor, and to clinics in Guadalajara filled my daily calendar. My cardiologist came in off hours to do my EKG since time was of the essence.

To be honest with you – other than the remarkable kindness people showed to me – everything was just a blur. It was “moving forward, getting it done. Moving forward, getting it done.” I was ramming quickly into my surgery date.

They were going to take my breast away.

Thinking that would be the option we faced, Billy and I had already made peace with it.

“At least I'd be alive,” we said. “At least I still have my eyes, hands, legs, and brain” we said. “At least I'd still be able to travel” we said. “At least we'd still be together” we said.

I was 72 and had never spent a night in the hospital before, and I had a case of the heebie-jeebies.

Could you blame me?

For more information, pricing and perspectives on my Stage Three Breast Cancer journey, click here

Retire Early Lifestyle appeals to a different kind of person – the person who prizes their independence, values their time, and who doesn’t want to mindlessly follow the crowd.

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