At forty-eight, Scott Miller pulled into his driveway after a long day at work, with no idea that his ringing cell phone was going to change his life forever. “Scott. You have cancer.” The doctor said on the other line.
“Oh.” Scott uttered into his still and silenced car.
His diagnosis was unexpected, but he was further jarred by what the doctor said next, “Don’t go jumping off a bridge or anything.”
The doctor’s comment was Scott’s first experience in the common philosophy of our culture, and the medical community: attack the diagnosis, fight, and win the battle, or die trying. That approach was one Scott understood well in living his life up until that moment. He had lived with an intensity and self-reliance that had served him well as an entrepreneur. So Scott could have never predicted his response to his stage 4 cancer diagnosis would be so different from the philosophy that he’d known and lived—he heard the battle cry from those around him: “You can beat this!” “You’re a fighter!” But when it came to his body, his cancer, and the sick cells, Scott had an immediate sense, a knowing that he would choose a different path. Those cells were a part of him. There would be no fight, there would be no battles waged. There would only be love.
Always the entrepreneur, he compiled two teams of doctors and had them review his case; he would hand select the team who would carry out his treatment. Ultimately, one surgeon made the decision obvious to Scott. The doctor gave Scott his personal cell phone number, and days later, when Scott called him, the surgeon answered. “Scott, can you give me just a moment? I’m at my son’s soccer game.” When this renowned surgeon made space for Scott in the midst of his personal time, Scott knew he would be treated like a human being; that he could trust him with his life.
Scott had spent several years doing personal work. He understood Gestalt therapy. While he loved the science of western medicine, he loved the heart of eastern medicine. Instead of fighting his cancer, Scott chose to love his body, his cancer, and his sick cells. And the collaboration between science, love, and spirit began.
After a full neck dissection where the surgeons removed over thirty lymph nodes from the right side of his neck, Scott began radiation treatment and chemotherapy. During his radiation therapy, Scott would visualize the radiation machine’s buzz as the buzzing of the people he cared about most in the world—surrounding him with their love. Since doctors told Scott that he would lose his salivary glands during the treatment process, he visualized a warm, silver-metallic fluid flowing through his mouth and bringing healing as it spread into his neck and head. While many people burned from the radiation, Scott’s neck tanned.
Scott’s energy needed to be used to heal and he kept his approach to himself in large part due to modern views of science and medicine. Scott listened to the calling in his heart to love his cancerous cells. Through that complete love of every microscopic part of him, he managed to show up for himself, to truly learn the meaning of unconditional love, even as his own body struggled to serve him.
Each day that Scott still has left on this earth is a loving miracle—and his mission is to extend that love into the world. Those facing a terminal illness, or any sort of personal struggle could be changed by not engaging in the concepts of fight, battle, negativity, or hate. They do not serve us as human beings. On the contrary, Scott’s experiences led him to initiate a movement to transform energy, life, and above all else: love.