A 4-year-old child’s struggle with brain cancer amidst the economic limitations of their family, overcoming 10 years with ECCT, without surgery or chemotherapy.
From right to left: Septa with the author, her parents, and a cancer care volunteer from Lampung (top left); Septa at the age of 4 wearing the ECCT helmet (bottom left); Septa with Dr. Warsito at the age of 10 (center); Septa with Dr. Warsito, the author, and her mother Edah at the ceremony marking her 10 years as a brain cancer survivor.
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I first saw her as a 2-year-old girl at a cancer seminar held by Dr. Warsito Purwo Taruno in Bandar Lampung in June 2012.
Septa lay weak in the arms of her thin mother. Her eyes were blurry, with both black pupils pointed toward her nose, crossed-eyed. Her left palm was bent with fingers stiffly clenched, as was her left foot—what people in Lampung call “kengkong.” She came accompanied by the head of her neighborhood association (Pak RT), who happened to know about my work helping underprivileged cancer patients.
At the seminar was also a boy, larger than Septa, chubby and healthy-looking, around 4 years old. He ran between the rows of chairs in the seminar room. Later, I learned that the girl, Septa, had brain cancer. She was the same age as the seemingly healthy boy—both were 4 years old, both had brain cancer.
Septa’s cancer had stunted her growth, unlike other children her age, and the family’s poverty only worsened the situation. In contrast, the boy, though also suffering from brain cancer, was well-nourished due to his family’s financial stability.
Unfortunately, a few months after his brain surgery, the boy did not survive.
Septa’s mother, Edah, shared that Septa first had seizures at age 2. A doctor diagnosed her with epilepsy, and she had to take epilepsy medication regularly.
After nearly two years of taking the medication, Septa suddenly experienced seizures and fainted again. Her parents rushed her to the hospital for treatment. The doctor recommended a brain scan, which revealed that Septa had brain cancer, suspected to be of the oligodendroglioma or Fahr Disease type.
It’s hard to imagine what they felt when faced with such a diagnosis amidst their financial difficulties. There was no choice for Septa but surgery. However, the doctor handling Septa’s case said that the success rate of the surgery was less than 50%.
This left Septa’s parents confused and caused them to delay the surgery. Finally, the head of their neighborhood association brought Septa to meet me at the cancer seminar with Dr. Warsito Purwo Taruno. I could only include Septa’s data among the dozens of other cancer patients present that day.
While helping wheelchair users, lowering those who were bedridden for examinations, and assisting weakened patients, I felt overwhelmed and sad because I knew I wouldn’t be able to immediately provide the cancer therapy devices they were hoping for. My funds were only enough to cover the examination fees, perhaps with enough left to buy one or two devices. The rest would have to wait until I raised more funds.
Once the examinations were completed, I handed over the examination documents to the C-Care Cancer Research team attending the seminar. This way, when I could finally afford to get the therapy devices, I wouldn’t have to bring the patients back to Alam Sutera—a transport cost that was quite high for us.
Upon explaining this to the team, I was asked to meet with Dr. Warsito. When we met, I shared my activities as an unemployed woman and explained the dire financial situation. Dr. Warsito then called his team and ordered them to create therapy devices for all of my patients.
Of course, I was terrified because I had no idea when I could pay for them. It was a significant amount of money, as each therapy device package costs tens of millions of rupiah, and there were several patients.
“No, Sir. I can’t promise when I can pay. I don’t even know if I can pay. I don’t want to end up in prison for not paying my debt,” I replied.
“Just make them,” Dr. Warsito said calmly.
“I have no collateral, Sir, except for my marriage certificate,” I joked.
“Oh, so you’re married, huh?” he replied, joking back.
And the cancer therapy devices were indeed delivered. One of them was for Septa.
Septa lived below the poverty line. Her mother, Edah, had to focus entirely on caring for her due to her condition. Septa’s father was just a fishing laborer who helped traditional fishermen pull in nets when boats brought fish ashore. We called him a “tukang payang.” When the moon was bright, he couldn’t do much as the fishermen wouldn’t go out to sea.
Septa’s house was made of bamboo matting, perched atop a wide seawall built to prevent seawater from flooding the residents’ homes. It was heartbreaking to see the living conditions. In front of their house were piles of garbage left by scavengers, and goat and chicken coops surrounded them. To visit their house, we had to cross a bridge made of coconut tree trunks, walking carefully to avoid it collapsing.
When Septa first started using the ECCT helmet, she would scream in pain. It seemed impossible to reach the maximum recommended usage time in such a condition. But there was no other choice—this was Septa’s only hope for recovery. Even enduring just five minutes of wearing the helmet was a significant achievement.
I taught Edah how to hold Septa while using the device, making sure to hold her hands so she wouldn’t remove the helmet. Sometimes, we distracted her by giving her favorite food. Various strategies were necessary to keep the helmet on her head.
Thank God, the efforts paid off. Septa’s vision slowly improved, her once blurry eyes became clearer, and her pupils started returning to their proper position. Her ears began to hear, and Septa finally spoke her first word: “Mak” (Mom).
Gradually, she began to walk again, albeit with weak steps.
Nothing could surpass a mother’s perseverance and love. I still remember Edah’s story during one of my visits when I saw a bruise on Septa’s forehead.
“She couldn’t see, so she would bump into things when walking. I’d shout at her to move aside, but it was useless because she was also deaf,” her mother explained nervously, afraid of my scolding. I was always strict, but it was only for their own good—to ensure that Edah remained vigilant in caring for Septa and her brain cancer. But that was in the past; those dark times are behind us now.
One day, Edah said to me, “It’s a blessing I’m poor, Ma’am. So I just follow what you tell me to do. If I had a lot of money, maybe I would have taken Septa everywhere for treatment, but who knows what the results would have been. Like that boy.”
Perhaps Edah was right. Although age is not the only measure of struggle, Septa’s recovery is a hidden blessing behind poverty. She had to rely solely on ECCT in her battle against brain cancer, and as a result, she improved day by day.
Months later, as she got used to wearing the device, it was Septa who would always ask to use it. For instance, when I took the helmet to C-Care for repairs, she repeatedly asked her mother, “Mak, where’s my helmet? I want to wear it.”
A few years later, we began to think about how Septa could build a path for her future, as the land of tomorrow is uncertain and difficult to plan for. Given her condition, she had never experienced formal schooling.
But I knew she was strong enough to survive, and she needed to know that she was valuable—so precious to us. Her recovery was the success of our efforts and the love of her mother and younger siblings who later entered Septa’s life.
Finally, I realized I had left a mark on her life and had become part of her journey. If I promised to visit, she would wear her best clothes and wait impatiently, constantly asking her mother, “Mak, why hasn’t Bu Haji (Auntie Haji) come yet?” I had become her own.
Every time I saw Septa, I saw joy and hope in her eyes. Each time I met her, I felt a happiness greater than I could have imagined. Giving happiness to a heart through action creates goodness. The goodness of giving brings love, and love brings happiness, whether in giving or receiving.
It is now 2021. It has been nine years of Septa battling cancer with ECCT, and me by her side. Thank you, Dr. Warsito Purwo Taruno, for the free helmet.
NOTE:
- In 2024, Septa reached 12 years since being diagnosed with cancer and starting ECCT therapy.
- Currently, her condition is good—her speech is normal, her vision is normal, and she has no pain, although she still has difficulty walking properly.
- It is likely that the oligodendroglioma tumor cells stopped growing (died) after a prolonged ECCT therapy.
- The remaining dead tumor tissue usually transforms into fibrosis (scar tissue), which might still affect the nerves in the brain.
- Fibrosis can occur significantly if the therapy process lasts long (up to years) and is accompanied by inflammation.
- To minimize scar tissue formation, which hinders nerve and tissue recovery, therapy duration should be shortened (to a few months), and inflammation as a natural immune response to dead cells should be minimized.
- The latest developments in ECCT technology have successfully shortened therapy duration from several years to mere months, significantly reducing inflammation.
For more information about ECCT, visit:
https://c-techlabs.com/electro-capacitive-cancer-therapy-ecct-devices/
