Our Story

The Physics of the Now

I’m Jeff Granville, a man in the midst of my life’s most profound transformation, second only to my own conception. I’m sharing this story in hopes it will resonate with all that are capable of receiving it. Throughout my life I’ve been fascinated with the human connection between science and spirituality. For most of human history they have been polar enemies, but now with the understanding of quantum physics, we become the connection where science, biology and spirituality merge. Without biology, science and spirituality can’t exist. They are the constructs of the human mind. Over a hundred years ago, Albert Einstein theorized that a photon was both a particle and a wave. Quantum physics has since proven, with experiments such as the dual slit experiment and the Wheeler experiment that this is a fact. Now the teachings of Nassim Haramein show us that every proton is actually a subatomic black hole. Every atom in the universe fluctuates between particle and wave at the speed of light. When we pray, meditate or become coherent, we rhythmically align this fluctuation. In these coherent states, we become more wave than particle. We spend more time connected to source field energy, also known as God. We have the connection to creation. Werner Heisenberg, the father of Quantum physics stated, “The first gulp from the glass of natural sciences will make you an atheist, but at the bottom of the glass God is waiting for you”. Bruce Lipton, the cellular biologist that founded the field of epigenetics and authored the book The Biology of Belief, teaches us that your perception of your environment creates your physical reality. Dr. Joe Dispenza, in his book You are the Placebo, clearly illustrates the neuroscience behind the placebo effect. Greg Braden has traveled the world researching the common practice all ancient civilizations had in connecting with the hearts intelligence. HeartMath has spent the last couple of decades researching the science behind the heart’s intelligence. They have developed technology that can measure and build coherence. Through coherence, we tap into the source field energy of the divine, where the best possible outcome can become reality. The latest understandings of our quantum biology and particle entanglement scientifically validate the ancient beliefs and practices that connect us all. The lessons learned during the following experience have not only saved my son’s life several times, but now are also leading to a paradigm shift in the care of pediatric patients. Being in the moment, being mindfully present, has a measurable connection at the quantum level. These truths, when learned and practiced, have a positive influence on our personal, social, and global health.

On December 30th, 2014 my 4 year old son Makoy was diagnosed with leukemia. As much as the horror of that sentence stands for itself, it’s about to get much worse. Leukemia is a blood disorder in which the bone marrow produces a white blood cell that is cancerous. When bone marrow produces a white blood cell and upon its release into the blood stream, it makes a determination to become a T-cell or a B-cell. B-cells fight common viruses as part of your immune system. T-cells on the other hand are given the power to seek out and destroy any other cell in the body if deemed a threat. They are the “tip of the spear’ so to speak of the body’s offensive attack in its own defense. With several possible causes, including social environmental, gene expression can create a mutation in the blueprint. Once this leukemic gene is expressed and is produced as a T-cell, known as a ‘blast’, it sees every other cell in the body as a threat and now has the power and the assignment to destroy the host and his own marrow is the factory.

T-cell leukemia, when found in little boys, can present itself with a concentration of blasts in the lymph nodes located around the larynx. This can usually cause just enough swelling to be noticeable. In Makoy’s case, he had swelling in his face thought by the local ER to be caused by a common virus that after the previous two weeks of being sick was too far along to be treated by antibiotics. The care plan was to “let it run its course and give him Benadryl for the swelling if needed”.

At 1am the morning of December 29th, we arrived at mom’s house in Anacortes for a post-Christmas visit. When I laid my son in bed after the long car ride, he started to labor to breathe. When he would lie on his back, he would struggle to take shallow, rapid breaths like a child with a fever, but he didn’t feel like he had a temperature. I laid down with him and tried to keep him on his side so he could sleep. At 9am I called in and made an appointment with our family doctor who coincidently was only working this one day over the holiday break. When I took off his pajama top to get him dressed, I noticed what looked like varicose veins all across his chest. After a thorough examination, the doctor saw nothing else out of the ordinary, besides the facial swelling and pronounced veins. When I described the labored breathing, our doctor suggested an x-ray. After an hour of requesting insurance approval, the x-ray was denied. I decided to move ahead even if I had to cover the cost myself. We waited another hour for the x-ray and after review, the diagnosis was double pneumonia. We left to pick up the prescription and after dosing him with antibiotics and having dinner we received a call from the doctor. The radiologist who routinely examines all the x-rays for the day said “this looks more like a chest mass than pneumonia”. The next step was to order a CT scan and if they couldn’t get the insurance company to approve it by the next morning, I was to take him to the emergency room at Seattle Children’s Hospital.

You can probably guess where I am now. We arrived at SCH ER at noon on the 30th. Within an hour the results from the blood work show the white blood cell count above 300,000. The doctor asked me to step outside the room and told me Makoy had leukemia or lymphoma. They won’t know which until after further testing. One of the tests is a lumbar puncture to check the spinal fluid to see if leukemic cells had passed the blood barrier. If they had, there is a much more aggressive treatment which includes full body radiation and extra for the brain. If not, then it’s “only” chemotherapy. It is a policy to not administer either treatment until this determination is made. The problem now is that Makoy had become even more lymphoblastic. The tumors that were constricting his superior vein and causing the facial swelling were now so pronounce that his eyes had swollen shut and his chest was as deep as it was wide. The normal ratio is 2-1. His airway was now constricted to the size of a pencil and they said “it was like his heart was trying to beat inside a hundred rubber bands”. If the surgical team administers anesthesia to draw the spinal fluid, his muscular tension would relax and the pressure from the tumors will collapse his airway and his heart. He would go into cardio-respiratory arrest. By the morning of the 31st when the full medical staff held rounds, they were wrestling with their limited options and were stuck. Without a reduction in the tumors, they couldn’t sedate him for the lumbar puncture. Without testing the spinal fluid, they couldn’t administer chemotherapy to reduce the tumors.

They called a care conference to present their position. I took a seat at the large table in the conference room. Around the table were teams of all the necessary specialties. The head of surgery sat under two 60” HD monitors showing the MRI images of his airway and his superior vein. The graphic display of his situation sent his mom out of the room and to his bedside. I sat there alone with the best that modern medicine had to offer. After showing the images travel down his airway to the tiny opening just above where it splits off to each lung, the head surgeon said “We are chasing something we don’t have the tools to catch”. He said that a couple members of the team had noticed my ability to keep him calm through the emergent procedures they administered during triage. They felt that his “only chance” was to get special permission to have me allowed in the OR to ‘talk him through’ two surgical procedures without sedation. They made it clear that without sedation, if he moved too much, or went into shock he would die. I took a couple of deep breaths to gather myself and after several questions to see if there was any other possible way, they informed me that this was his only chance and we need to go now.

The first procedure was to install a PICC line. PICC is the acronym for, peripherally inserted central catheter. This is a tube to be placed in the vein inside his right bicep that travels all the way into his heart. It is a central access for the infusion of blood products, meds, and chemotherapy and to have constant access for lab draws. This is a procedure that is always done in the ‘sleepy room’, not on a child who is awake and can guaranty a negative outcome with any slight reaction. This is especially true for a 4 year old with a healthy fear of needles and doctors in general. At the time of surgery, Makoy was so lymphoblastic that he had to lay on his side right up to the point of starting the procedure because when he rolled onto his back, the pressure on his heart and airway increased to the point of severe discomfort.

The only plan I had was to be present with him and explain what was going to happen. He didn’t like surprises, but then who does when it comes to medical procedures and needles. The head surgeon made sure that the surgeon for this procedure went over every detail so I could be prepared and prepare Makoy. With his eyes swollen completely shut, he was inside the darkness of his own head with nothing but his imagination. I put my head as close to his as I could and softly talked to him in a calm voice. I reassured him that I was there for him that I loved him and nothing was going to happen that he couldn’t handle. I explained that he would feel a small pinch as the needle for the local anesthetic went in his arm. We practiced controlled breathing and I guided him down our river as we had floated it together that previous summer. I guided him down our ski slope that we had gone to the last two winters. Both of these activities were fun but also scary. He needed to trust me then as he needed to trust me now. I described how I held him as we got on and off of the chairlift. How he held onto my ski pole for stability as I held it out in front of him. I described every detail I could think of, like the sun reflecting off of the snow and the way the snow sounded under our skis. As I described each detail I would ask him if he could see it. He would softly acknowledge me with a little sound and he would make a slight snoring sound every fourth or fifth breath. He had entered what I would later discover to be a theta wave, mind out of body state. We were collectively coherent and were more wave than particle. The catheter was placed without as much as a flinch. He didn’t even realize it was done. The surgeon stated, “Ok, we are all done”. Makoy let out a little giggle that made the whole room relax. Just as Makoy came out of the state of mind that saved him, the surgeon grabbed his arm and without warning gave him two more shots to numb him for the two stitches she forgot to mention. He screamed and tossed around while she gave him the stiches. Since she didn’t warn us ahead of time, I assumed something had gone wrong and she was acting emergently. When I asked her what she was doing, she said, “I have to stitch it, you don’t want the catheter to pull out do you”. This created immediate stress and our reaction showed it. If she would have warned us we could have prepared for it. If he would have reacted this way at all during the PICC line installation, he wouldn’t have survived it. Panic would increase his heart and respiratory rate, we would have lost coherence and he would have arrested.

After we disrobed, I pointed out to the head surgeon who had been two inches away from me during the whole procedure, that if he gets surprised like that during the lumbar puncture, we’re in big trouble.

Now that we had gotten past the ‘easy one’, we had a briefing on the lumbar puncture. The head surgeon talked to all of the 30+ care providers in the room that we were going to do this ‘Makoy’s way’. He told the young steady handed oncologist that he was to slowly and softly describe what he was going to do. He was to give me time to make sure Makoy was as he described it at the time ‘in his zone’. The one thing that made this a little easier was that Makoy could lie on his side. This made it more comfortable to breath and easier to relax. We positioned Makoy on his left side and had him curl up into a fetal position. This was to open the vertebrae to make way for the needle. The nerves surrounding the spinal column are the most sensitive in the entire body. A lumbar puncture is never attempted unless it’s inside the sleepy room with the child fully sedated. Four doctors surrounded us and were planning to hold him down to prevent him from moving. Even the tightest grip from five grown men couldn’t stop the smallest of movements that would break off the needle and cause pain and panic that would lead to him being paralyzed or cardio-respiratory arrest.  I asked them to softly lay hands on him but don’t restrict him. Being forced is the surest way to ensure a fight. We had to rely on repeating the same theta, mind out of body state again. It was his only hope. With nothing but numbing cream on the surface where the needle was to enter the skin, the oncologist softly told us he was going to rest the needle against his skin to bring it to body temperature. He asked Makoy if he could feel it and he made an affirming sound. I continued to talk him though our ski run and down our river. He was once again able to answer questions and was snoring every fourth or fifth breath. The oncologist said he was going to slide the needle in and in the next instant he said, “We have fluid”. The entire room collectively gasped for a breath and there wasn’t a dry eye. Makoy had not even flinched. When I asked him if he heard that, he let out a soft little chuckle and the entire room let out a stress releasing laugh. Three vials of spinal fluid were drawn and not one wiggle. The spinal fluid was tested and found to be clear of blasts. Chemotherapy was quickly administered through his new PICC line and the tumors had retreated by the next morning.

After those two procedures without sedation and after the storm cleared, the care team was down to our night nurse in PICU and Makoy was sleeping peacefully. What had just happened? How did we do that? I reflected on the deep impression I had that during all the emergent commotion of triage, Makoy and I were, ‘the eye of the storm’. I grabbed my IPhone and searched YouTube for ‘eye of the storm’. After quite a bit of scrolling, I had my first introduction to Nassim Haramein. A physicist I had never heard of was on stage saying, “Anyone can tell you the velocity of the wind, I want to know the math of the EYE”!

This marked the beginning of countless hours of research that has led us on this journey of a lifetime. We were able to recreate this process of coherence for several procedures that gave documented unprecedented results. One of which was to remain fully lucent during a 40 minute long grand mal seizure. The neurology team asked to interview us because they had never heard of this happening before and wanted to “get a glimpse into the mind of a patient during a grand mal seizure”. This has lead to a Seattle based Neurologist, who holds a PHD in environmental toxicology and is a faculty member at SCH, to research our story and author a paper on her findings. Two of the surgical cardiologists and their entire teams have witnessed his ability to go into this state of deep theta, requiring minimal anesthesia and “participated in his own survival” as they, on two occasions, had to drain fluid from his pericardial sack. The first time they drained 250ml and the second was 450ml. Adults normally have about a tablespoon. Normally when sedating someone with as little as 100ml, the anesthesia will relax the muscle tension and the pressure of the fluid on the heart causes tamponade, the collapsing of the heart and cardiac arrest. Makoy just had his left kidney removed in preparation for a transplant on December 20th. He was administered “the smallest amount of pain management” during a nephrectomy, and sent home after just 5 days without a prescription for pain meds. Not even Tylenol.