My Journey from cancer to Cure

05/28/2026

A mile in my future self’s shoes

The first time I thought much of cancer I was 10. For whatever reason, I had the thought that I will, inevitably, have/get cancer someday. I knew my parents were relatively unhealthy and I was already overweight and asthmatic by that age. It was a logical (albeit morbid) conclusion.

Fast-forward 15 years and I read my first book that addressed cancer: Fit for Life, A New Beginning, by Harvey Diamond. This book was early in my lineup of natural healing remedy books, and it addressed cancer in ways that helped me comprehend the “why” of cancer/disease growth in general. After reading this book, I knew I could cure cancer if I ever should get it.

And by my late 20’s, I practically hated allopathic medicine altogether, swearing off their drugs and methods. I became a devout herbalist, making tinctures, decoctions, salves, teas and poultices to cure anything that ailed us. I also revolutionized the family diet, and we became quasi whole-food vegetarians. I say “quasi” because cheat days and sweet coffees were always in the mix.

My mindset over these years regarding cancer, especially, was that I would rather die before I would poison my body with chemo and radiation. I was almost loathsome about it. I was (and still am) so sure of my ability to heal myself without modern medicine that I didn’t even give it a second thought.

Yet, here I am, sitting in my hospital room recliner, having had my first dose of chemo last night and preparing to start radiation on Monday. My, how the tables have turned. See, my past self wasn’t in my present self’s shoes. I am now though. My past self didn’t see the circumstances that could drive me to accept the help of allopathic medicine despite my knowledge (everyone’s knowledge) that chemo is poison. There is such a thing as hormetic healing but the drugs in chemo are beyond the pale.

Sometimes I have to remind myself how I got here. My past self did this to me, honestly. All those “I’ll start tomorrow” or “I can still have xyz and be ok.” All the excuses I made to not exercise or to grab fast food or to cheat that last time led to a condition that all the herbs in the world (even my beloved fasting) couldn’t completely fix.

The truth is, I need these doctors and their medicine to facilitate or initiate the healing process because I pushed my body too far. I’m not blaming myself in a negative, traumatic way. I’m accepting responsibility for my choices. They led me here. The complications with the tumor in my abdomen have led to requiring several endoscopic procedures. I just had another one two days ago where bigger, longer stents were placed in my bile duct and branched into my liver. Fasting could not have opened my bile duct in time to save me from the jaundice that was taking over.

I have been rightly humbled and have shed many tears in having to accept these procedures and drugs into my system. The pain was so bad yesterday that I acquiesced to receiving 2 hydrocodone every 4 hours instead of 1. I needed it that badly to function. To say I have eaten a good deal of crow pie during this drama would be an understatement.

I can’t change the past and I won’t fight the present, but I am certainly working harder for my future self. I’ll be in her shoes shortly and I want her to be well. I don’t want her to suffer like this again because of my decisions today. I love her and want only the best for her. It’s time to start acting like it.

05/24/2026

Comfort and coffee

So… There’s been a lot I’ve wanted to write about in the last 72 hours. It’s only been about 72 hours since my last entry, but it feels like 2 weeks to me, 2 torturous weeks. So much has happened and yet nothing has happened. It’s Memorial Day weekend and we all know how quickly hospitals get testing and scheduling done.

I arrived at OHSU (Oregon Health and Science University for you outlanders) in Portland around 1:30am Thursday morning. I was given oxycodone, my vitals were taken and I was “kissed” good night by the team of nurses, all very sympathetic to my condition. I must say, cancer care is one of the best for empathy and accommodation. I have my own room (unlike last time at this hospital). It has a beautiful view of the Willamette River, a less-metropolized portion of Portland and Mt. Hood in the distance. My room has a locking closet, large-screen TV, private bathroom and shower, fold-down couch and recliner – everything people pay good money for at luxury hotels. I am well taken care of in this place. Why then does it feel so prison like?

Fair warning – this post is going to be everywhere, and I’ll blame it on the meds if I want to. I walk the halls when I’m up to it and get glimpses of other patients who are pretty-much bedridden. Or, I meet them walking the same halls, but they have to use a walker or have large bandages, indicating large surgeries. When it comes to who shouldn’t be complaining, it’s me. I shouldn’t be complaining.

And yet… I’ve shed more tears in this fancy room than any of my other hospital stays. When I saw a bald woman walking the halls on the first day, I went to my room and wept, knowing that was going to be me someday. I already have a complex about my looks, being bald is like the final white flag of surrender for any attempts at beauty. It looks like I’ll be in hiding for the next year.

I learned near the beginning of day 2 that my body doesn’t tolerate oxycodone. In fact, the drug amplifies the pain over time and the more I take, the worse it gets. I almost knew this already but thought I’d give it another try. I won’t make that mistake again. I asked for my old, faithful hydrocodone and was granted it shortly but not before receiving a couple doses of fentanyl. I do love how that stuff makes me feel within the first 15 minutes, but something strange happens to me as it wears off. So, now I’m avoiding that as well.

I was finally feeling a little better last night and then this morning they tried switching me to dilauded – which may as well have been oxy. The nurses said the change was made due to my liver implications with the acetaminophen. I fought for clarity and finally got the OK from the GI team. So, not only did I get my hydro back, but I also got approval to try acetaminophen by itself. Maybe that was the only part of hydro helping me. The review is still out on that.

During these couple days of drug-swaps, I have been in a lot of pain. I’ve already written about pain, but this trial has made me almost desperate for relief. It feels easier to not exist sometimes. Of course, I can’t tell the nurses that because they’d lock me in a padded room and check on me every 30 minutes. I already feel claustrophobic with their check-ups, urine-monitoring, bowel-monitoring and the dozen other check-ups they do every two hours. Did they not learn in medical school that rest is essential for healing? How is one supposed to rest with all of that going on. I’m already racked with pain, do we have to talk about it all the time too? “What’s your pain level? How are you feeling? Give me your arm. We’re drawing blood. I just need to check your temp,” and on and on it goes.

Anyway, that’s most of my complaining. This post is about comfort. Oh, I’m also on day 7 of my water fast. I believe the empty stomach is adding to the discomfort of taking pain medicines regularly. The IV antibiotics (dripped for 5 hours with a 4-hour rest in between) is also having an effect on my stomach. I’ve actually come to the place where I can’t fully tell whether my stomach hurts from all of that or because of the tumor. I can’t tell the difference anymore. I digress.

I am sitting in the recliner feeling much ess pain (probably a level 1) from my recent dose of hydro. I thought to myself that a coffee sounds really good right now. My mind drifted to me sitting on my cousin’s couch, sipping coffee. The atmosphere is homey, there is that sweet comfort of absolute love, there are a couple dogs vying for my attention and I’m in my happy place, chatting about the world and life over a cup of creamy, sweet coffee.

My coffee habit started when I was a pr***en, sitting in my parents’ living room on a Saturday morning with much of the same circumstances. I call coffee my last addiction, but it’s more than that. It’s a representation of ultimate comfort and peace. It’s a hot Starbucks on a road trip with friends. It’s a Frappuccino with my daughter as we cruise up Highway 101 on a Sunday morning “coffee drive,” where we just drive for the enjoyment with no goal in mind.

So, as I think of these things and my inclination to call room service for that cup of coffee, I must ask myself if that comfort will actually comfort me in this moment. And I think of all the other things I have called on for comfort over the years. Although I’ve lost quite a bit of weight in the last couple years, I still have a lot to go and that is largely because of seeking comfort in food and sweets. The cancer now growing (well… technically it’s receding due to the autophagy of fasting) is due to that search for comfort.

It sounds like I’m blaming myself or that it’s not ok to seek feel-good things when bad things are happening. But what if I had found comfort in meditation or journaling or walking or any number of healthy things instead? I can’t bank on “what if,” but I can change the future and create those new habits now.

I just wanted to put the spotlight on comfort and how desperately I need some right now with this pain struggle. This venting (can we call it journaling?) is my substitute for that coffee. It’s releasing steam and letting me breathe easier, just like that coffee may have done but without the harmful side effects.

I guess I should give an actual medical update while I’m here too. Because the tumor grew, squishing (technical term) another portion of my bile duct, I need another ERCP procedure. That’s the endoscopic one where they push stents into my bile duct to open it up. My bloodwork shows high liver enzymes and bilirubin, all indicative of a blocked bile duct. I’m also on antibiotics as a precaution. Because of the timing of my arrival and this being a holiday weekend, that procedure will not take place until Tuesday. It is usually an outpatient procedure and should go fairly quickly and easily.

The oncologists here will be (more than likely) giving me my first dose of chemo on Wednesday. I should be released Thursday – barring any complications.

Because of the fasting, I can feel a change in my body. Or, I think it’s the fasting. There cannot not be changes. I did say I can’t tell where the pain is coming from which makes me wonder if it’s more nausea from the meds than pain from the tumor. In that case, maybe I can taper down the meds and see how I feel. Unfortunately, the only way to test my theory is to do just that – which leads to risk of heightened pain during the testing time. I’m running low on emotional/energetic resilience, so I’m not sure I’m up for it. But, I do feel a change in the tumor-area pain.

I’ve had my hopes up before, so I’m trying to not get them up now. By the 7th day of water fasting though, the body begins to really “attack” the weakened tissues/cells of the body for fuel. One doctor said it’s like “flipping the script” on cancer. See, cancer takes from the body to thrive, making the person weak. But, when the body is in a deep state of autophagy (literally meaning to “eat itself”), it flips the script on cancer and begins to eat it for fuel instead.

Fasting weakens the cancer cells and slows/stops the reproduction of cancer simply due to depriving cancer of its main fuel source: glucose. This is why a ketogenic diet is therapeutic as well. No glucose, no growth. I also have done enough research and have practiced fasting on myself enough to know that positive changes are taking place in my body. Of course, all of this is at cellular levels, so it’s difficult to see or feel daily changes. It’s just like seeing someone who’s lost a lot of weight. If you see them every day, you don’t notice the changes.
In the throws of my worst pain, I forced myself to look ahead. I know that I won’t be in pain another 20 days from now. I know substantial, positive changes will have taken place long before I end this water fast and I just need to hold tight until then. The pain will eventually subside. It will. It’s hard to know that when I feel this badly but it’s a solid truth I’m holding on to for dear life.

05/22/2026

Hospital hair

Here I am again in the ER. I was told pain is the fifth vital sign and I have been in a good deal of it for the last 36 hours - plus chills, fever, dehydration, etc. They just gave my Fentanyl though, so I’m feeling mighty fine for the next hour or so.

As we know, I’ve been taking hydrocodone every 5 hours for the abdominal pain caused by the mass in my gallbladder fossa. Yesterday, I started chilling and aching and eventually throwing up mucous and blood. Several people urged me to go to the ER against every cell in my body not wanting to do so. I think I’m developing an aversion to needles - especially IV’s. I can also tell by the nurse’s confident and demeanor whether they are going to hurt me in the process or whether they are good.

The nurse today is one I’ve had before and she placed an IV that only lasted a few hours last time. This time was no different. Some people just have the knack. I digress.

What is interesting about this current hospitalization is that I have had zero (zero!!!) abdominal pain from the tumor. I took a hydrocodone at 3:30am and didn’t request pain meds until Fentanyl minutes ago (a 10-hour stretch) - and I did that for the headache and general soreness of flulike symptoms.

I’m on day 3 of my water fast, so my body should be in ketosis and working at autophagy. My expectation (based on research) is that my body will systematically eat the cancerous tumors over the course of 30+ days water fasting. So, is my absence of pain already a lessening of the mass? I doubt that, honestly. But, stranger things have happened.

I tried checking my test results (blood, urine, CT), but the WiFi is not allowing it, so until a doctor comes in to tell me what’s up, I’m clueless. I’m hoping it’s just an infection that I can take some antibiotics for and go home. Wishful thinking again, I know.

That’s it for today’s drama. No great insights. No educational innuendo. Just life as it happens. And hospital hair.

10 hours later

Yeah, the slow WiFi didn’t let me load Facebook either. CT scan showed the gallbladder area mass has almost doubled. So much for my shrinking theory. I’m still of the belief that this mass has a primary cause other than cancer.

In a couple hours I’ll be transported to OHSU for care. Considering tomorrow is Friday and it’s a holiday weekend, there’s a good chance that nothing will be done until Tuesday.

As long as they keep the fentanyl coming, I’ll be ok.

05/20/2026

Anecdotes and Due Diligence.

The official definition of “anecdote” is “A short, amusing or interesting story about a real incident or person. An account regarded as unreliable or hearsay.”

The video I have linked in this entry would be called “anecdotal” by mainstream medicine. Why is that? Because it wasn’t done in an official, medical trial; the story may or may not have evidence that could hold up in court; and they (the medical field) could/would never allow such stories into their purview because there is too much at steak to change their minds now. But it is stories like this that litter the cancer-knowledge field with hope, inspiration and knowledge.

My story will be anecdotal when it’s all said and done, but I lived through it, nonetheless. I don’t have to live in a laboratory for my story to be valid. Scientists don’t need to follow me around with clipboards, monitoring my every step for the information I provide to be true.

There is a factor in logical debate called “appeal to authority.” This means that one validates their argument because the person they received the information from is an authority figure (doctor, lawyer, scientist, etc). I guess I’ve always had a problem with authority – which is laughable if you know my past and how I submitted myself to very strict religious beliefs for decades. But, when it came to health and wellness, I was in my early twenties when the rose-colored glasses of “doctors know everything” fell off my eyes. The book “Natural Cures They Don’t Want You to Know About” by Kevin Trudeau was the first book I ever read on natural healing. I laugh at this because it’s a book written to raise ire and cause a rift between the average person and the medical field at large. But it was a starting point for me and it led me down the path of natural healing and away from my appeal to authority in doctors.

With that being the case and the purpose of this post – I approach all anecdotal healing stories with my background of dozens of natural healing books, thousands of hours of podcasts from MD’s, scientists and regular people sharing their healing stories. I say that to say this: please do your research. So many times, people will hear a great story of a “cancer (or whatever) cure” and then, without research, will attempt to follow that exact path.

Take, for instance, the water fast I am embarking on (more on that later). I say water fasting is the apex healing modality on earth. The body is the healer – fasting is the facilitator. Anyway, one could hear a few hours of information on water fasting and then decide to do a 30-day water fast themselves. But there can be complications depending on your current health, kidney/liver function, atmosphere and mindset. Any powerful healing modality needs to be approached with knowledge or with an overseer who has that knowledge.

For me, I’ve read several books on fasting, dating as far back to the 1920’s and then as modern as just a couple years ago. So, when I embark on this journey without supervision, it is only because I have done due diligence to supervise myself.

To me, this is the balance needed when following or accepting anecdotes of natural healing. While I accept the majority of them are true stories (there are some trolls out there… usually selling things at the end of their videos), I don’t just want one story, one way, one opinion. I want to see what others have done. I read the comments to find modifications or exceptions. And then… I try to find the scientific literature to back it up or contradict it.

So, while I share videos like this one and highly recommend them to everyone (I have a playlist of cancer stories already – let me know if you want it), I highly recommend you do your due diligence before following any suggested protocol. If you don’t have time to study for yourself, find a coach who knows the risks and benefits.

Kelly had Stage 4 Cancer with 162 Tumors and Lesions. Doctors told her the cancer had spread to her lungs, spine, sternum, hips, and femur. She was told tr...

05/15/2026

Pain

I know I went on about time last time, but it’s an important factor that I feel has a lot to do with whether one succeeds or fails – or how often they must go through a trial before succeeding.

It’s easy to read a story about how someone overcame their sickness. For me, if I watch any YouTube shorts or Facebook reels (I’m not an Insta person, but I’m sure it would be there too), my feed is filled with cancer cures, success stories and lawsuit advice. Yes. I’m already seeing ads about how to sue the doctors for putting in a chemo port that can cause blood clots. Doesn’t AI know that when I click on “reels,” I’m just looking for entertainment to get out of my head about all this??? AI isn’t as smart as they say.

Anyway, those cancer cure stories are inspiring, and I have several saved in my YouTube “watch later” file. They give courage in the moment and help inspire my day – maybe even the next couple days. But the reality of my situation often overrides that motivation or hope the provide. Doubt creeps in because of how slowly things are moving. Although I am adhering to my diet firmly and taking/doing all the holistic things I know to do, my body hasn’t felt any progress. Besides losing a couple of pounds on the scale, I feel no different. I might even feel a little worse.

The small tumor in my abdomen presses on nerves that require a dose of narcotics every 5 hours. A week ago, I was able to stretch that to every 6 or 6.5 hours. So, why 5 now? Is it getting worse? Are my methods not working? These are just some of the mental battles going on. Not to mention all the death-like condolences or extreme sympathies from nurses and doctors. To confess though, I have played the “cancer” card to get my way a few times. Sympathy has a way of giving you anything you want or at least expediting what you want. “Hey! I’m dying here… help me out!” No, I haven’t used that phrase because it would be lying, but I have let some business associates know of my cancer diagnosis to expedite their service to me. I digress.

I talked of the tortoise and the hare in my last writing and it’s a perfect analogy, but as I walk this path slowly (especially with no work or purpose to distract me), each hour can feel like 5 – especially when I watch my timer go down second-by-second until I can take the next pain pill. To give an insight: I hate taking pain pills. I hate taking medicines at all, so I’m not the kind of person who makes up pain to get meds. I hate needing them and the last thing I want to happen is a physiological dependence or addiction to the stuff. I also have a high tolerance for pain, so I’m taking a lower-scale narcotic than most people would for half this pain. Just saying. I digress again.

See? I can’t stay focused on a subject. It’s an effect of the drugs. They dull the pain receptors, but they dull my other senses too. I get sleepy within the first hour of taking a pill, then I have a two-hour window of pain-free living where I try to be productive or active and then the next two hours are twinged with slight pain that increases until the 5 hours are up. And this – this pattern – is my life. It’s like my entire existence is wrapped around how I feel. Do you know how narcissistic that is/feels?

I used to love helping others, and, while I still do, I can’t. Or, I can’t to the same, selfless degree I used to. I wrap my day around my doses and energy level. Because I have a larger tumor in my lower abdomen, it reduces room for my bladder, making the bathroom a more-frequent stop than ever before. So, between using the restroom and taking my meds, I get about 5 hours or less of broken sleep per night. The last two hours before my next dose causes me to flip flop in bed like I’m trying to cook on all sides.

These are just some of the minute-to-minute battles that someone in a similar position fights. Cancer patients who chose only chemo/radiation/surgery are also fighting all kinds of mental and physiological battles throughout their day. And, it’s not just cancer. Any disease which causes long-suffering, medication dependence or has a possible terminality would do the same.

I’m not saying all of this for the sympathy vote or to raise money for myself. Yeah. Don’t get me started on the financial side – that sucks too. I’m saying all of this to bring reality and hope to someone going through something similar and then to create empathy (real, honest empathy… not pity) in those on the outside. These slow days of pain, doubt, fear, ups-and-downs, treatments, etc have an end if you push through. It won’t be like this forever. Keep fighting because there is health on the other side and it’s worth fighting for.

Seldom is the middle of battle talked about. We are all about results and seeing that snapshot of the before and after. Our attention span doesn’t usually cover the doldrums. Authors don’t write about them because they’d lose their readers.

I say I’m writing all this to inspire others, but truthfully, I need to hear it too. I need to hear it the most and it has to come from within. I have to know that I’m making a difference with the choices I’ve made and, even though I can’t see or feel any results, my body is responding positively to my chosen treatments and I’m going to be ok. I’m going to be ok.

05/12/2026

Time….

Did you know time isn’t a thing? It’s a noun, which means that it should be a “person, place or thing,” but it’s not. It’s a concept, a perception, a way of delineating segments of life into organized fractals that allow us to add the “when” answer to life’s questions: who, what, when, where, why?

As far as time is concerned, it’s been 3 weeks since my actual diagnosis. The day before that news, I was just me, suffering with some gastrointestinal nonsense. No big deal. And now? I’m still me, but everything feels different. It’s funny how knowledge can change everything very suddenly. I think cancer, being the second most deadly disease, has something to do with it. I’m of a mind that it doesn’t need to be and for me, it surely won’t be. I won’t be one of the 1,700 people who die daily of cancer in the United State.

But only time will tell. And, that’s where I’m at – in the time between the “before and after” pictures. You know that white line that is often between a before and after picture? Yeah. I’m living that white line. Maybe it should be a lot bigger. It should be the width of 10 pictures, truly; because, for me, time seems to have slowed to a crawl. With my inability to work, I often find myself forgetting what my purpose is. Isn’t that sad? Without work, I have no purpose? But that’s not really true. It just feels true sometimes.

I am attempting to fill each day with as much “healthy” stuff as possible. I’m keeping a separate log that will accompany this tome should it ever become a published book. I’m keeping track of every vitamin/herb, medicine, workout, natural therapy, weight, blood sugar and ketone level. For someone who is usually terrible at tracking anything, I’m being quite consistent (so far). You would think that all those activities would equate to full days that leave me with a sense of accomplishment, but let me share the bits in between that are the reality of someone suffering with a disease process like this.

We all know that chemo sucks and often makes a person too sick to function. I haven’t even started chemo and yet, without my hydrocodone at regular intervals, I am in too much pain to even think. I find my legs twitching and my body rocking if I attempt to take more time between doses, as my abdomen screams in pain, letting the rest of my body have a taste. I fantasize about having surgery to rip out the offending tumor so I can have a modicum of relief.

I listen to podcast after podcast about natural healing, cancer and water fasting, knowing that I can’t achieve the most vital part of my natural healing regimen (the water fast) because of the pain meds. I feel so trapped. I know the other modalities (ketogenic diet, herbs, meds, exercise etc) will cause healing too, but that process slows by 50% at least without being able to water fast.

It’s like I’m stuck watching a movie in slow-motion. I am the movie. I am the actor taking one laborious step after another, attempting to accomplish a thing and knowing that I eventually will but feeling like it may never come. It’s like getting all hyped up about a goal and then being in the struggle for that goal realizing it’s a longer, more arduous process than you ever could have imagined.

I guess I’m writing all of this to encourage anyone who is in the throws of achieving something great. Just keep walking in slow motion. If that’s all you’ve got, do it with all you’ve got. It doesn’t feel like much because there seems to be so much less “doing,” but hang in there. It was the tortoise who won the race. Imagine how slowly the scenery passed for the tortoise. Imagine how boring that might have looked.

I’m afraid this is the lesson I never learned through all my failed dietary attempts. This is the hurdle I refused to accept on the long-term goals I tried setting. And now that I’m forced to be here and finish the race (or die), time has become the cage of my dilemma but also the key to my freedom. I guess it has always been both of those things, and the actions within the cage determine the effectiveness of the key.

So, here’s to time and its illusory nature. Here’s to time and its ability to “heal all wounds.”

~ ~

Here’s a link to a great podcast with Dr. Deming and Prof. Seyfried:

783 likes, 212 comments. "The Devastating Role Sugar Plays in Cancer Healing - Thomas Seyfried PhD, Metabolic Cancer Therapy"

05/09/2026

My plan:

I have a vast reservoir of knowledge learned and information to share, but the water hose that is the attention span of most people is not suited to the full, hydrant-hose story all at once. My attention span is also not long enough to write it all out. So, I’ll be sharing bits and pieces as I go. This entry will serve as a basic history and outline of the plan. I look forward to filling in the details in digestible shapes and sizes later.

I have studied natural healing (especially from cancer) for almost 20 years. It started when my daughter became asthmatic before age 2. My mama-bear senses kicked in, and I didn’t rest until she was better. That pivotal event and purpose spurred the next two decades of layman research with myself being the test subject for the herbs, therapies and elimination diets I studied.

Fast-forward to today’s problem, and I have a pretty clear idea of what I want to do. Here’s a quick list of the therapies I think will have a beneficial (if not completely curative) effect:

Water fasting ( #1 therapeutic)
Ketogenic diet (carnivore for me)
Positive mindset (100% essential)
Sunbathing (it doesn’t cause cancer)
Cold/ice water bathing (see Wim Hoff)
Various Herbs (Essiac, berberine, apple cider vinegar, etc)
Ivermectin & Fenbendazole (I’ll tell you why later)
Exercise, both cardio and weight-lifting (obvious necessity for health)
Maybe… red light therapy, massage, acupuncture (depends on cost/time, etc)

This is where I have a hard time with how much information to give. I could go on for pages about each of those therapies (maybe not the “maybe’s”). And, I will go into deeper detail as this blog develops. But, suffice it to say, I know enough to know that cancer (most cancers) can be completely cured with those combined therapies and possibly even just a couple of them (like water fasting and ketogenic diet). That’s a bold statement, I know. Cancer is the “uncurable.” But no. It’s not.

My caveat and the unfortunate reality of my (and many others’) situation is that, for now, insurance is footing the bill which means I must follow “standard of care” protocols to some extent. I am also filing paperwork for FMLA leave which will allow me to have some income during my inability to work.

Side note – the mass in my gallbladder fossa (fossa being “indent” where my gallbladder had been) is causing so much pain that I can’t function without narcotics (hydrocodone being my drug of choice and what works best for me). This means I cannot go back to work.

And, without being able to work, I am reliant on the doctors to sign the medical leave paperwork so that I don’t lose everything during my sickness. With this reliance, I am forced to walk their path. So, I am bound in two ways to comply with the doctors even though I know I can cure myself of cancer by the means stated above. I asked the oncologist about this alternative path. She, of course, said it wouldn’t work, but she also said I would have to pay for the PET and CT scans at the end of my proposed 6-month self-healing trial.

I could do that if I could simply go to work. I want to work. I want to heal myself without chemo. But, until I can shrink this mass on my own, that’s not possible. Water fasting would be the quickest way to shrink the mass. I believe a fast of 15-20 days would do it enough for me to get off the pain medicine, but I ran into a problem here too. I went camping last week to try to water fast. I thought it would be easier to fast away from my home environment and food temptations, etc. But, within 24 hours of nothing but water, my pain meds only lasted 2 hours before my body burned them off. In order to not overdose on those meds, I had to eat a little with each dose just to make its effects last long enough.

So, for right now, water fasting is off the menu – at least until I don’t need the pain meds.

This means I’m in a pickle. I need the insurance to pay the bill, and I need the doctors to approve/write my paid leave paperwork, which means I must cooperate.

Long story short: I’m going to ask the oncologist on our next appointment (May 18th) if I can have a reduced chemo dose (maybe 50%-30% of original plan) for the first 18 weeks of treatment. Remember, she said the tumors/cancer would simply come back over and over, so chemo would always be in my future. So, what harm would there be in a reduced treatment the first go-around? With this option and all the re-testing that will be done after the treatments, I would know for sure whether my dietary changes have done the trick. And… I would be financially covered. Win/win. That’s the plan: win/win.

Here’s a great podcast interview between a couple of fantastic doctors.

https://youtu.be/hhheuYc6Gxo?si=Q4XnriMipZd70-vR