Yup, I know. Long time no blog. Progress WAS being made in the cancer department. No news was good news. So now that you're hearing news, it's bad, right? Well, yeah, sorta.
I was chugging along pretty well. But things starting going downhill in May of 2015. Cancer blood levels started to elevate and my oncologist and I decided to keep an eye on everything. But at beginning of August, I noticed that breast was enlarged, red, swollen, blood work was terrible. C-T scan showed a lot of new activity.
My first reaction was: okey doke, I'm ready for that bi-lateral mastectomy we've been putting off. Let's book a surgeon.
Doc said no way, they first want to attack with chemo.
Well, those of you who have read the first entries to this blog know my feelings about western medical-style chemotherapy! And if you are new to all of this, it might be wise to go back and revisit from the first post way back in October of 2013, just to get some perspective about the road that I am traveling.
Because these western-trained docs seemingly have no other option to give patients other than massive doses of chemotherapy, I have pulled Plan B out of my bag of tricks: Mexico. There is a clinic in Tijuana that offers many of the protocols I have researched extensively and have been dying (pun intended... sick Reed humor) to try. It's been quite a scramble in the last two weeks to set everything up, but somehow everything is falling into place. I have contacted the clinic, made hotel and plane reservations, and have procured a passport.
I don't want to go into lengthy details at the moment about my upcoming treatment - want to keep these posts short and read-able. I will post periodically with updates.
Meanwhile, my bags are (almost) packed and I'm ready to go (PPM) :-)
I will be leaving on September 6, returning on September 26. The adventure begins!
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Betsy's Road Less Traveled
Monday, August 24, 2015
Saturday, October 25, 2014
Running for Selenium
It's October. If you are going to "RUN" for anything, wearing your pink t-shirt, run for Selenium, as this doc suggests.
Or for mistletoe. Or for Vitamin D-3. Or for living, raw foods.
Or for mistletoe. Or for Vitamin D-3. Or for living, raw foods.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Defining Success
When I tell people that "I whooped that tumor's ass!".... somehow it isn't enough. They want to label my success. They want to define the victory with medical terminology. Typical words that folks want to hear are cure.... or in remission.... or cancer-free. They don't want my whoop-ass phraseology, they want something more clinical. It isn't enough that the tumor is no longer a lump, but a hard mass of scar tissue, it isn't enough that the CEA blood markers have been in the normal range for months, it isn't enough that the latest MRI showed that the lymph nodes are clear, or that I feel great and look great. They want WORDS, a medical mandate of some kind.
So at my last oncology visit (July), I searched for that defining word. I asked the doc: "ok, so ..... how would you categorize where I am in all of this? I know you probably cannot say I am cured or cancer-free. But what WOULD you say? What is my status?"
Her response was: "I would say you are a survivor."
Survivor. Yes, now that I think of it, that's the typical jargon used. When people don their pink t-shirts and go on those breast cancer walks, that's what they call women who have beat the damn thing.
Survivors.
But being a survivor, in my mind, puts me into a passive state. One survives a tornado, or a flood, or any other natural disaster over which one has no control. Calling myself a survivor somehow makes it sound as if I was "under assault" by the cancer, or more realistically, perhaps, by the standard cure: the assault of chemo, radiation, surgery. I never subjected my body to these inhumane and toxic therapies. I took control of the situation. I changed the domain (my body) in which the cancer was doing its damage. And it worked.
I would not call myself a survivor. I would call myself a VICTOR. I did the work -- I found the right therapies for me and I applied them. I could not have done it without the help of my mistletoe doctor. I also could not have done it without all of the books and articles and resources out there that guided me through the alternative field of cancer therapies and gave me hope that I was on the right track.
I still say that I simply whooped that tumor's ass. I am the VICTOR.
My next visit with my oncologist is on September 11 (yes, really!), 2014.
Believe it or not, September 11, 2013 was the day that I received my cancer diagnosis.
What a year it has been!
Thanks to all who have supported me and prayed for my recovery.
So at my last oncology visit (July), I searched for that defining word. I asked the doc: "ok, so ..... how would you categorize where I am in all of this? I know you probably cannot say I am cured or cancer-free. But what WOULD you say? What is my status?"
Her response was: "I would say you are a survivor."
Survivor. Yes, now that I think of it, that's the typical jargon used. When people don their pink t-shirts and go on those breast cancer walks, that's what they call women who have beat the damn thing.
Survivors.
But being a survivor, in my mind, puts me into a passive state. One survives a tornado, or a flood, or any other natural disaster over which one has no control. Calling myself a survivor somehow makes it sound as if I was "under assault" by the cancer, or more realistically, perhaps, by the standard cure: the assault of chemo, radiation, surgery. I never subjected my body to these inhumane and toxic therapies. I took control of the situation. I changed the domain (my body) in which the cancer was doing its damage. And it worked.
I would not call myself a survivor. I would call myself a VICTOR. I did the work -- I found the right therapies for me and I applied them. I could not have done it without the help of my mistletoe doctor. I also could not have done it without all of the books and articles and resources out there that guided me through the alternative field of cancer therapies and gave me hope that I was on the right track.
I still say that I simply whooped that tumor's ass. I am the VICTOR.
My next visit with my oncologist is on September 11 (yes, really!), 2014.
Believe it or not, September 11, 2013 was the day that I received my cancer diagnosis.
What a year it has been!
Thanks to all who have supported me and prayed for my recovery.
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Join the Crowd!
There is an important clinical trial planned to study the effects of mistletoe on cancer (specifically, of the colon). It will be CROWD-funded -- that is, by PEOPLE, not by BIG PHARMA. Dr. Peter Hinderberger, M.D., Ph.D. a practitioner at the Ruscombe Mansion Clinic in Baltimore, has a key role in this study. Here is what he has to say about it:
"As you may know, Johns Hopkins Hospital (JHH) is doing a mistletoe study. An oncologist at JHH and I share a patient who was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer and a bleak prognosis and is now free of cancer thanks to her lifestyle changes and mistletoe. This sparked the oncologist's interest and his decision to do a trial on mistletoe. This study will cost approximately $300,000. None of the funds will come from Big Pharma.
The patient co-founded a non-profit organization, Believe Big, to help families navigate cancer treatments. She offered to do the fundraising. She organized a gala dinner and almost 600 people signed up. We have the money to start the trial but need to raise more to finish it.
This is truly historic: Johns Hopkins, one of the top-ranked medical research facilities in the world, is doing a study on a botanical substance for cancer. This in itself is absolutely remarkable. Even more remarkable is that this is patient driven, not initiated by the manufacturer, nor a researcher, by Big Pharma, or an article in the New England Journal of Medicine. There is more: this is being funded by a grass roots organization. Not Big Pharma, not the government, but by us -- YOU and ME!
I have used mistletoe in my practice successfully for over three decades. It is time for mistletoe to be an integral part of a standard cancer treatment protocol. With this study the oncological world will not be able to continue to ignore mistletoe any longer."
Early on in this blog, I discouraged folks from participating in the Pink Ribbon cancer awareness campaigns (see the link on side-bar to the right about "Pink Ribbons Inc"). Big Pharma has its dirty fingerprints all over those "races for the cure." Please, if you want to donate toward a more worthy cause, JOIN the CROWD that is funding the Johns Hopkins mistletoe study. They could really use every penny you can spare. You can donate at http://www.believebig.org/clinicaltrial.html or mail a check to: Believe Big at 14030 Woodens Lane, Reisterstown, MD 21136. All donations are tax deductible.
"As you may know, Johns Hopkins Hospital (JHH) is doing a mistletoe study. An oncologist at JHH and I share a patient who was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer and a bleak prognosis and is now free of cancer thanks to her lifestyle changes and mistletoe. This sparked the oncologist's interest and his decision to do a trial on mistletoe. This study will cost approximately $300,000. None of the funds will come from Big Pharma.
The patient co-founded a non-profit organization, Believe Big, to help families navigate cancer treatments. She offered to do the fundraising. She organized a gala dinner and almost 600 people signed up. We have the money to start the trial but need to raise more to finish it.
This is truly historic: Johns Hopkins, one of the top-ranked medical research facilities in the world, is doing a study on a botanical substance for cancer. This in itself is absolutely remarkable. Even more remarkable is that this is patient driven, not initiated by the manufacturer, nor a researcher, by Big Pharma, or an article in the New England Journal of Medicine. There is more: this is being funded by a grass roots organization. Not Big Pharma, not the government, but by us -- YOU and ME!
I have used mistletoe in my practice successfully for over three decades. It is time for mistletoe to be an integral part of a standard cancer treatment protocol. With this study the oncological world will not be able to continue to ignore mistletoe any longer."
Early on in this blog, I discouraged folks from participating in the Pink Ribbon cancer awareness campaigns (see the link on side-bar to the right about "Pink Ribbons Inc"). Big Pharma has its dirty fingerprints all over those "races for the cure." Please, if you want to donate toward a more worthy cause, JOIN the CROWD that is funding the Johns Hopkins mistletoe study. They could really use every penny you can spare. You can donate at http://www.believebig.org/clinicaltrial.html or mail a check to: Believe Big at 14030 Woodens Lane, Reisterstown, MD 21136. All donations are tax deductible.
A Mistletoe Success Story
The fellow in this video spoke at a recent BelieveBig fundraising dinner.
What is BelieveBig? That will be the topic of my next post. For the time being,
allow Frank Ridgeway's story to pique your curiosity:
What is BelieveBig? That will be the topic of my next post. For the time being,
allow Frank Ridgeway's story to pique your curiosity:
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Betsy: 1 Cancer: 0
Well! Good news on the tumor battle front.
Follow-up (6-month) MRI reveals that the tumor is diminishing. On the MRI screen, it shows up as a dark mass. Although its diameter is just slightly smaller than the original lump, it is way flatter. My oncologist poked around and said it feels more like scar tissue. The original lump was pretty round and squishy -- now it's rather flat and seems to be more nestled against the chest wall, almost out of the perimeter of the breast.
Other good news: NO evidence of ancillary lymph node cancer. The original MRI (6 months ago) showed a small mass in a lymph node. And now it's gone -- GONE! Doctor also confirms that she feels nothing in that area upon physical examination. Oh..... yay!
More good news: the intravenous dye contrast that was sent through my veins during the MRI exam did not reveal any cell activity in the area. It appears to be "quiet" in terms of new growth.
I am still feeling great, have lost 15 pounds, and the cancer blood marker (CEA) is in the normal range. I will continue with the regimen I am following. Hey, it seems to be working!
Follow-up (6-month) MRI reveals that the tumor is diminishing. On the MRI screen, it shows up as a dark mass. Although its diameter is just slightly smaller than the original lump, it is way flatter. My oncologist poked around and said it feels more like scar tissue. The original lump was pretty round and squishy -- now it's rather flat and seems to be more nestled against the chest wall, almost out of the perimeter of the breast.
Other good news: NO evidence of ancillary lymph node cancer. The original MRI (6 months ago) showed a small mass in a lymph node. And now it's gone -- GONE! Doctor also confirms that she feels nothing in that area upon physical examination. Oh..... yay!
More good news: the intravenous dye contrast that was sent through my veins during the MRI exam did not reveal any cell activity in the area. It appears to be "quiet" in terms of new growth.
I am still feeling great, have lost 15 pounds, and the cancer blood marker (CEA) is in the normal range. I will continue with the regimen I am following. Hey, it seems to be working!
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