Recently a woman I barely know through a mutual friend was diagnosed with the same kind of cancer I have: Stage 4 metastatic breast cancer. While it seemed she was getting treatment similar to me when I was first diagnosed a long year ago, she has taken treatment into her own hands by trying alternative measures.
I reached out to her. She sent me an email filled with web links and phone numbers in case I wanted to try some of the holistic steps she is taking: ingesting cannabis oil, drinking homemade juice comprised of organic fruits and vegetables and twice a day eating a salad loaded with healthy veggies.
My thoughts on this: What a lot of work for something that may or may not work.
Getting a medical marijuana card in Michigan is not that hard except for the $150 fee. Going to a dispensary to get the oil and learn how much to ingest I can handle. But the thought of making and eating this cancer-fighting salad that contains roughly 12 kinds of vegetables and spices twice of day is too much. I don’t even like salad since I’ve had cancer. And juicing requires the same kind of judiciousness — fruits and veggies galore thrown into a blender to drink. The thought of it makes me want to gag.
I haven’t talked to this woman yet to see how she is feeling after a couple weeks of this treatment. But I’ll call her soon. I’m skeptical. I can’t help but think if all this works and keeps Stage IV cancer at bay or obliterates it, why haven’t more people used it? How about the women in my cancer support group who keep getting chemo as ugly cancer tumors pop up on their pancreas, liver, lungs, brain.
For now, my cancer is quietly sitting in my bones. I have six months off of treatment (for good behavior), and I dread the tests I’ll have to endure next year to see if the cancer has moved. This kind of cruel cancer never goes away. If you are lucky, it is like a chronic illness — you treat it and live life the best you can — at least for awhile.