|I was diagnosed with aggressive, infiltrating stage III breast cancer in 2002 when I was just 47 years old, with six of my eight children still at home. The youngest ones were 5, 8, and 10. I was 10 years younger than my maternal aunt was when she was diagnosed.
|The traditional route of treatment was offered to me. When breast cancer is diagnosed, you’re made to feel like you have to make a decision yesterday, and before you can blink, you’re scheduled for a double mastectomy (with reconstruction) and shuttled back and forth between oncologists, tests, and scans. Your world has been turned upside down, and while spinning out of control, you’re supposed to make informed, well-researched decisions. You do what you’re told. You follow the pack. You choose the known, I’m ashamed to say.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars, 77 linear inches of incisions, AND seven drain tubes later, I was sporting reconstructed breasts. I lived in a motorized recliner for six weeks, and I couldn’t lift anything heavier than 1/2 gallon of milk. I couldn’t walk upright for 13 weeks. Huge doses of antibiotics were administered routinely. Powerful narcotics kept pain managed and allowed me asleep. It took a terrible toll on my immune system.
I had another surgery to install the port: more anesthesia, more drugs for pain. At this point, I was gearing up for the first round of Adriamycin and Cytoxin – every 21 days for almost six months, to be followed by Taxotere and possibly radiation. Gearing up means filling all the drugs to manage the side effects, signing all the paperwork acknowledging that you’ll not hold anyone liable for anything and agreeing that you understand that the result of treatment for your cancer may mean permanent heart, liver, lung, eye, and kidney damage. Hair can (and does) fall out, nails may be permanently misshapen, discolored, or never grow back… and on and on. This paperwork that signs away your life takes hours and is terrifying if you really listen and read. (Who really does under these circumstances? If one really did, one would bolt out of there!)
Chemotherapy ranks up there with the worst experiences of my life. Everything that could go wrong did, so through the continuing haze of nausea, constipation, injections for low white blood cell counts, I decided that I would choose a shorter life expectancy than to continue with this protocol. When begging my oncologist (and family doctor) for ideas on a lower dosage or alternative treatment, I was told that this was the “gold standard” of breast cancer treatment. I was told that if I didn’t take it, I’d have two years to live. But I wanted to try something different, and I asked if the oncologist would at least follow my progress and perform routine tumor markers. He dismissed me.
Enter the “anti-fungal” approach! Through a series of people, I was introduced to the work of Doug Kaufmann. I devoured The Germ that Causes Cancer, read with my finger in the glossary. But, I saw myself in the pages of the anti-fungal questionnaire (constant sinus infections, excessive antibiotic use, high carb consumption, exposure to environmental mold, weight issues, major stress, fatigue), and I embraced the whole theory as making complete sense. I saw the duplicity in the medical/pharmaceutical industry. I saw the money trail. I saw the science behind mycology. I saw the chain of sickness caused by fungus, treat the fungus with antibiotics, another illness, treat with antibiotics… I GOT IT ALL!
I actually found the program to be really do-able and completely affordable (most OTC anti-fungals are less than $12 monthly). The food was plentiful and tasty. There was a learning curve for the first weeks, but really, it was super easy. I never felt better! Though in my late forties, I felt like I was in my twenties; my skin and hair were healthy, and I went my merry way optimistically. My tumor markers remained low and all x-rays clear.
Over the long haul though, as one gets further removed from the “scare”, old habits creep back in and improper responses to stress return. And in my case, another mold exposure problem ensued; in November 2013, ten years later, I was diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer metastasis to my bones. I was told there was no cure and that prayer was my best hope.
I immediately returned to what I knew to do – the anti-fungal diet, OTC anti-fungals, and several rounds of prescription anti-fungals. All were inexpensive and easy. Three and a half months later, I was pronounced “in complete remission” with “no evidence of avid malignancy”.
I keep asking, “Really? Really! Can it be this quick, this cheap, this easy?” Folks, it is! The cancer industry has us snookered! I’m walking proof!