Enema bag for sale….

The past few days have been extremely busy, what with all this cleaning, juicing, preparation of food, very early morning enema, and occasional adjustment of attitude. After all this I have come to the conclusion that I am not cut out for this particular therapy at this time. I am still juicing just not hourly.

The sheer amount of food and cost was staggering as well the exhaustive way to implement all of it. Friends came and helped out with tasks as well as buying bags of raw veggies. (God bless good friends!!) My emotional equilibrium had hit a few pot holes, trying to manage it all. I had to stop hiking which gave me such peace and joy and this whole thing was becoming overwhelming and stressful.

After the fourth or fifth juice I was nauseated. No matter what I said to myself, I was a hair away from vomiting and my stomach revolted. No matter what I tried and I did try, I could not hold the enema liquid for longer than three minutes. ( I fixed the connecting tubing problem with Duct tape. My best friend.)

I remember, after the last cancer I’d said: ‘I’m almost grateful for the cancer because it taught me so much and I learned so much about myself and loved ones and attitude, faith and gratefulness toward things.’ While this was true, I know I carried this acceptance too far. The object is to get rid of it. That’s why I did not wish to ‘own’ it, this time.

I should not have created such a nice, cozy environment for cancer to move into. (Of course worry, problems, financial matters, errant cells, etc) did the rest as well. Cancer is a symptom. We must find out the cause and must become our own detectives in this search. Having a medical professional, who is supportive certainly makes things easier. Not always the case when opinions differ from main stream medicine. An Italian oncologist believes that cancer is a fungus.

I am in search of another workable solution to treat myself. It’s like the Holy Grail. Everyone you ask for directions gives you a different one.

I remember when I talked to Senior Physician at the ‘Hufeland Clinic’ in Germany. She said that, in some cases they opt for lowering a person’s blood sugar. Cancer cells are really hungry for sugar, so they receive it as it along with a low dose of chemo and this does the trick, sneaking past the guard. The cancer cells really slurp up that sugar, then sneaking to those cells and  ‘BOOOM’. In this case the cells get poisioned, not the patient. Do we know this approach, here? Makes sense to me. This is different than toxic overload chemo usually done here.

What I remember too, is that each Physician that I saw, here and across the big pond, was telling me how lucky I am. I was of course puzzled and not only a bit irritated. Here I sit and have cancer and they’re telling me I’m lucky! Then explanation was added. To have had that many years without recurrence is extremely rare. (It had been nine years). Especially with ovarian cancer. My Doctor had told me, way back that if cancer would come back, it would be very difficult! I really wish they wouldn’t tell you things like that. I stays in the back of ones mind. So. To have ‘only’ a few small, tumors and they had not spread, was amazing. The one in the lung, was right at the edge. Clean, without creeping ‘fingers’ and easy to pluck out. Which we did. Only one left. At the spine attached to the aorta. What a place to be. Very hard to get to. This one, I’ll walk off on the camino. (There’s a plan B as well.)

Tomorrow, more tests to see the internal picture and cancer marker. I have stopped all supplements, vitamins, etc. I want a true reading.

The Verdict: Cancer. Again.

A few days ago, Mom must have been having thoughts of mortality again, because she arranged for me to have power of attorney over some funds she has in an account in Germany “in case anything happens to me”.  She also mailed me her “UBC [USB] stick”, which has her notes on her life story, illness, and, not least, recipes.

Today she Facebooked this:

Dr. just called with Pathology report. Yes. It was cancer but he’ll send it off to Mayo clinic as he disagrees with pathologist [who erred in one of his key premises, that Mom’s lung cancer was her “primary” cancer, when her primary is the one from ten years ago:  ovarian]. It was “clean” without any others in there.

And she sent me a message from there too:

Just got report and it’s what I knew. Will now start the ‘Gerson method’ for sure. Need a different juicer. Mine’s crushing and not expelling the juice.– Will you start checking on flight cost? Where are we starting? French side? It’s the prettiest. :-)

In other words, she’s as determined as ever.  So here’s where things stand:

1.  We expect a report on the actual kind of cancer, and type of cells, from the Mayo Clinic within several days’ time.

2.  She’s throwing herself into the Gerson Method.  We’re looking into juicers that actually facilitate the whole point of juicing – at costs of around $1000 on eBay, but stay tuned to see who – we humble deserving sorts or the faceless eBay masses — wins the next auction (I’ll even take bets on who wins the betting).  Pricey, but we think it’s worth it.  Penny-wise, pound-foolish – and Mom’s pounds, so to speak, make up some very precious cargo!

3.  Mom is now clear that she wants to spend six weeks in Europe, walking as much of the Camino as she’s able, and then – and this thrilled me to hear it, Alp-lover that I am – reward herself with a few days in some Alpine spa, a la the old-fashioned “rest cures” popularized in Nobelist Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain.*

4.  I’m researching online and asking Don Julio, our Man on the Ground, what city to fly into, where to begin, what to bring, what it should weigh (a critical consideration), and so on.  As I do that, I’ll build our Resources page . . .


* Except that, if I recall correctly, Mann’s hero, Hans Castorp, a symbol of [pre-WWI Germany? European bourgeois society?] was sort of in love with being sick and dying. Though he visited the Swiss sanatorium of the title (based on the famous Waldsanatorium in Davos, Switzerland) only to see his tubercular cousin, his health got mysteriously worse and worse, so that he spent seven years there before being called up for World War I and, presumably, his end.  Mom is the anti-Hans.