Sorry for the distance between posts. After trying 3 alternative treatments (in addition to one chemotherapy session at the beginning of 2018), I realized that the tumor had grown so significantly, that I had to seek some sort of treatment to be comfortable until I died, or do something to cure the cancer. It ended up being the latter.

The first treatment consisted of assigning myself to the tutelage of a medical intuitive. I felt pretty good under his care, but he was not an honest man. The cancer didn’t spread, but it didn’t diminish (I had my family doctor do ct scans every 6 months).

The next treatment consisted of a purple foot bath. Alas, the only thing that was cured was the whiteness of my towels. I actually could feel the tumor’s size increase as my ability to sit for the hour or so the footbath required became so uncomfortable, I had to give it up. The footbath was made up of herbs, and I purchased it through a woman in Oregon. When she fell ill (she was in her eighties), I contacted the person from whom she bought it. For someone like me, neither of these humans was a good choice. Neither of them wanted to talk to me (“You’re not paying for that as a part of the treatment.”), so I had nowhere to go with questions. When you are facing a life-threatening illness, you tend to have those.

The third treatment was a suppository from a company based in Massachusetts, but the product came from Canada. It was a combo of THC and CBD oil. The THC was to cure the cancer (illegal where I live, but as a 67 year old pillar of my community and white, I felt I made a good poster child for the legalization of marijuana. During this time in Missour, the authorities searched the friggin’ hospital room of a man with stage 4 cancer for his stash. Luckily, he had none. My heart stopped for him and for me.); the CBD oil was to keep the cancer from spreading and ease the pain. It did neither. Border waits made this unwieldy. Besides, I was already in so much pain that using a suppository became difficult.

My best friend packed me up in the car (she has been through everything with me), and off we went to my original oncologist. I insisted I wasn’t returning to chemo and wanted radiation. My best friend convinced him that I would need radation if he liked his office as it stood.

Off to radiation I went for 5 treatments. The idea was to ease the pain until I died a graceful, pain-free death, no longer having to worry about what I was going to do with myself as I grew older.

More tomorrow. I have to get ready for a birthday party (not mine). Hugs. I promise to write again tomorrow.


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