Author Archives: Inge

From Pamplona to “Ave Maria” in Los Arcos

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Pamplona to Cizur Menor

I didn’t walk from Pamplona, as I was feeling very shaky.  I thought perhaps it was due to low

Lunch in Cizur Menor

blood sugar (the H’s hurt with each step) and I just couldn’t face even walking four miles.  Carrie, Marie Anne, and I took a cab with Cameron’s pack too.  In Cizur Menor was a lovely albergue, with a small pool filled with goldfish and turtles, blooming hydrangeas and other lovely foliage.  It was more like a small resort.  Julio cooked again and we sat outside and ate pasta.  I was pretty tired and in bed by 8:30.  I slept well until all the snoring started.  I got up at 2 for the bathroom again, then at 3:10 and once more at 4.  At 5:30 I gave up to handle my dental issues and have a cup of tea.

To Puente La Reina

We started out at 7:30 and walked approximately 8km, had a decent lunch, and walked through beautiful countryside that reminded me of Tuscany.  We had to climb up another hill, and down a rocky path, but the view on both sides and around us was well worth it.  Large fields, now empty and harvested, cypresses and blackberry bushes.  My foot started to hurt and it was getting hot, but I will not complain.

Finally, we came to Puente La Reina.  Beautiful old monastery. Upon arrival we were told that our backpacks hadn’t made it.  Julio took over, helpful as usual, helping us immensely with language.  We had the packs brought by taxi.  Marie Anne and I tried to find a grocery store, but, it being Saturday and a fiesta for running the bulls, everything was closed.  Lots of movement in town, with people sitting all over outside, picturesque houses again, with lots of flowers.

We went to see the old bridge and I took pictures.  Got the rest of our little family and

Puente La Reina

went to see the bulls being run.  A DJ played good loud music and Marie Anne and I danced.  It was so much fun.  Then the two little bulls came running up and down the street as young men tried to touch their horns.  The bulls sure looked tired after a while, but it was all in good fun.

Julio found a store and we invited a young man who has been walking from England since June.  Carrie has made a friend.  An older gentleman and artist.

Estella

Estella.  I call her the elusive, because I was under the impression that the town was only 19km from Puente La Reina, but the walk seemed to go on for a long time.  Problem was we got a late start due to some miscommunication, so we were behind everyone.  The path looked in some places like Douglas Pass, or in any case like the road to the Black Canyon.  We walked up the hill and I was really breathing hard.  When I reached the top, there was the little family giving me a standing ovation.  Then

Julio interrogates an olive tree

we saw lovely vineyards, hills, olive trees, and figs.  Julio picked some of each and offered them to me to make up for the lack of veggies.  Later, Julio cooked a whole pot of pasta, which we shared with others.

My legs are sunburned and red like lobsters.

The Way of the Camino

The way of the Camino is such that everyone, regardless of nationality or religion, is

English lasses with ready medical supplies

immediately helping.  The sharing and caring makes it so worthwhile.  They don’t ask your interpretation of the Bible before they’re willing to help.  No one holds himself above another.  Sometimes the aid is as small as a band-aid.  Other times, people stop and dig through their entire backpack to find what you may need.  People call out a friendly “Hola!” when the pass, and everyone wishes you “Buen Camino”.

When I rest for a minute to catch my breath, the ones who pass always ask if I’m okay.

The Long Road to Los Arcos

Morning came early and we hurried to get started, as I could not face another day with most of the time in 100 degrees Fahrenheit.  Our journey today will be 21km to Los Arcos.  Again we made a good start in the cool morning mist.  The stars were shining and we heard the click-clack of the walking poles. (I have two BFFs, Preparation H and ibuprofen).  The many hills that I have to climb don’t elicit any more comments from me.  It is what it is.

The last two-plus kilometers were really, really hot, and it was all I could do to place one foot in front of the other.  Finally, we see Los Arcos, and I was soooo glad.  (It turned out to be 24km).

When we got inside the albergue, Julio was already there, helping us with the credentials.  The front desk was staffed with volunteers.  When it was my turn, one of them barked at me, “Do you speak English?”  I said “Yes”.  Then she said, “Well, how come he” – Julio – “has to do this for you?”  I didn’t understand her attitude or what she was getting at, and I said, “I’m sorry, but I feel really sick, and right now I can’t even manage my name.”

She looked at me and said, in the same tone, “What do you want me to do?”

I was so exhausted and in pain that this was all it took to make me tear up, and I said, “For what I have, there’s nothing you can do.”  Tears flowed freely, and I wondered whether we had walked into a prison camp by mistake.  Then my son took over and told her in no uncertain terms what he thought of her and her sour attitude.  Then Julio, in Spanish, said many words.  I stumbled off to find the dormitory before I collapsed, led by my son.

The Mourning Father

After a shower and a rest, I felt somewhat improved once more, and we decided to go and look at the cathedral.  When we opened the heavy, ornate door, I stood speechless in front of the golden splendor and beauty.  Gold, carvings, painted walls, and stunning decoration.  As we stood to gaze at some statues, Cameron put his hand on my lower back, where the tumor resides, and I felt the energy, and I was choked up and couldn’t speak.

I lit five candles, for four of my loved ones who had passed, and for the son of my friend Pat, her only son, who died last year not long after his marriage.  She misses him so.  After he died, instead of giving her a card, I had given her a small, potted tree for her to plant.

We sat in silence in the pews, when suddenly, there was this grand voice, starting “Ave Maria”.  We looked up in surprise, and I saw a lone man with both hands stretched before him, imploring the statute of Mary, who had her place of honor in the center of the altar.  His voice was brimming with emotion, and I started to cry.  I was remembering how violinists played “Ave Maria” at my brother Gunter’s wedding to Elfriede, and they were so beautiful and young.

Looking over at Marie Anne, I saw her crying too.  Everyone had stopped to sit or stand and listen.  Then the singer paused, and after a moment, he started another “Ave Maria”.  He went on for over ten minutes.  His voice carried, and the acoustics were phenomenal.  By this time, I was no longer thinking that he was singing from religious devotion, but from some other emotion.

He came down, and people approached him to shake his hand and thank him for his beautiful gift.  I also shook his hand and he said something in French, which I didn’t understand.  I just placed my hand over my heart to let him know how he touched me.  We walked to the courtyard and I was still wiping my face when I found out that he sang as a tribute to his son, who had died a short time ago, and that today would have been his birthday.  I looked at him as tears streamed down his face, and there was such deep pain (I cry as I write this).  I folded him into my arms and he sobbed, in English, “My son, my son”.

I could only touch my heart in silent communication.  Everyone – Cameron, Julio, Marie Anne, and a few others – was openly weeping now.  Later, when we returned to the albergue, we told the story, and everyone wanted to hear him sing.  They were affected the same way.

In Pamplona… no bull

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Finally got Internet and permission to use lap top. What can I say about the past few days? I absolutely loved Saint Jean Pied de Port. I was in high spirits with looking, tasting, and walking up and down the town. Lovely flowers everywhere, cute shops and tiny cafes. Walking the cobblestone streets on a beautiful autumn day, well, my cells were happy. Then, a lovely meal with our friends in a lovely restaurant.

When I first laid eyes on the Pyrenees, I thought, “My, how very gorgeous.”  Then I noticed how steep it climbed and my heart sank. I have to go up there? With this pack? O.K. then. Let’s start. It’s one thing to read about it and see pictures but quite another to actually having to do it. It’s very easy to have courage from afar.  I set one foot and the next onto the path.  On and on and on. Mist was rising and the surroundings were green and dotted with cows and houses. I stopped to catch my breath. After a couple of hours climbing, my spine was on fire, pushing Quasimodo (my name for my backpack) into my intestines. My thighs were shaking, my throat parched and dry and my feet hurt.

That was only the beginning. (Did I mention my bloody hemorrhoids???)  I told Carrie, who was soldiering on and trying not to moan, that we had to remember how eager we were to do this. On and on, up and up. It couldn’t possibly turn into Jacob’s Ladder? Past cows and sheep, past other Peregrinos. Suddenly, my right boot hurt and my sole was on fire. Changed to my sandals, drank water, walked on. One more steep and rocky incline and finally, we thought it was done. We were on the way down. Basically that was correct. Except this “down” was miles of a very steep path, in the middle of a huge forest.

I knew I could not rest because I could never get back up. Carrie was getting exhausted as well but I told her we had to get out of this forest as we had no more food nor water. We could not rest. Well, she got her second wind at that and walked past me. Finally, we saw sunlight and there stood Julio. I nearly cried with relief but was too tired to produce tears.

We had lost Eileen somewhere but could not wait. This was an 11 hour and 21 minute long trek over rough and difficult terrain. BUT… we hmade it. I saw grown men cry and here we were. Carrie, my brave teen, and I.

I think there’s a law against serving people food earlier than 8:30 P.M.  Well, tapas excepted. I can’t deal with those anymore. I am soo missing my greens and fresh fruits.

I can feel my energy seeping out. Bread, carbs, eggs, fries and then… again. Walking 22 km yesterday from Roncesvalles to Zubiri was not too hard as I had sent Quasimodo along. Here, I will state, that I had absolutely no separation anxiety.

This Basque country is beautiful. Some of the camino was sun dappled forest and great paths along the hill side. Some other people joined and we had nice conversation, usually in 4 languages, until we were in Zubiri. At one point I heard a snappy, lively tune out of an open window and I broke out in some happy dance steps.

Our refugio was in an old monastery, clean and bright with a very nice kitchen. We also got to wash our clothes in the machine and not by hand, as well as a nice shower. Except the water turned off every 25 seconds or so. I guess that’s the way to save energy. As we went to the kitchen, our Korean friends were there already, cooking their rice and veggies. Our friend Julio fixed two huge pots of lentils and we all sat around a big table with more people from Israel, Ireland, Belgium. What a lovely, fun-filled dinner. We laughed so hard we cried over Julio’s rabbit antics.

 

For photos, remember to check out the albums on our Camino Not Chemo Facebook Page.

Tearful farewell

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Yesterday, I was running last errands, getting things ready and house sitter in place. I whittled 3.5 more pounds off my back pack. The sleeping bag was too bulky and heavy and I exchanged it for a nice, light, small, barely 1.5-lb. cutie. I also sacrificed one top and my Black Canyon rain/sun hat as it was too heavy as well.

I splurged on a Pedicure. To spoil my feet one more time. They’ve no clue what’s in store. I hope they will carry me on their allotted task without major mishap.

I also spent some time with my  little buddy, whom I’ve been privileged to have in my life, since his birth. When it was time to leave, it was a heart-rending fare well. He cried and held on, telling me he loved me all the way to Jupiter and back. He complained how very long a time five weeks was for me to be gone. I am so thankful that his parents share him with me. He’s funny, bright, and makes me laugh when times are tough. He’s my special boy.

As I sat still and reflected on this trip , with the external noise factory silenced, I was in awe. I am steady and straight. I have great energy. My mental faculties are present. (Well, most of them anyway.) I have a sense of well-being that is not supposed to be in conjunction with this ‘cell problem’. This divine force which propells me to the camino, clear and bright. I thought, if I wanted to have an ‘adventure’ picked by me, my choice would’ve been with lots more comfort (and gourmet food). Not to walk so many miles in whatever condition. But, it’s a strong voice and I’m heeding it.

The phone rang all day with family and friends wishing us well and the promise of saying prayers, each day, for us. The life line to home. My daughter, who will be our home center.

It is with a grateful heart, to our Lord, that I start this path. That I am well enough to even contemplate such an undertaking. I trust that HE knows what he’s doing.

I woke early this morning, not even a cricket in sight or sound. Just going over my check-off list. Carrie is still sleeping. She too, had a tearful farewell with her family, but it’s tinged with excitement.

So. I’m signing off and the next time I’m writing, it will be from Spain. Y’all take care.

“Buen Camino”

 

 

Cricket Alarm…

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I am not a mean, hateful nor bloodthirsty person BUT if I catch that cricket that took up residence in my house and brought some relatives, I can’t promise anything! The chirrrrrrping woke me up at 3:17 A.M. It’s also raining, which I like. I hear the drops splattering onto the leaves.

I’ve spent some more time researching and it’s amazing how many people are ‘out there’ writing and sharing their cancer stories and journey. A lot of them are so very young. It’s just not an ‘elite club’ anymore. Too much of it and in near epidemic proportions. Why is that? What is the commonality?

I’ve found a real tiny miracle. A natural product. The mini- mouse who roars. The first studies were done in 2008 and the research was a bit slim but since then, many more studies have been conducted, proving just how well this can help you fight cancer. Especially cancers tied to hormones, like breast cancer.

It’s called FHL ‘ Concentrated Flax Hull Lignans’ . I’ve been taking it, daily, for over two weeks and I absolutely can feel the difference.

The following research is from Health Sciences Institute.

FHL has an enormous impact on cancer: killing off cancer cells, making sure it doesn’t spread, even preventing its return.

82 % decrease in the spread of metastatic lung tumors. ( That is very good news for me.)

71 % reduction in the protein that causes aggressive cancer growth.

32 % increase in cancer cell death in just 30 days.

But this life saving powerhouse can do so much more: prevent diabetes, protect you from heart attack, reverse atherosclerosis, the list goes on.

The biggest supply of lignans are in the shells, the part thast’s left out of those bags in the store. And the lignans contain the lion’s share of disease fighting action.

I know. I know. Here we go again with these’ miracle claims’.

(Had to stop and do the Watusi. BIG cricket jumped up my leg. Uhhh-aaaw- crap. I didn’t know they could jump that high! Yes. It is dead now!!)

Where was I? Oh, claims of wonder supplement. Well. I am willing to try these opposed to the ‘healthy chemo’ or the ‘natural radiation.’

Countdown has started for the trip. Only a few more days. I am filled with anticipation and careful hope. I shall see you on the Camino.

Just moving along

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My days are spent walking, cleaning and getting everything ready. Went to Doc’s office yesterday to set appointment for P.E.T scan and bloodwork, etc. when I return. Asked him about his Cyberknife input and he says it’s the same problem, either way.

We had wonderful rain, two nights and everything smells wonderful. While walking, the scent of pungent sagebrush and sweet Russian elm is all around.

I finally had enough courage to research Lymphoma. Symptoms, treatments, etc.  There are many different types of lymphoma but I want to state, right away that I have none of these symptoms!!!! I need to find someone, who will explain everything and all the options. Maybe I’ll go to a Cancer Center of America?

I don’t want to think any further about this C thingy right now. Let’s change the subject.

Oh, I made a very good Vegan potato salad, yesterday. Here’s the recipe.

Vegan Potato Salad

Ingredients: 10 Yukon Gold potatoes, 1 red pepper (other colors will work as well) 2 green onion, 1 Tbsp chives,  1 Avocado, sliced, 4-6 cherry tomatoes, 2/3 cups vegetable broth (heated) 4 Tbsp apple cider, 4 Tbsp olive oil, S&P, a dash of paprika.

Cook, peel and slice potatoes. Dice pepper and chop chive, cut tomatoes in half. Heat vegetable broth, add pepper and chives. Place potatoes in a large bowl, add broth and vinaigrette. Mix well and allow to marinate for 30 min. Garnish with tomatoes and Avocado slices.

Kids would love this too

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A new creation and my friend Bonnie came over to volunteer for taste testing. I am glad to report that not only did she survive but pronounced this dish, ‘very, very good’.

Potatoe Nest with steamed Veggies and Portabella ‘Burger’.

(Serves 2)

6 Yukon Gold Potatoes, 1/4 tsp nutmeg, 1/4 tsp rock/or sea salt, 1 Tbsp butter, 1 Tbsp parsley, 1 tsp dry roasted sesame seeds, mini carrots, cauliflower, broccoli, yellow/green zuccini, Asparagus (was on sale you can omitt). (Portabella is in recipe archive under ‘Portabella revisited.’

Cook, peel and mash potatoes, (best if you have a ricer). Season potatoes with salt and nutmeg , add parsley, butter. If consistency is too dense, add a little hot broth. Place in 16″ inch pastry bag with large star tip. Spray cookie sheet with Pam (or use a little butter) Squeeze pastry bag and create 3 tiered circles, approx 4-5 inches room in the middle. (You can draw circles onto parchment paper and then trace with bag. Sprinkle with sesame and bake @350F for approx. 10 min.

Meanwhile steam veggies, add herbs. When nests are done, place them in the middle. Serve with Portabella Burger. This is a very nice lunch or dinner for anyone.

It was only a little seed

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As I am going through my packing list, which changes frequently, I am amazed that this trip is reality now. I am actually going. Two more weeks. When I awoke, very early again, due to those nerve-wracking crickets, I lay there in wonder.  How did this even start? Actually, the first subconscious knowledge came in Switzerland when I did those 4 stations of the cross in this wonderful forest. I just happened to come upon the sign and decided to follow. I had not heard of any Jakobsweg.  (In English, the Way of St. James.)

Months later, at home, I was watching T.V. flipping back and forth between the dish and German T.V. Nothing memorable showing. The usual CSI and maggot-riddled bodies and worms crawling in eye sockets. It was lunch time and this was not what I needed to see. On German T.V. was soccer and other stuff.  One title cought my eye. I’ll carry you to end of the world it proclaimed. I sighed, thinking one of those movies, but finding nothing else, came back to it.  Married couple, two (ungrateful, entitled) children, workaholic and cheating husband. Wife caught him and decided to follow her father on the Camino de Santiago, a pilgrim path established over 1000 years ago. Just about 600 miles long. (The movie title referred to Finisterre, an additional walk beyond Santiago where one can see the end of the world.) 

After the movie they brought a documentary about this very path. Different perspective and more scenery, towns, places and interviews with people actually walking, or having walked. There it was. The scenery was gorgeous. Old, cobblestone paths leading to old, small chapels. Then, winding roads through beautiful forrest, up hills past blooming lavender fields. Peasants sitting in front of their Finca waving and some, offering food or water., Mountains in the rising morning mist. People from all over the globe, walking, calling out “Buen Camino.”

Some walk to find God and find themselves. Some, walk to find themselves and find God. Others, with different beliefs walk because it’s a beautiful, spiritual path. People who have walked this path, report that it hums with energy. Everyone is allowed and welcome to walk the camino. I was transfixed by this old, European picture of a long past era. I thought I really would like to do something like that. Need a bigger challenge to walk. Not just around the neighborhood. Maybe, just maybe I can walk this tumor off? I felt such excitement at the thought of doing something different and the hope of divine intervention at the same time. The next few days, this was all I could think about. Immediate thoughts of ‘how to afford this?’ followed. Then, how on earth could I do this? I don’t speak Spanish. Would I have to walk by myself?? What if something happened? How could I eat Vegan?

I woke in the middle of the night from stressful dreams and scared out of my wits what I was contemplating. But not once, through all of that, did I think of quitting. The Camino was calling me. I posted a question on the Camino Forum, asking if anyone else would be traveling at that time? This is a wonderful community, helping one another, giving support and encouragement. Then, my son came on board and that changed the whole picture. Then, Carrie wanted to come. I had said before, that I would not take another teenager to Europe. There’s no appreciation of culture, architecture, history. They don’t want to get up. They want Mc Donalds, shopping, to look at boys/girls.

Well, let me say here and now. Carrie is delightfully different and willing to do the hard stuff. And therefor we’re taking her along. I am carefully optimistic that I can do this. My daughter, my friends are very supportive and great cheer leaders.  Others think I’m plain nuts. My friend Julie, wrote the most wonderful, poignant letter and so this one is for her. I don’t want to get my hopes too high because I don’t want to crash, if the tumor does not disappear. But I want to believe with all my heart, that there could be a miracle, for me.

One person, who is not a traveller, told me: You don’t have to go all the way over there to find God.   Instead of going into lengthy, fruitless explanations, I told her she was right. I do not have to go there (or anywhere  else) to find GOD, since I’ve never lost him.              We will see. There will be a P.E.T scan/bloodwork, exam, upon my return. Shall we dare to hope? Yes!   Buen Camino, indeed!

Running away from chemo

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After I was re-diagnosed, spring time, a year ago and it was suggested to have surgery and chemo, I put a GOAL into my mind. Something to plan and to look forward to. A more pleasant distraction. I wanted to make my cells happy. Visiting my family (what’s left ot it) was on top of my list. I had not seen my brother, sister-in-law in over 7 years and, of course, we all got older. I worked extra, sold a few things  and made plans.

I thought I’d share the places I went and how my endorphins just went nuts with joy. I felt such a sense of well being, of wonderful peace that I was in tears half the time. I said prayers of gratefulness and thanks for my eyes that could see the beauty. For my senses that could take it all in and amazement at the miracle that is our planet.

 

This is Nuernberg. The Fortress on top, middle, is over 1000 years old.

 

 

This is Wuerzburg. I went to see a prominent lung specialist and had a CT scan and bloodwork done. (This is the castle).

This is the stunning view out of my brothers’ living room window, in Switzerland.

 

Forgot the name of this town. 🙂

 

Sunday Outing. Breathtaking mountain splendor.

 

A different ‘Camino’. It’s called “Jakobsweg’. All stations of the cross on a steep mountain side, each a hundred meters or so away going up, up. I managed up to the fourth. (Had no water or proper boots.)

 

Frauenkirche Dresden  

My sister, niece and I spent some quality time together and drove to Dresden, former East Germany. This church was totally destroyed and only rebuilt by 2004. The dark spots, are original bricks. The cupola (top part) was a present from the British as a gesture of healing forgiveness, on both sides.

It’s an absolute gorgeous, baroque architecture. We spend four days looking at all these treasures, rebuilt.

 

 

Famous Semper Opera House where I got to go and see a Mozart production. Happy cells.

Venice. My cousin and I spend 5 days there. Oh, how I loved Venice.

 

These are Carneval

masks. Beautiful art.

 

 

 

 

 

I went to Holland and Tulip-Blossom Time, all by myself. Very inexpensive bus ride. When I saw this profusion of color, of beauty, I thought ‘You can see paradise and don’t even have to die.’

     

Sorry, this would not let me rotate.

God’s present to us. Color.

Black Bean- Oatmeal Burger

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For a change of pace I created  this burger. Sometimes, I want to have the ‘illusion’ of a time when we had BBQ. I miss meat seldom now and my system really likes greens and colors. My brain, sometimes, wants to argue and brings up tastes from a long ago era. That’s when I struggle. But, I’m fooling the ‘brain’ with my best friend ‘liquid smoke’. JUST a little of it works wonders.

As you can see this is plenty of food. Since I am NOT on a ‘diet’ but a ‘Lifestyle’ change, this is quite a bit to eat. I wouldn’t make it if I had to be hungry.

Ingredients:

1-15 oz can black beans, drained rinsed well

1-14.5 oz can tomatoes with mild chilies

1 garlic clove, 1 tsp onion powder, 2 green onions, chopped, 1 cup chopped carrots, ( 2 small ) 1 cup cilantro (or parsley) 2 cups old fashioned rolled oats.

Preheat oven to 400F. Process first seven ingredients in a food processor until blended. Add oats and stir. Form into patties, put on a baking sheet and bake for 8-10 min. Turn oven up and broil for about 2 min, until tops are nicely browned. (You can fry them also in a non-stick pan with NO oil). Serve on a whole grain burger bun with lettuce, tomato onion, etc. or, like I did with different veggies and sweet potato fries (baked).

 

A little more info – Avemar Wheat Germ

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I would have had a decent night’s sleep were it not for 2 crickets, that somehow found their way in. And, they’re talking to each other. Noisy blabbermouths and right now, I am not opposed to chemical warfare. I’m chasing through the house with a broom and catching a look in the mirror, looking like a deranged punk chick with this new hair cut.

After a long morning walk, yesterday was spent mostly doing research. One link led to another and so I came to a product called Avemar. Between a monthly pamphlet I receive and Internet reasearch, I am repeating quotes.

Without the dedication of one very determined Hungarian scientist, Dr. Mate Hidvegi and some divine intervention, Avemar might not exist. He had spend his entire savings and belongings on his research to find a safe way to cure cancer. He was flat broke with no prospect. He had no money but plenty of faith and so he prayed to the ‘Virgin Mary’ for guidance. The very next day a miracle happened in the form of a large check from an anonymous  donor. This allowed him to expand on the work of another visionary, Nobel prize winner, Dr. Albert Szent-Gyrgi. He had found that  special compounds in wheat germ could kill cancer cells without harming healthy cells.

With his miracle money Dr. Hidvegi was able to patent the process of fermenting wheat germ with baker’s yeast. A discovery he called ‘Avemar’ (in tribute of the Virgin Mary.)

Avemar is supported by more than one hundred studies including in vitro, animal, and human trials.  I have copied some of this from a pamphlet ‘Health Sciences Institute’ and I hope they don’t mind if I spread the word.

One of the many testimonials states:

Nancy was first diagnosed with breast cancer in May 2004, but it was already too late. She suffered through two mastectomies over two years- only to learn that the cancer had already spread to her lungs. She had so many tumors that her doctor went straight for the ‘big guns’ and enrolled her in a clinical trial…which nearly killed her. Just a single dose covered her body in blisters. Things got worse from there when she was told she would die if she did not take immediate action. Desperately seeking a solution, her partner found himself in a pharmacy right before closing, clinging to the hope that medication could reverse Nancy’s debilitating side effects. It did… three weeks later. And after that, Nancy’s doctors (deciding that she was too sensitive for chemo therapy tried another path: Aromasin (an estrogen lowering drug) which introduced a new set of side effect horrors.

That’s when Nancy designed her own treatment plan, one that did not include flooding her body with hazardous poisons.  And Avemar was the centerpiece. “I would not want to be without it,” she told the journalist. “I believe Avemar saved my life.”

Now, I am not suggesting that anyone, who’s battleing cancer give up treatment. I am only saying what I am willing to try. What also makes this different from others in the race of curing cancer is that the FDA has approved it. Not the usual step for many other products, claiming to do so. This does not sound like snake oil to me. I am willing to be a Guinea Pig.