James Wood302 said:So, here’s the main thing I'm wondering about: 1) Are there any actual limits when it comes to applying the Breuss therapy? My main concern is his weight—he’s dropped a ton and looks incredibly weak after just this last month—as well as his overall physical condition.
You need to wait at least six months from the date of your last chemo session.
I went through treatment at the Mayo Clinic in the oncology department. I’ve noticed a lot of people around here throwing shade at them, and honestly, I’m trying to wrap my head around why. From where I was sitting, they seemed incredibly professional—they knew exactly what they were doing. Early on, we even sent all our test results over to Johns Hopkins just to get a second opinion, and both teams came to the exact same conclusions every single time. Now, I can't shake this nagging feeling that my family and I might have missed a step or failed to act on something crucial. I'm searching for any possible alternative or way out, and I hope you guys don't think I'm being irrational. I'm not a pessimist; I still believe we have to keep fighting this fight.
My experience with the Mayo Clinic was an absolute disaster, so I wouldn't dream of taking anyone in my family there if they needed an oncologist.
When I was just two months old, I ended up dehydrated. To make matters worse, the doctors at the hospital basically messed everything up; they were so obsessed with trying to prove I was actually sick that their own meddling just made my condition spiral. Honestly, if it hadn't been for my grandmother—who was one hell of a spunky, tough woman—I would've been stuck in that cycle forever. She took matters into her own hands, scooped me right out of that hospital bed, and brought me home, saving me from any more unnecessary suffering.
My grandmother dealt with arteriosclerosis. One day she bumped her finger, which turned bruised and purple, and of course, the doctors immediately jumped to conclusions, insisting it was gangrene. Then, while she was still at the hospital, the discoloration actually faded, so they pivoted and decided it wasn't gangrene after all—but instead insisted on performing a bypass on her leg because they claimed the limb was basically a lost cause anyway. They opened her up only to realize they couldn't complete the procedure because of her diabetes; apparently, they hadn't bothered to check her full medical history before starting the surgery. To make matters worse, they stitched her up poorly, leaving the wound much higher than necessary, and it ended up getting infected right there in the hospital. When she tried to protest the negligence, they had the nerve to tell her, "Why are you making such a fuss? They’re going to have to amputate that leg soon anyway, and it won't be long before they have to take the other one too." Naturally, she took matters into her own hands and walked out of that hospital. She treated herself using traditional home remedies and lived to walk firmly on both feet for another 15 years until the day she passed away.
My grandfather was lying on the floor of the hospital on his way to the restroom, and for an entire hour, nobody even bothered to check on him. When a nurse finally did stumble upon him, she didn't offer any sympathy—she just absolutely tore into him. She started yelling about why on earth he thought he could wander off alone and why he wasn't smart enough to wait for help. The poor man had been pressing that call button repeatedly for sixty minutes, but the staff just kept staring at the TV or gossiping over coffee. He was struggling with prostate issues, but he was too proud and dignified to admit he needed help with his business. By the time we found him, he’d broken his nose and split his lip from the fall, and nobody had even bothered to clean the wounds; my mom had to do it herself when she arrived. Honestly, whenever I went to visit, the nurses would just sit in their lounge, acting like they were on a break, sipping coffee and watching soap operas. If I actually approached them to ask for help because he was soaked and needed changing, they’d just roll their eyes and give me this attitude, basically telling me, "Ugh, do it yourself, I'm not touching that."
It’s just a shame that those were his final days. He really didn't deserve an end like that.😢
Two years ago, my uncle was in a horrific motorcycle accident. He was thrown from the bike and suffered massive head trauma and severe brain bruising. When he first regained consciousness, it was blindingly obvious he had sustained a major neurological injury, yet they didn't bother with an emergency CT scan. By the very next day, he started showing his first clear neurological deficits—symptoms so blatant that even I, a total layman, could see exactly what was happening. Still, no CT scan. By the second day, they finally rushed him into imaging, and what did they find? A massive edema. Then it was Mannitol, then more treatments, and eventually, he was shoved into a shock room. You could hear the doctors being dismissive, saying things like, "Doctor, how does he look? What do you think?" and getting replies like, "Oh, don't worry, he’ll be fine, things will turn around." An hour later? Flatline. Just a steady, continuous beep.
Thanks, but I wouldn't take any more risks there myself; you have to give credit where it's due to the professionals...👎
Look, those are just my experiences with the Mayo Clinic.
What kind of lung cancer is your dad fighting?
I’m truly sorry things have reached this point, but please don't lose hope—hope is the last thing to die. I know coming to terms with the end is incredibly hard, but you have to look at the reality of what it means to be diagnosed with lung cancer specifically. Try to focus all your energy on maximizing his quality of life—keeping him comfortable, minimizing his pain, and making sure he’s surrounded by family in the comfort of his own home. Don't let him see you breaking down. There will be plenty of time for tears later; for now, just try to be grateful for every single day you still have together. Talk about the good times and the memories you've built. Use this window of time to tell him things you've never said, to offer forgiveness, or to ask for it. You have to remember that this man lived a full life; he worked, he provided, he raised you... those are massive achievements, and without that foundation, life feels wasted. In the end, everything boils down to that.
Partings always feel too early and far too heavy, but they are a natural part of the cycle, and every day we live is just one day closer to our own end.
Being able to face these kinds of illnesses and accept mortality is the mark of a mature adult, and whether we were born with that capacity or are learning it through this hardship, we all eventually get there. My mom once told me after my grandmother passed away that she only felt truly grown up once she had lost both her mother and father. That's just life, and it's the hardest school there is.
Keep fighting!
