Resources and support for families dealing with cancer and serious illness

Carol Ramirez said:...
My mom is my entire world, honestly. Right now she’s going through a gauntlet of hormone tests because of hypothyroidism, and it’s pretty clear her whole system is just crashing. She’s exhausted, stressed out, and emotionally fried. It’s like everything in her body slowed down—her heart, her lungs, even her digestion. But does she stop? Nope. She keeps grinding at work because they’re in the middle of some massive audit at the firm, and she’s carrying most of the weight. She’s completely forgotten how to actually relax or take a breather. Any free time she gets, she spends hunting for chores to do around the house. She doesn't even engage with the things she used to love anymore; she’s lost interest in everything. She can't even tell me what her favorite food or drink is anymore because nothing sounds good. Everything is just a mindless routine. I can't even treat her to anything special because whenever I ask what I should cook for her, she just freezes up. She genuinely can't think of anything—she'll just eat whatever is put in front of her. 🤷

You really need to try and push her to snap out of this before things get worse... If she keeps neglecting herself like this, who knows what might happen. I constantly wonder if she’d be healthier right now if we had been more insistent on her taking care of herself back when she wouldn't listen. She’s always put everyone else ahead of herself. That's not how you're supposed to live!
And get this—when my grandpa heard Mom was sick, he was already a bit out of it, kind of drifting in his own world, and he told us he’d gladly volunteer to take all her illnesses onto himself. I swear, I froze.

brightgardener8 said:Angela Wright, did you get some rest? How's your dad holding up without you around?

I'm back—just got home last night. The weather was actually gorgeous; it stayed so warm that we didn't even need jackets, just walking around in short sleeves under the sun. We only caught a chill on the very first day.
Dad managed to hold things down pretty well. A former home health aide he knows from her side gigs ($13 hours) has been stepping in to help out when needed. She’s an absolute gem; we actually met her way before Mom got sick because she used to look after Dad’s late aunt. Now that the aunt has moved into assisted living, she’s been stopping by to help Mom with bathing, changing, and getting her settled into bed...
Honestly, he even managed to clear out those closets full of old junk and outdated clothes. If Mom were feeling up to it, she probably would have given him a rare pat on the back, since she isn't exactly the type to hand out compliments easily.😍
All in all, I'd give the whole situation a solid passing grade.👍

I’m trying to send you a DM, but your inbox is totally full.

Angela Wright said:I finally made it back last night. The weather was actually quite lovely and warm—so much so that we didn't even bother with jackets and spent most of our time walking around in short sleeves under the sun. We only caught a bit of a chill on that first day...
My dad really stepped up. He managed to find some freelance work through a former nursing supervisor ($13 hours), which helps out people who need an extra hand from time to time; she’s such a sweetheart, and we actually met her before my mom fell ill because she used to care for my dad's late aunt. Now that the aunt is moving into an assisted living facility, she stopped by to check on us and help my mom with bathing, changing, and getting her settled into bed...
He even managed to clear out those cluttered closets full of old clothes. If Mom were feeling any better, she probably would have given him a rare compliment, as she isn't exactly known for handing out praise like that😍
All in all, a very successful trip...👍

It truly is remarkable how we can find strength in ourselves precisely when we believe we have none left. I am honestly surprised by how well Dad is managing everything with Mom. He is handling all the tasks he used to resist, and he does it without a single complaint. It is just unconditional love... hang in there! sending love

Greetings to all my fellow fighters.
I want to express my sincere gratitude for the compassion I find here. I read your posts constantly, and please know I am with you every step of the way. However, I have been working so much lately just to... well, to run away from the grief and pain that grips me. And that is the worst part: it intensifies with every passing day. That initial surge of adrenaline has faded, and while we somehow managed to endure those first stages, everything feels increasingly difficult now. Is this normal? It feels as if I am only just realizing he isn't here. Sometimes, I catch myself mid-sentence, about to say something to him, only to be struck by the realization... never again. The reality that he is gone is simply unbelievable. And then comes that senseless question: why him? I never once wasted my energy asking such things during his illness, but now? Now I feel a simmering anger—why did he have to get sick, and why did he have to leave us? There aren't enough words to describe this state of being. I feel as though I will never truly accept that he is gone; as you can tell, I cannot even bring myself to use the word "died."
Thank you all for being here, and thank you to those who started this community. I share these most intimate thoughts with you because it feels as if you are the only ones who truly understand. To everyone else, I am the picture of strength. They all comment on how well I am handling everything, how resilient I am... but the truth? I wake up in tears, and I go to bed in tears.

Elizabeth Collins60 said:Greetings to all the warriors out there...
I want to offer my sincere gratitude for the compassion I find here; I read your words with a heavy heart, feeling as though I am standing right beside you through it all, but my recent workload has been so relentless that... I find myself fleeing from the grief and the pain that grips me, which feels increasingly unbearable with each passing day... that initial surge of adrenaline has faded, and while we somehow managed to endure those early stages, it is becoming harder and harder to cope now, and I cannot say if this progression is normal... it is as if I am only just beginning to truly grasp his absence, and... I catch myself mid-sentence, intending to tell him something, only to be met with... that sudden, crushing realization... that he is never coming back... and the words simply fail me when I try to accept he is gone... and then there is that senseless question of why it had to be him... I never once asked that during his illness, nor did I waste any energy on such thoughts... but now, I feel a simmering anger at why he had to fall ill and why he had to leave us behind... there are no words in the English language sufficient to describe this state of being... I feel as though I may never truly accept the reality of his departure, which is why, as you can see, I struggle even to utter the word "died"...
Thank you all for existing, and to those who initiated this space... I find myself sharing my most intimate reflections with you... it feels as though you are the only ones who truly understand... to the rest of the world, I maintain a facade of strength... everyone remarks on how well I am handling everything... yet, in truth, I spend my days drowning in tears and waking up amidst them...

One might consider themselves a strong person if they choose to hide their tears from society... I understand the internal fracturing that occurs when one is alone and that supposed strength momentarily fails... these questions are perfectly natural, as is the growing sense of disbelief... losing someone so close creates a void so vast it defies description... It will take a significant amount of time before you can reconcile with the fact that this was meant to be... for it seems his path was written in the stars, and no soul or circumstance could ever fill the space he occupied in your heart and mind. You will always carry HIM as a guiding light through your life...

Time will eventually pass, and there will come a morning where you wake with a smile, because you will finally be ready to begin the day with the thought: I had a father who loved me, and whom I continue to love. Remain steadfast, and be kind to others and to yourself... kiss

Hi everyone!
I stumbled upon this forum by chance and decided to sign up so I could share some of my own experiences—hopefully, they might be helpful to someone else out there. My late father went through two different types of cancer (I assume you guys know there are those three main varieties), and unfortunately, he passed away from lung cancer, which was a third type unrelated to the first two.
So, it wasn't just metastases from the previous ones.

He managed to beat the first two through surgery alone—no radiation or chemo involved (the first was bladder and the second was colon)—but when it came to the third one, neither chemo nor radiation really did the trick. It’s true there were brief periods where things seemed to improve, but...
I'm not sure if anyone here has heard of Prof. Spartak Hadjiev from Bulgaria and
his HD 88 treatment. www.spartakhadjiev.com.

It might be worth looking into; after his colon surgery, I actually traveled to Bulgaria to get that treatment myself, since I had heard bits and pieces about it before.
The surgeon at the new hospital who operated on my father mentioned that a few of his patients are using that treatment and say they feel quite good, that it seems to have a positive effect.

One doctor over at the oncology institute in Chicago, when I asked her if she knew anything about this treatment, told me it was all nonsense. She argued that official medicine can't classify something as a cure if only two or three people out of fifteen are actually recovered.
Can you imagine?!

My father, sadly, wasn't part of that small group of survivors, but to be perfectly honest, he didn't strictly follow the doctors' instructions anyway (he kept smoking right up until his last day), but well...

Maybe also look into herbalists, because a nurse I met in Jordan swore to me that a patient, whom the doctors had already given up on, showed up for a six-month checkup with excellent results—results that suggested she should have passed away long ago according to their charts.
I have the contact number for that herbalist, so if anyone is interested, please reach out to me.
Best wishes to everyone, and stay strong!

Michael Hayes3 said:Hello, everyone.
I stumbled upon this forum quite by accident and decided to register, hoping to share some personal experiences that might prove useful to others... My late father battled two different types of cancer—I assume you are all aware there are roughly three main varieties—and unfortunately, he ultimately succumbed to lung cancer, which was a third type entirely unrelated to the first two
meaning they were not metastases from his previous struggles.

He managed to overcome the first two through surgery alone, without the need for radiation or chemotherapy (the first being bladder cancer and the second involving the large intestine), but when it came to the third, neither chemo nor radiation offered any relief. It is true that there were brief periods where he seemed to improve slightly, but...
I am uncertain if anyone here has heard of Professor Spartak Hadjiev from Bulgaria and
his HD 88 treatment www.spartakhadjiev.com.

It may be worth looking into; following my father's colon surgery, I actually traveled to Bulgaria specifically to purchase that medication, as I had previously heard whispers regarding its efficacy.
The surgeon at the new hospital who operated on my father mentioned to me that several of his patients are currently using that specific treatment and report feeling quite well, suggesting it has a positive impact.

One physician at the tumor institute in Washington, D.C., when I inquired whether she had any knowledge of this treatment, dismissed it outright as nonsense, arguing that mainstream medicine cannot classify something as a cure if only two or three patients out of fifteen have been successfully treated...
Can you imagine such a narrow mindset?!!!

Regrettably, my father did not fall into that small percentage of those cured, though to be perfectly honest, he failed to strictly follow the medical instructions provided to him—he continued smoking until his very last day, but then again...

Perhaps you should also consider herbalists, as a nurse I spoke with near Jordanovac swore to me that a patient, whom the doctors had already written off, returned for a check-up after six months with incredibly positive results, despite clinical expectations that she would have passed away long ago.
I have the contact information for that herbalist, so if anyone is interested, please reach out to me privately.
Best regards to all, and stay strong.

I am truly sorry to hear about your father's passing...
Cancer is such a deceptive disease that one can never truly know what to expect. Every patient is an individual case, and it is worth fighting in every possible way.

We are currently treating my mother with modern medical treatments, and we are seeing good progress for now. We haven't felt the need to turn to herbal remedies yet, but if that necessity arises, we will certainly reach out to you.

Regards, kiss

I don't know what you want from me. If you have something to say, just say it. Stop wasting everyone's time with one-word posts. kaže:
Greetings to all you fighters!
I honestly want to thank you all for the compassion I’ve found here. I read your posts with a heavy heart, feeling like I'm right there with you in every moment. But lately, I’ve been burying myself in work just to stay afloat—running away from this grief and pain that hits me harder every single day. In those first few weeks, we were running on pure adrenaline and survival instinct. We managed to hold it together through sheer willpower, but now that initial shock has worn off, and everything is becoming increasingly difficult. I don't know if this is how it's supposed to feel. It's like the reality is finally sinking in—that he isn't here anymore. There are moments where I catch myself starting to say something to him, only to be slammed by the realization that he's gone. It’s a crushing wave every single time. I can't even wrap my head around the fact that he's truly gone. And then there’s that senseless question: Why him? During his illness, I never once wasted my energy asking "why." I didn't have the capacity for it. But now, I find myself feeling this simmering anger—anger at the sickness, and anger that he had to leave us. There aren't enough words in the English language to describe this emptiness. I feel like I might never actually accept the truth of his passing. As you can tell, I can't even bring myself to use the word "died."
I want to thank everyone here for being part of this, and especially those who had the guts to get this whole thing off the ground. I’m sharing some of my most private thoughts with you all right now... it honestly feels like you're the only ones who actually get me. To everyone else out there, I put on a brave face. People tell me all the time how strong I am, how well I'm handling everything, and how much I've got it together. But that's just the act. In reality, I'm falling apart behind closed doors—waking up in tears and going to bed in tears.

Look, you really are incredibly strong. Everything you’re feeling right now—all that raw emotion—it’s actually healthy. It’s natural. You’re grieving, and that’s just how the process works; you’re probably hitting the peak of it right now, but once you get through this stretch, things will start looking up. Life doesn't stop moving, though. It’ll carry you through the rough patches, and eventually, you’ll find the strength to finally let your father rest in peace within you. He’ll live on in your memories until you meet again.
Just let yourself feel it. Let that grief pour out of you. It might feel overwhelming now, but eventually, it’ll bring this profound sense of peace—a quietness that lets you remember your dad with a smile instead of just a heavy heart. I’ve found that if you stop measuring a life by its length and start looking at its depth, everything changes. That’s how I’m coping with my mom’s illness. Instead of obsessing over how much time we lost, I look at how full her life actually was. She was surrounded by love, constant friendship, and genuine joy; even when things got dark, she never had to face the shadows alone. I stopped asking, "Why her?" and started asking, "Why not her?" Honestly, she was such a wonderful woman, and sometimes, this is just part of being human. If it hadn't been her, it could have been any other mother—maybe someone struggling with a toddler, lacking family support, or feeling completely isolated. I truly believe I’ve seen God’s grace through these moments. At the end of the day, we all have our time to move on from this world.

My grandmother basically raised me until I was six. My parents were only around every other weekend because they were working in NYC while I stayed with my grandma and grandpa in St. Louis. She was a second mother to me; whenever school was out, I’d be packing my bags just to go spend every possible minute by her side. When she passed, she died practically in my arms. It hit me hard, but looking back, that was just how our lives were structured. Even now, I'll catch myself remembering some silly little thing she used to do and start laughing out of nowhere.
Seriously, can you actually find humor in the dead?😉

😘 Watch your back.

Angela Wright said:Honey, you really are strong. Everything you’re feeling and going through right now is completely valid, healthy, and natural. This grief you're feeling is part of the process; you’re likely hitting the peak of it right now, but things will get better and better. Life just keeps moving, and once you find the strength to let go, you can finally let your father rest in peace within you. He’ll live on in your memories until you meet again.
Just let that sadness pour out of you. It will bring you immense peace and tranquility, and eventually, you’ll be able to remember your dad with a smile. Try focusing on the quality of the life he lived rather than how long it lasted. That perspective brings me so much peace and helps me cope with my own mother's illness. She had a beautiful life, filled with love from family and friends, so much joy—and through all the sorrow, she was never alone. Instead of asking "why her?", I started asking "why not her?"... she was a human being, and these things happen to people. If it hadn't been her, maybe it would have been some other woman with a small child and no family support or love. You know, I actually realized God's mercy through things like this. We all have to leave this world eventually.
My grandmother raised me until I was six. I only saw my parents every other weekend because they were working in New York City while I was living with my grandma and grandpa on Main St. My grandmother was like a second mother to me, and I’d travel to see her every single break from school. She passed away practically in my arms. It was incredibly hard to accept, but everything eventually unfolded just like I described. There are so many times when I’ll suddenly remember a funny story about someone who passed and I'll just start laughing.
Seriously, can dead people actually make you laugh?😉

😘 Take care,

That was beautifully written, as always. 🙂
But what’s eating at me is the suffering, the pain...
Why does it have to happen that way?
Death is a natural progression; we’re all headed there, and I’ve made my peace with that. Honestly, I don't even believe it's the end—I believe there's more to come...
But why the agony? Why the loss of consciousness??
Sometimes I feel like I'm just going to snap. 😠

Amy Hayes28 said:Why the pain? Why the loss of consciousness??
I’m honestly at my breaking point here.😠

Because life itself is forged in struggle. Existence is essentially suffering. We are constantly fighting an uphill battle just to stay afloat. We have to drag ourselves to class when we’re exhausted, show up to work when we’re sick... it starts with those tiny, everyday annoyances and scales up from there. You scrape your knee and you bleed. Human beings are fragile, vulnerable creatures prone to constant aches and pains. But we were also given the capacity to adapt and rise above our circumstances. Suffering isn't inherently negative; it's the catalyst for growth. It forces our minds to evolve and reach a higher level of understanding. True good can only be born from hardship. Think about a mother in labor—it's agonizing, but the moment that baby arrives, all that pain is instantly eclipsed by pure joy.
Pain is an inevitable part of the human experience. No matter how much we think our own struggles are worse than someone else's, everyone carries their own weight. Asking "why suffer?" is a dead end because suffering is baked into the very fabric of being human, and finding the meaning behind it is a journey we all have to take.

Hey Vivian, props to you—that’s exactly how it should be. Honestly, I’m on the same page, but man, there are always those moments where life just hits you all at once and knocks the wind out of you. Once I get my test results back—and they better be good, obviously—I’m definitely going to take a breather and just chill for a bit. Thanks!

Angela Wright said:Dear, you truly are strong. Everything you are feeling right now is perfectly valid, healthy, and natural. This grief you're experiencing is a necessary process; you are likely approaching its peak, after which things will steadily improve... Life simply moves forward, carrying us through these waves, and eventually, you will find the strength to let your father truly rest within you. He will live on in your memories until you meet again.
Allow yourself to let this sorrow pour out. It will bring you a profound sense of peace, and eventually, you will look back on your father with a smile. Try to reflect on the quality of the life he led, rather than merely its duration. For me, this perspective brings great solace and helps me accept my mother's illness more easily. She had a beautiful life, filled with the love of family and friends, full of joy, and she was never forced to walk through her grief alone. I have started shifting my mindset from asking "why her?" to wondering "why not her?"... she was a human being, and such things simply happen to people. If it hadn't been her, perhaps it would have been another woman with a small child and no family support or love. You know, I actually discovered God's mercy through these very moments. We all have to leave this world eventually...

My grandmother raised me until I was six. I only saw my parents every other weekend because they were working in New York City while I stayed with my grandparents on Main St. My grandmother was like a second mother to me, and I would travel to be with her every chance I got during school breaks. She passed away practically in my arms. It was difficult to process at the time, but everything unfolded much like I described above. There are many times when I recall an old anecdote about those we've lost and find myself laughing...
Truly, is it possible for the departed to make us laugh?😉

😘 take care

What a beautifully written sentiment. You are so sincere, and I admire your ability to express yourself so clearly.

I was also raised by my grandmother because my parents were always working. I don't regret it one bit, as the person I am today is entirely due to her influence. My grandmother has been battling Alzheimer's for seven years now, and it is incredibly difficult to watch her struggle, knowing none of us can truly help her... However, when we all manage to gather—which, unfortunately, is rare—we still find ways to joke with her, and even though she may not understand us, she still smiles.

It happens quite regularly that after a funeral, the family gathers and trades stories about the deceased. Laughter erupts, almost as if it's our way of fighting back against excessive mourning. When my grandfather passed away... there was so much laughter because we kept remembering all his wild plans and the ways he fulfilled them, which truly completed our lives... my grandmother began to weep, asking how we could possibly laugh and saying she just wanted one day of peace.

And I am glad to hear there are others who view life as a school—one where we walk through with as few tears as possible, gaining lessons and finding joy in each passing day.

I realized I forgot to mention in a previous post how glad I am that you managed to catch a little sunshine over the weekend and clear your head... because everyone needs that from time to time!

Hang in there!

To all the fighters—let's keep moving forward! Stay persistent, stay firm, and find enough strength to smile every single day... even when we have no idea what tomorrow holds!

kiss

Angela Wright said:Because life itself is born from suffering. Existence, by its very nature, is an exercise in pain. We are forced into a constant struggle, enduring hardship just to sustain ourselves. We have to force ourselves through school when we lack motivation, or drag ourselves to work while sick... starting with those tiny, mundane inconveniences. We stub our toes and bleed. Human beings are fragile, sensitive creatures prone to all manner of aches. Yet, we have been granted the capacity to adapt and rise above it all. Suffering isn't inherently negative, because it serves as our catalyst for growth; it elevates our intellect and provides enlightenment. Out of suffering, something good can emerge. A mother endures the agony of childbirth, but once the child is born, that joy momentarily eclipsse and diminishes the memory of the pain...
Suffering is an inescapable part of the human condition, and every individual’s grief is the most profound to them, regardless of how much more others might seem to be struggling. It is futile to ask "why must we suffer," for it is woven into the fabric of existence—an answer we are still searching for...

I stumbled upon this on a forum late last night:
Do you remember exactly what you were doing at the precise moment you were told a loved one was gone? You likely know quite clearly. You probably even recall the trivial, insignificant details of that frozen moment in time—whether the sun was shining or if it was raining, perhaps a sock had slipped down inside your shoe, or a certain song was playing on the radio that you will never forget, or even the fact that the scent of freshly popped popcorn at a movie theater will never trigger a happy memory again...
Indeed, my friends. We have all experienced this; it is merely the way we choose to process it and carry on. For a human being, the death of a loved one is arguably the greatest trauma one can face, a wound that does not fade with time, but rather something we simply learn to live alongside...
Personally, I shall never forget the exact hour and minute I learned that my beloved and deeply missed sister-in-law was no longer with us. It wasn't just the overwhelming wave of sorrow that suffocates you in that instant; the circumstances of her passing were exceptionally cruel. She didn't succumb to a terminal illness that forces you to contemplate mortality, nor was it a sudden car accident... unfortunately, she was murdered at only twenty-five years old by the senseless, selfish hand of an ex-boyfriend who could not handle a breakup, taking her life with a gunshot in a local shopping mall.
The first question that inevitably echoes through your mind amidst the shock and disbelief is the unavoidable one: WHY? And that "WHY" haunts you relentlessly, creeping in when you least expect it, accompanied by that familiar, sickening ache as you find yourself asking for the thousandth time: God, why?...
You replay the film in your head over and over, wondering if there was something you could have said, done, or altered to prevent it—thinking that if you had just tried harder or been less preoccupied with your own life, this wouldn't have happened... when the harsh reality is that you likely could have changed nothing at all...
It takes a long time to reach that realization. Before then, you cycle through denial, numbness, a temporary retreat into old habits, and burying yourself in work just to keep the thoughts at bay. And then, the grief arrives... not the initial, frantic, hysterical kind, but something more persistent and insidious. You must mourn the loss of a loved one fully if you ever hope to function again...
There is no recipe. There is no magic formula, no specific number of tears to shed, no particular set of words or memories to recite that will suddenly make the weight lift from your heart. There are no masses to attend, no prayers to mutter, no candles to light or flowers to buy that will simply allow you to let go...
So, what is actually left for us then? It is quite simple—love remains.
Once you have stripped away all those superficial layers of grief, and once enough time has passed for you to finally be ready, nothing remains but pure, raw, unadulterated LOVE.
Perhaps "the energy of love" is a more fitting description—an essence you simply cannot bury or incinerate along with the body, because it stays with you forever. You will find that you still see it and feel it five, ten, or even twenty years down the line, as it refuses to respect our human limitations of time. Whether you are a person of faith or not, it ultimately amounts to the same thing: you loved this person, and now they are gone. Eventually, you reach a state where you can recount your shared memories with a smile rather than a sob, feeling blessed for having experienced them at all instead of merely mourning the loss. And sometimes, just occasionally, when you find yourself alone and close your eyes, you might feel as though that loved one is almost physically present beside you, brushing away your tears with an invisible hand and whispering... I will always be here because I love you.


In the school of suffering, one learns the greatest wisdom. (Aeschylus)

Angela Wright said:Life itself is basically built on struggle. It’s just part of the deal. We’re constantly fighting through stuff just to keep going. Whether it’s dragging ourselves to class when we’d rather stay in bed, or showing up to work while feeling under the weather... it starts with those tiny, everyday annoyances. You stub your toe, you bleed, you feel it. Humans are fragile, and let's face it, we're prone to pain. But we also have this incredible ability to adapt and rise above it. Pain isn't necessarily a bad thing; it's actually how we grow. It levels up our perspective and clears our vision. Good things can come from hardship. Think about a mother in labor—it’s intense, but once the baby is here, that joy wipes away the memory of the struggle in an instant.
Pain is unavoidable for everyone, and honestly, everyone’s struggle feels like the heaviest one, even if we sometimes think our burden is bigger than someone else's. Asking "why do we suffer?" is kind of a dead end because suffering is baked into the human experience, and figuring out why is just another part of the journey we all have to take.

Hey Ivanica, you're sounding pretty inspired today,🙂
Thanks! Seriously, Bog gave you a real knack for this—that gift for comforting and encouraging people that helps me and so many others who are going through it right now..

"People who live by hope see further.
People who live by love see deeper.
People who live by faith see clearer."

Hang in there, everyone!👍

crimsonmason44 said:God really gave you a unique gift—that knack for comfort and encouragement that helps me and so many others who are struggling..

We all carry that gift inside us; it's part of our nature, and whenever it bubbles to the surface, it reaches someone else, whether it’s sooner or later. It’s a blessing to have someone to help guide your perspective, and honestly, it all works like a chain reaction.🙂
Pass it on.😉

Hey guys, anyone here actually tried BIOBRANA? Apparently, it’s this supplement meant to supercharge your immune system—basically helping your body fight off nasty cells and whatever else tries to take you down. You can grab it at Whole Foods or similar health food stores, and it comes in powder or pill form. For someone healthy, a month's supply runs about $233, but if you're dealing with actual issues, it could cost up to three times that since you need much higher doses. A few people I know recommended it to me, so I wanted to see if anyone here has the real scoop. Maybe there's already been a thread on this, but I haven't had a chance to dig through all the pages yet. Cheers!

Hey Ivanica, check your DMs—your inbox is blowing up!

shadowheron4 said:Hey there, you absolute warriors and fighters out there. I just joined this forum recently and stumbled upon this thread. Back when I was 27, about three years ago, I had surgery for breast cancer that had already spread to my armpit lymph nodes... (

My late grandma went through the exact same thing you're dealing with. Back in '85, they diagnosed her with breast cancer that had hit the lymph nodes in her armpit at MD Anderson Cancer Center. She went under the knife and then did radiation—I can't recall the exact number of sessions off the top of my head, but man, she went through so much that the skin was basically suffering from third-degree burns. But hey, that’s standard procedure, right? You gotta blast those malignant cells to make sure nothing survives. She didn't do chemo back then. After that, she’d get her markers checked every six months, and everything looked golden until March of '99 (so, 14 years after that first diagnosis). That's when they found a tumor in her bronchial tubes and lungs, and it was moving so fast it was like a runaway freight train; a month later, it was all over. Sadly. We moved her over to Manhattan, where she got her first round of chemo, but the doctors could see right away it wasn't going to work. Honestly, that chemo felt more like a psychological move just so the patient wouldn't feel like they'd been written off prematurely.

But look, don't let the second half of my story drag you down too much, because that lung tumor from '99 had absolutely zero connection to what happened in '85. So, if we're looking at the facts, we can pretty much say that first tumor (which is the same beast you're fighting) was defeated with a 100% success rate.

jadetinker42 said:My late grandma dealt with the exact same thing you're going through. Back in '85, she was diagnosed with breast cancer with lymph node metastasis in her armpit at MD Anderson Cancer Center. She had surgery and went through—I can't recall the exact number—so much radiation that her skin was basically covered in third-degree burns. Standard procedure, right? Just trying to wipe out every last malignant cell. She didn't do chemo back then. After that, she just had to monitor her markers every six months, and everything looked great until March of '99—that's 14 years after the initial diagnosis—when she was hit with a lung and bronch tumor. It was so aggressive that everything was over within a month. Sadly. We moved her to the Mayo Clinic, and she got her first dose of chemo, but the doctors knew pretty much immediately it wasn't going to work. Honestly, the chemo felt more like a psychological move just so the patient wouldn't feel totally written off.

Anyway, don't let the second half of this post get you down too much—that 1999 tumor had absolutely nothing to do with the one from '85. So, we can pretty much say she beat that first tumor (the one identical to yours) with 100% success.

Thanks!