I don’t know how many of you have watched The Honey Badger clip on youtube.com narrated by Randall, but if you have, you know that the honey badger is one tough critter!  

A lot of people I’ve come to know have that same kind of resilience – the kind of resilience it takes to deal with a late stage cancer. I’d like to introduce you to a few of these roughriders. The names are fictitious (except for mine) and the stories and quotes are as exact as I can recall. Some are survivors, some are no longer with us, and I’ve lost touch with some others, but we’ve all got one thing in common:  we refused to accept the message delivered by our doctors back home and continued with fearless determination.

The first bunch of folks I met in a Tijuana hospital that specializes in treating individuals with advanced cancers.

Sasha, an athletic woman in her early twenties, traveled from New Zealand with her mom. She ‘d been diagnosed a few years ago with a rare brain tumor; only 250 cases had been recognized, ever. After surgeries and traditional treatments, she came to seek specialized care at The Oasis of Hope. When I met her, she had been to the hospital a month prior and had returned to undergo the second round of low-dose chemotherapy over a course of three weeks. The tumors were shrinking and her hair was longer than mine. During her last visit she visited the gym daily – not this time. But, she remained optimistic through powerful connections with her family and friends in New Zealand and her strong spirit. I didn’t keep in touch with Sasha; I hope she’s doing well.

Four women I came to know had experienced recurrences from breast cancer originally diagnosed and subsequently “cured” five to seven years earlier; I still keep in touch with two of them. One night, we patients and a few caregivers (mostly spouses) sat around the table after dinner, sharing experiences and alternative treatments we’d tried. The four-letter word “diet” came up, just as it does with healthy people. It seems that between us, we’d tried most everything: The Gerson Diet, various vegan and vegetarian diets, raw food diets, macrobiotics and others. (Unlike honey badgers, we don’t eat things like cobras and larvae.) Whatever the course, we found no sugar, organic produce and fresh-pressed vegetable juices to be a common thread. Here’s a bit of the discussion.

Lindsay asked, “Has anyone tried The Rave Diet?”

Petra misheard. “The Grave Diet? I’ve never heard of that one.”

Lindsay clarified, “Oh, Lord, no! It’s called The RAVE Diet!”

I had to chime in. “I’m thinking that none of us need the Grave Diet, not right now anyway.”

We were on a roll and kept up the jovial conversation. While the honey badger often attacks its prey by emasculation, part of conquering our monsters involves enemas. Hey, it’s in the same body zone. Consensus decided that for anyone out there considering a coffee enema, the magic that it works on the liver could well make the procedure a handy hangover remedy. (I arrived with a liver the size of a football which resumed to its normal size and function after two weeks of clean food and enemas.) If you decide to go the enema route, here are a few tips to ensure a successful experience.

1. Use warm water – but not hot. It’s painful.
2. Bleed the air out of the hose before administering to prevent bubbling over.
3. Shut the bedroom door. Pets are very curious and have cold noses.
4. Don’t watch Ron White during the wait time. He makes it tough to last the prescribed 15 minutes.
5. Don’t clean a castor oil enema bucket in the bath tub. It makes for a slippery slope.
6. Make sure the hose is securely attached to the end piece or the wild hose beast will spew coffee all over your bathroom.

On that note, we done Patch Adams proud. (During Dr. Adams’ visit to the hospital, he inspired one woman to become a laughter coach. She volunteers at many of the clinics in the area; her husband had been a patient years ago and has since passed on.) In the laughter department, we’ve got one up on the badger, he can’t laugh. Laughter and optimism are critical to healing.

Another woman, Jane, came in on the shuttle from the San Diego airport; the driver helped her through the courtyard and into the dining hall. She and her son sat at our table, resting her cane beside her. The conversation turned to doctors back home.

Jane said, “I loved Dr. Z; I’d been seeing him for years. He came down here to study with the senior Dr. Contreras before the doctor passed on. I was doing so well under his care. After the FDA drove Dr. Z out of business this new guy took over the practice and I got worse and worse. When the cancer spread to my hips, he gave me this cane and told me I’d never walk without it again.”

Two days later, Jane walked into the dining room without her cane. We all cheered.

Gladys joined our table a few days later. That day, we talked about how we came to be at the hospital. In the course of her research she called her brother-in-law, a medical researcher at a well-known cancer clinic in the U.S.

Gladys said, “I asked him about one of the procedures they do here and asked if it worked. He said, ‘Of course it works. We’ve known about that for a long time but can’t get it past the FDA.’”

Jane shook her head. “I don’t think they want us to get better.”

Many of the patients reported near knock-down drag-out arguments upon informing their oncologists of their treatment choices; many chose not to disclose the integrative care path and simply embarked. I shared with my medical team and was met with, “You know, that stuff doesn’t work.” As determined as that darned honey badger, I didn’t let them alter my path.

Another woman, also diagnosed with Inflammatory Breast Cancer, convinced many patients to choose Immunotherapy, including me. She was diagnosed over 11 years ago with a poor prognosis from Canadian doctors – two years at the most. Although she’s never been in total remission, she lives a quality life by keeping the disease under control. Her regular e-mails report her travels and progress – she’s determined to not let the disease slow her down.

After leaving Tijuana in June of 2011, my own health fared well for a few months until a lung complication in September. My doctors at home diagnosed the infiltrates as cancer, saying that if you have cancer, any complication that can’t be diagnosed for certain is assumed to be cancer. Therefore, it must be a flare. After five days in the Irvine hospital, I was released. They said I only had a few weeks to live. I had worsened each day of my stay. When I arrived I could stand up in the shower and didn’t need oxygen 24/7 – not the case at discharge.  I told my mom that they tried to kill me. She corrected me (as mom’s do) and said, “They didn’t mean to, they just didn’t know any better.”

A few days later, I began treatment at a small integrative cancer center in Santa Barbara where I found myself in the company of another group of patients. I came in, my ever-loyal husband dragging my oxygen tank along beside me. I felt like a dog on a leash. Soon I learned that one patient, a musician who had played trumpet with The Count Basie Orchestra, had been there for four weeks. He arrived using a walker and on oxygen; by that October he used neither. I was impressed and rightfully so – within five days of nutrient infusions, I ditched my oxygen tank and was walking on the beach. I couldn’t yet chase Frisbees, but I was walking solo!

After two weeks at the clinic, I resumed weekly high-dose Vitamin C (62.5 grams) and glutathione infusions, along with weekly hour-long stints in a hyperbaric chamber at an Orange County clinic. There, I met a gentleman from Canada who had beat his cancer some years ago with alternative treatments alone. Another grandma-type woman wasn’t so lucky. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer and then pneumonia. She was on oxygen and a THC pipe. She loved her medical marijuana and didn’t hesitate to drag it out in the treatment room. It looked a lot like an electronic cigarette but was loaded with THC crystals that she didn’t share. (I wouldn’t have inhaled, anyway.)  While she was alive, she was one happy, hungry grandma! Bless her, I miss her company.

After three months of intravenous supplement treatments, along with low-dose oral chemo and HER2 and estrogen blockers, my lungs are nearly clear, showing minor interstitial markings, and there are no boob-lumps or swollen lymph nodes. I’m not back to half-century bike rides, but I’m on my way for I am Honey Badger tough!