Okay, so it turns out this cancer thing? Is totally for real.
I have no idea what I was thinking because I must have been living on Fantasy Island, but it went something like this:
- I will kick this thing in the ass and take names!
- With one hand — make that both hands!! — tied behind my back
- Hmm, 50 Shades of Cancer… naaah
- I’m not really that sick. See?
- I’ll feel better in a week!
- Because I am so awesome!
- Piece of cake. Really.
That was my fantasy.
Cancer Reality is something else
Seven days ago we started doing the Gerson Therapy for reals. 13 fresh juices per day. One every hour. Plus 5 coffee enemas. Every day. Plus a metric ton of food, anything I want as long as it is potatoes, tomatoes, oatmeal or vegetables.
I hate all of it. I am in rebellion. Silent protest. Most of the day I walk the picket line that runs from the front door to the fireplace, wanly holding a sign that says NO.
Actually, most of the day I am lying down, sometimes crying (when puddled on the floor), sometimes not (when bundled up and shivering).
All this awesome fresh juice is driving nutrients into my body. And my body is in protest. Hey, after all, it got used to the cancer thing. Very accommodating, really, as long as I fed it nom noms like wine, coffee, chocolate, rice crackers and cheese. And now my body is pissed off. Staging a strike. Which looks a lot like me crawling up the stairs.
The technical term is Healing Reaction
This, that’s happening to me? That has me crying on the bathroom tile? It’s a GOOD thing. It means the treatment is WORKING. Awesome, it’s working. And I feel like total crap, worse even than when I went into the ER thinking I had appendicitis.
- REALLY tired
- fever! in the morning
- fever all through the night
- throwing up would be an improvement
- who cares?
They say to expect the healing reaction.. Count on it, really. Celebrate it. It takes a bit for the body to kick in and do its thing. My body needs to know I am serious about the cancer thing and that I will support its ability to heal itself instead of feeding it cancer nuggets and poison. I get it. My body should be wary. I’ve dissed it far too long for it to be trusting anymore.
I am supposed to feel better. Another week or so. Or sometime. Until then, I’ll be puddled on the floor. Send hugs.