The Cancer Culture
Page 2
My dad shook his head, indicating he didn’t have anything to ask, but my brother Michael would do no such thing. “Yes, we have questions.”
The doctor didn’t hide his disappointment but played along, “I can see you brought some research. What are your questions?”
Michael sat up, moved to the front of his seat, and looked down at his notes. “Why would we sign dad up for chemo and radiation if his form of cancer has never responded to it?”
The doctor shook his head. “Unless you can get on a clinical trial the only approved method of fighting cancer is through chemo and radiation, so we try, even if there is a very small chance it will work.”
Michael raised his voice. “Why can’t we try Alternatives like, Chelation, sound therapy, magnetic resonance therapy, light therapy, the Gerson diet, and Smith’s oil?”
The doctor rolled his eyes. “None of those are approved to fight cancer here in the United States; in fact at least one of them is made from illegal materials. So your insurance company will not cover any of them and as you probably found out none of them are affordable.”
“So what option do we have?” Michael nearly fell off of the front of his seat.
The doctor shook his head and gave us a condescending stare. “You can take your chances with the chemo and radiation, or you can forego treatment.”
Michael’s face turned red and his hands squeezed the arm rest. “So if we don’t accept treatments that will most likely kill dad, then he won’t get any treatment?”
“We won’t abandon him, we’ll set him up on a pain management regiment and hospice can help with his passing.” His cold eyes didn’t flicker.
Was he serious? I could see the rage starting to overflow in my brother. “We’re not ready to give up.” Michael slammed his hand down on the table. “And we’re not going to line your pockets.”
I looked at Michael with surprise in my eyes; I thought he said he wasn’t going to go there.
The doctor shot back, “I’m offering the only treatment we have.”
“How much money do you make if we accept your treatment?” Michael said through his clenched teeth.
“I don’t understand your question.” the doctor said, looking down at his watch.
“Simple, will you make more money if we accept the treatment then if we were to decline?”
“This meeting is over.” The doctor picked up the phone and called security, “I have an unruly patient.”
I looked at my dad who hadn’t said a word. He just sat there staring at the wall. Was he was an unruly patient? We were ushered out and informed that the doctor had dropped us from his care.
The Cancer Culture
Chapter 10
Denver, 2008
Western medicine had failed my dad and we were desperately looking for answers. Nearly everyone we called had the same answer. Stage IV lamayosarcoma had no successful treatment and there weren’t any clinical trials for this rare disease. Then we found the Gerson Clinic in Mexico. The doctors there were open to any and all alternatives in his treatment. The clinic was one of two in the world licensed by the Gerson Institute. The institute is a non-profit founded by Chrolette Gerson, the granddaughter of Max Gerson, the man who created the Gerson Therapy. Developed in the 1920’s, the treatment is a 100% natural approach to fighting cancer and a number of other diseases. Despite thousands of testimonials and breakthroughs the clinics are not allowed to operate in the USA. Why is this? The answer is corporate capitalism, and it’s money.
The current medical system is designed to profit from the treatment of disease. Gerson’s therapy has shown to prevent and cure cancer at a fraction of the cost of chemo and radiation, because it is made up of a specific organic diet and 100% natural home remedies.
The term organic was something my conservative father used to poke fun at, as in, “What you going to turn into a hippie and go organic?” he once said when I brought home an organic head of kale. His attitude shifted under the fear of death, when even organic food sounded ok to him. So we splashed head first into the Gerson treatment and it was an eye opener.
The Cancer Culture
Chapter 11
Denver, 2008
Pesticides, herbicides, and fungicides were all words I had heard hundreds of times growing up, but it was always with a positive connotation. However, at the Gerson clinic, they explained to us how our food supply is tainted with remnants of all three even if the food has been handled correctly. They also showed us studies from all over the world that explained how each of these was the main causes for the aliments that are killing most of the population: cancer, heart disease, and diabetes.
How is this possible? We thought that the FDA is supposed to be on our side, but were found out how wrong were.
Michael, my brother, was a small-time reporter for the Rocky Mountain News and used his connections to start an investigating into the treatment of cancer and the cover-up of our food that is killing us. His editor was surprised by Michael’s initiative and gave him the green light. On Oct 27, 2008, I rode with him to the meeting he had set up at the convention hall in downtown Denver. As luck would have it, two officials from the leading pesticide company in the world, “Wamsanyes,” was in town at the Colorado corn convention. Apparently they have branched out beyond the poison making business and have dived head first into GMO seed production.
“Is GMO what they are trying to sell them?” I asked him.
“Look, Rene it’s simple. They are creating seeds that are immune to their pesticides so they can spray more of them.”
“That doesn’t sound good at all especially after what the guys at the clinic said.”
“And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. There’s no regulation on GMO foods yet so they’re crossing our food supply with all kinds of weird things, like viruses, bugs and who knows your corn could be part cat,” Michael chuckled.
I thought about how strange it was that these big companies could do these things with no repercussions. If I were to kill someone even accidentally I would still have to face some sort of jail time, yet somehow companies like these can kill millions without any questions, all in the name of profit.
As we walked into the room, my brother reminded me I was to be seen and not heard, something my dad would often say.
I nodded and said under my breath, “Yes, sir.”
He gave me a crooked grin and shook his head. We were introduced to the two representatives from Wamsanyes, and I instantly recognized both of them as former politicians. Michael introduced me as his intern and we were led into a different room for the interview.
“Mr. de Garcia, we were told you had some questions for us.”
“Yes, sir, I do. Thank you so much for meeting with me, I would love to start with some qualifiers to make sure I have my background information correct.”
“No problem,” one said, and the other nodded in agreement.”
Michael continued. “Wamsanyes is the #1 seller of pesticides, herbicides and a fungicide treatment in the world, is that correct?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“You are also the leading GMO company in the world, mainly because of adaption, meaning your company has been forced to enter the GMO world due to the adaptation of the things you are trying to avoid.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Could you give me an example?”
“Our most popular pesticide stopped working on three different species of aphids three years ago. Our scientists were baffled by what they found. Not only were the bugs not dying, they somehow adapted and were thriving. Instead of just throwing more pesticides at them, we decided to try some of the exciting new developments in genetic modifications. Our scientist found that a strain of viruses that is naturally occurring in fire ants was a natural killer of the same aphids so they crossed the virus from the fire ant with corn and, bam, our leading pesticide was still effective.”
“What happ
ens if the aphids adapted again?”
They looked at each other. “Our scientists are usually one step ahead. I’m sure they can just modify it again.”
“Ok, this all sounds great, but how safe is this GMO corn?” he asked.
“Everything our company does is within the guidelines of the USA regulatory system.”
It was the first sign of agitation and the first canned answer Michael received.
“Are you aware of the judgment of Philip Morris vs. Williams in which the Supreme Court set a precedent that holds corporations liable for their actions, even if they were acting out of ignorance?” This isn’t exactly true, but Michael figured it would push them in the right direction.
“I don’t see why this question is relevant.” one of them stated.
“The pesticide that is your #1 seller has been shown to cause cancer in mice and by your own admission, the GMO crops you are selling allow you to spray more of it. The question is relevant because you are knowingly distributing a product that is killing people.”
“There is no evidence that our product is killing anyone, and as a former US Congresswoman, I can assure you that we are acting within the boundaries of the regulatory system.”
Michael smiled at me and leaned in toward the Wamsanyes empoylees. “That brings me to my next question,” he said. “Have you or any of your board members ever held a position in the governmental oversight committee?”
The former congresswoman fidgeted and blinked her eyes. “Many of us have gone back and forth between the two, as it makes sense to hire people who have firsthand knowledge of the regulations we face.”
Like a striking cobra, Michael kept attacking. “Don’t you see that as a conflict of interest?”
“No, I don’t.” He was interrupted by a man wearing all black and dark sunglasses. “I’m sorry something had come up and we need to go.”
My brother was not deterred. “Is there any way we can reschedule this meeting and talk further?”
“Call my office.” He stuck out his hand and shook Michael’s, then nodded at me as he walked out the door.
****
As we left that day something strange happened. The man in the suit and glasses followed us. We exited the convention center and headed directly across the street to the Denver Metro State College. “Come on we’ll lose him in here,” Michael said.
We ducked into the cafeteria and blended into the hundreds of students darting through the giant eatery. The man stopped at the door just long enough for us to squeeze out the back and down an alleyway.
We reached the street and Michael haled a cab. As we pulled off, we saw our stalker come running out looking for us but it was too late. At the time I had no idea we were in trouble, and my brother wasn’t letting on that he had any idea either. Now, looking back, I can see why Michael was apprehensive about putting the article out in the paper the next day, but that is exactly what he did. The hard hitting expo was titled, “Womsanyes, destroyer of worlds.” playing off of Oppenheimer's famous quote.
The article was the first ever AP story my brother wrote that actually got picked up and ran all over the country. Phone calls started to pour into the house and letters began to arrive two days later. Some came with money, a dollar here, 25 cents there, and some came with stories similar to ours.
On the fourth day our family received a visit from the FBI and two undisclosed men in suits,
“Hello,” I said as I opened the door “May I help you?”
The man in front pulled out his credentials and said, “Hello, young lady. We’re her to see a David and Michael de Garcia.”
“Dad, Michael, the fuzz is here to see you.” I yelled, and wondered what my dad would have thought of the condescending look the agent gave me. My brother introduced himself and pointed to the living room where my dad was sitting on the couch.
“Can I help you?” Michael asked.
“I’m agent Thompson and we are here to discuss your article you wrote, ‘Womsonyes the destroyer of worlds.’ ”
“Ok.”
“We’re going to need the names of the two sources you quoted in the story.”
Even though Michael was young, he was knowledgeable about his rights and knew how important keeping a source confidential was.
“Do you have a warrant?”
“No, but under the Patriot Act a matter of national security no longer requires a warrant,” one of them sputtered out.
“That is most certainly not true unless I or someone in my family has been accused of being an enemy combatant.”
One of the men who had never introduced himself interjected, “Your article attacks a key component of our food supply and undermines confidence in consumer spending. You could say it was a form of economic terrorism.”
“Writing an article that reports the facts is one of the highest forms of patriotism not terrorism.”
“Not anymore,” the agent retorted.
My dad had heard enough. He pushed his old tired bones up out of his Lazy Boy.
“Can either of you show me the ratification of the First Amendment or any documentation that allows you to disregard the freedom of the press?”
He paused and coughed like his whole lung was about to fly out onto the men, before he gathered himself.
“Unless you have a warrant we’re done here.”
He marched behind them and slammed the door shut as they descended down the front stoop.
The Cancer Culture
Chapter 12
Denver, 2008
The next two weeks the whole family flew down to Mexico for a complete re-education on the human body. The Gerson diet is comprised of two main components, juicing and coffee enemas. The juices are made from specific fruits and vegetables that promote an alkaline state. Unlike blender juicings the Gerson therapy calls for pressed juices, using a Norwalk juicer. They use this method to eliminate most of the fiber while squeezing out the basic vitamins and minerals the body needs.
In most cases fiber is an important part of a healthy diet, but in a cancer patient, the goal is to minimize the workload on the body to maximize its ability to fight off the disease. What does that mean? It means that anything that is hard on the body to digest should not be eaten.
As a family we decided it would help dad if we all made the same sacrifices, so we began to eat and drink the same diet. For a meat and potato family this was nearly impossible. My mom only lasted one week before she was caught sneaking in donuts. And my brother would sneak off at least once a day to indulge in some kind of gluttonous snack.
Not me. I couldn’t sneak off or cheat because I felt like it was my turn to lift him up after he’d fallen. Regardless of the cheating, the two weeks in Mexico transformed all of us, I lost the least amount of weight, 15 pounds, while my dad and brother lost 20 and my mother lost 25 lbs. For dad there was a real concern that he doesn’t lose too much weight, but the doctors assured us as long as he followed the program he could not melt away.
For weeks after we returned it seemed as if dad’s color was returning and the loss of weight gave him more energy. Our hope began to grow that it might just be possible for him to beat the disease.
The Cancer Culture
Chapter 13
Denver, 2008
A month later, my dad and my mother called us into the living room saying, “We have something we would like to discuss with you.”
I looked down and saw a Bible sitting on the coffee table. It took my breath away and I had to sit down. My parents were not regulars at church and I had never seen them looking at a Bible.
“Over the past two weeks,” my dad stopped, and tears started to flow down his cheeks.
My mom continued for him because he just couldn’t. “Your dad has been in a lot of pain and,” She paused and looked at dad, “We’ve talked to our doctors here in the states and they think the radiation will help with the pain.”
My brother, a littl
e aggravated, asked. “Do you realize what that means?”
Tears now began to flow down my mom’s cheeks. “Yes, son.”
“You’re giving up, praying to some god?” He picked up the bible and slammed it back down on the table. “It’s a death sentence. That’s what radiation is.”
“Stop!” my dad yelled through his weeping, “I can’t do it, Michael.” He held his hand out and Michael gripped it. “We called the Gerson doctors first. They got my test results back. The cancer is growing too fast. It’s moved into my bones and it hurts.”
Michael looked away. “You can’t.”
“Look at me.” He reached up and pulled Michael’s chin toward him. “I need you to accept this.” He looked at me, “I need both of you to accept this.”
Accept what? I thought. I just couldn’t wrap my head around my dad coming to the realization that this was it, but here he was planning his death. It felt surreal as he explained how he didn’t want to waste money. I didn’t understand. We could replace the money and the stuff, but we couldn’t replace him. Why couldn’t he see that? He seemed to be hiding behind some sense of responsibility, worried more about us and our future than his.
“I love you guys so much and I know you’ll be all right, but you need to be strong for each other.” He held out his hand for me to join him and Michael. I’m not sure why, but I knelt down and buried my head in his lap, something I hadn’t done in years.
He began to pray, “God grant me the wisdom to change the things I can and accept that which I can’t.”
Tears flowed down like a late summer storm and pain pounded my heart like thunder. Change was coming and for the first time in our lives the anchor that held our ship at bay had just broken free.
The Cancer Culture
Chapter 14
Denver, 2008
Michael’s next article was a hard hitting piece on the financial choice a person with cancer must face. This time the FBI and friends were there only hours after the paper first his stands.
Knock, Knock, knock… again on the door, this time even louder.