The Cancer Conundrum

Some challenges in life are insurmountable. No amount of “glass is half full” mental gymnastics quite covers it. When the members of my family learned the extent of the cancer, most of them flew into Rochester for a family meeting. We met at my in-laws’ home in Stewartville, Minnesota. Snow was falling gently outside, a nice fire was crackling in the fireplace, and the smell of freshly popped popcorn filled the house; this was straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting. What I heard the loudest was what wasn’t being said. How do you talk to someone who’s dying? I was afraid I’d get questions like, “So,” my brother said casually, “have you given any thought about that gold watch Pop gave you?” “Bro, have you ever wondered if you can actually feel the surgery even though they knock you out?” “Can I borrow some cash? I mean, it’s not like you’ll need the money back or anything…just sayin.” The following day we met with the chemotherapist who suggested ten treatments of actinomycin d. I asked him if he had any patient referrals or testimonials I could read or talk to. You know, a little due diligence? Nada. I told him I wanted a day to sleep on it, to which he said, “You don’t have the luxury of time. If you have any chance at all at a recovery, we have to start this now.” That night the pastor from New Ulm, Doug McLachlan, drove up and handed me some mail. One letter in particular caught my attention because it was from a Pastor Ballentine. John was a fundamentalist Baptist who was knee-deep in John Bircher meetings and conspiracy theories. His letter basically told me to run, not walk, out of the Mayo Clinic and go somewhere where they understood the human body and nutrition. His somewhere turned out to be Tijuana, Mexico. Seems a Dr. Ernesto Contreras was getting a lot of press by giving stage three and four cancer patients a substance called Laetrile or Vitamin B 17. Today it is generally referred to as Amygdalin, which is illegal in the States. Then, along with some catalytic enzymes and a diet sheet to follow, and Shazam! All better, huh? Sure. But, then I got to thinking. It was fairly clear to me that I wasn’t going to be buying any green bananas anyway and that chemotherapist had been colder than a mother-in-law’s kiss. After reading all the literature in the envelope I decided to get all of the family together and get their opinion; you know; a family meeting. Bahahahahahahah. “Ricky,” my brother Sam (Sam Hill, honest) said, shouting, “You’re an idiot! You’ve always been an idiot and this only proves it. No one in their right mind would even consider leaving Mayo and going to Tijuana? Are you crazy? Do they give you the tequila worm as part of the diet?” “Don’t hold back, Sam,” I panned, “just tell me straight what you really think.” I looked over at my Dad who had flown in from Tyler, Texas, and he just nodded and said, “Ditto.” By now the ladies were in tears, the pastor was busy looking at his shoes. Norman Rockwell grabbed his canvas and headed for the door. “Okay,” I said, “I’m sensing a slightly negative vibe here. But it is my life after all. If I make a mistake, it can cost me everything, I said looking around, “and ‘oops’ won’t quite cover it.” Only the pastor and my father-in-law thought it was a good idea to leave and go to Tijuana. The next morning I went into the clinic and met again with the chemotherapist and told him that I was considering going to the Oasis of Hope hospital in Tijuana. He got a wry grin on his face and said, “Well, it is warm in Tijuana this time of year…”