Alternative Therapies – Part 2
Last month, I posted an entry entitled “Alternative Therapies.” It was, I thought, a fairly humorous, yet horrifying, look at the situation people like me find themselves in. That is, because we’ve been declared “terminal,” we are sitting ducks for every person out there with a miracle cure.
We get these calls, letters, emails, begging us to consider this product, that procedure, this ritual, that prayer.
Indeed, each week I receive a fairly steady stream of well-wishers who have something that will cure me of the stage IV colon cancer that has metastasized to my liver and lungs. And Alternative Therapies was about how some of those calls or suggestions or contacts can get downright awkward.
Most of the people who make these contacts have their hearts in the right places, I think, but you’ve got to wonder about their brains. Others are undoubtedly snake oil salesmen, looking to make a quick buck off anyone regardless of their situation. (As my friend John used to say, there’s a special place in hell for people like that.) Others may actually have something worthwhile to offer. Problem is you’re never quite sure.
Just this week, I’ve been contacted by someone with a prayer that has reportedly healed every person who’s ever prayed it. I’ve been contacted by someone about a faith healing group from another country who would come and lay hands on me, if I so desired. Someone else contacted me about a product that has shown great results for people like me, but I was concerned when I saw the word “amway” in the email address.
(By the way I’m not poking fun at any of these people. Honestly. I’m just reporting what has happened.)
Others call and leave a message: “Are you the Jim Chastain that is in the newspaper? Well, if so, you need to call me right away, because I’ve got something you’ll really want to hear.” They always seem to leave a long distance number.
Beep! (That’s the sound of me deleting their message.)
Anyway, I usually get several responses from readers after I post a new blog. Some respond on the Oklahoman site, and some send me emails. But when I posted Alternative Therapies, nobody responded. It kind of bummed me out.
I worked hard on that, I thought. Didn’t anyone find it interesting?
Perhaps it’s a touchy subject, my search for wellness or the fountain of youth. Perhaps Alternative Therapies wasn’t as funny as I’d hoped it was. It was, I’ll admit, a bit dark.
Perhaps no one knew what to say.
I think we all want to believe there’s a magical (or natural or spiritual) fix for whatever has taken us down. Although my entry was humorous, there was a sadness, a loneliness, behind it too. Can you believe this stuff actually happens? it implied.
Truthfully though, it rarely bothers me when someone contacts me about a miracle cure. I mean, I’ve become sort of a detached, third-party observer to these things. I listen with fascination, like a reporter who’s on to something big.
That’s not always the case. Sometimes the calls hit me hard for a moment or two. I don’t want to pretend I’m tougher than I am. But for the most part, I don’t mind getting these calls. They are, at the very least, interesting.
But still, you’ve got to be able to separate the wheat from the chaff, as they say. In other words, you need to listen closely, objectively, unemotionally, so you can put each caller in the proper category.
Category 1 – quack. Category 2 – huckster. Category 3 - possibility.
Here’s a call I received recently that will hopefully illustrate what I’m talking about, this wheat and chaff business. (What follows is a paraphrase of a real conversation.)
“Is this Jim Chastain? From the paper?” the caller asked.
“Uh, yes. I think so.”
“Well, Jim, you don’t know me, but I have some important information for you. I wasn’t sure whether or not to call, but I thought, what the heck. I’ll just tell you what I have to say and you can decide what to do with it.”
Bad sign number one: The caller did not know me or anyone connected to me. I had no ability to hold him accountable for what he had to offer.
Good sign number one: He wasn’t going to try to force a decision right then. Could be a sales technique, but he seemed fairly genuine.
Bad sign number two: The caller had a folksy style of talking, like a farmer or someone you’d meet over at the county fair. This isn’t bad, per se, but he was, after all, going to give me advice on an issue that modern science had been unable to fix.
“Jim, there’s this clinic just over the border in Juarez, Mexico, and let me tell you, they are doing some amazing things over there. I was just like you. I had cancer and was told I needed chemotherapy and radiation and that I would probably die anyway. But someone told me about this clinic, and I thought, well, what do I have to lose? And so I went over there, and they gave me this natural product, and I’m telling you, six weeks later, the cancer was gone. Completely gone.”
Bad sign number three: The clinic was in Mexico. Not just Mexico, but Juarez, Mexico. In my experience, Juarez Mexico is not the first place you think of when it comes to quality medical care. No, even Mexico would fall someplace way down on the list. Perhaps 62nd or so, just after Turkey.
Bad sign number four: The caller was very unspecific about what type of cancer he’d had. I mean comparing colon/liver cancer with, say, brain cancer or skin cancer is like comparing apples to horse apples.
“I know what you’re thinking, Jim. Mexico? That’s where the desperate people go. But let me tell you, this clinic is different. It started out in Illinois, in 1898. And after awhile, they moved it to Dallas, Texas. But the FDA was getting on their case, because they don’t want it to get out that there’s a natural cure for cancer. So to make it easier, they moved to Juarez.”
Bad sign number five: The clinic had been forced to move at least once, possibly twice, due to FDA concerns.
Bad sign number six: The caller repeated that paranoid tale I often hear about a nationwide conspiracy to keep cancer patients from knowing the truth about a “natural” cure to cancer. The FDA is always the bad boy in these stories, doing its best to send all the money to the doctors, hospitals, and pharmaceuticals.
Bad sign number seven: The caller pronounced Illinois with an “s” on the end. That creeped me out.
“Now Jim, here’s what happened. There was this guy in Illinois who had a horse that he just loved, but the horse got cancer. The vet told this gentleman that he’d have to put the horse down, but the guy couldn’t do it. So he took his horse out to a farm out in the country and let the horse roam around freely. After awhile, the horse started getting better. When this fellow took the horse to the vet, they discovered the cancer was gone! They figured it had to be something out there in the field that the horse was eating, so they went out there and took clippings of everything the horse ate. Then they bottled the stuff up.”
Shall I go on? Why of course I should.
Bad sign number eight: Patient number one was not a human.
Bad sign number nine: The miracle cure is essentially horse feed.
“Now Jim, when you take this stuff, here’s what will happen. After a couple of weeks, you’ll get this bump or boil someplace on your body. Could be anywhere. Now the bump will keep getting bigger and bigger. But don’t mess with it; don’t even touch it. Eventually it will burst open, and this fluid will ooze out of it. That fluid’s your cancer.”
Bad sign number ten: Basically everything I just wrote.
“Now here’s the deal Jim. You just call these people, just call ’em right up, and they’ll get you in the same week. You don’t even have to have an initial exam. I don’t think you have to have a passport to get over there, just a driver’s license. Now it’ll cost you 4,000 bucks, but that’s a heck of a lot less than chemo.”
Bad sign number eleven: the lack of standard medical protocols.
Bad sign number twelve: The money, of course.
The man wanted me to take $4,000 cash to Juarez, Mexico, at a time when Americans have been warned by their government to stay away from border towns, due to violence and kidnappings. Once there, I was to purchase some unknown substance that horses liked but the FDA frowned upon and attempt to get it back into the good ole US of A. Then, I was to consume that unknown product, hoping a gigantic boil would surface on my body and eventually burst, at which time I would be healed.
So, which category do you think I placed this caller in?
If you enjoyed this post, please consider to leave a comment or subscribe to the feed and get future articles delivered to your feed reader.
Comments
That had me laughing out loud and I think the funniest part is that most people would find it unbelievable. And yet it is so incredibly true. Juarez…..yep, it’s right up there at the top of the US News best treatment centers! You must have missed that issue. And how come none of these places are in Paris, and none of the things you are supposed to ingest are considered edible.
Jim, if I put myself in your place and read this article, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The minute I hear an accent (what I used to tell my students was straight out of Slapout) like that I start discounting what is being said. While I admire you for your courage in sharing your story, I would never consider calling you with a possible cure unless I KNEW it was a cure. What audacity! Maybe you’ll get extra points for listening to these fools! If I were God, . . .
Jim, now that is funny. I am an Oncology nurse and I hear multiple stories from my patients everyday about situations just like this. Fortuantly, you are able to take this all in with a sense of humor…many people are desperately seeking any miracle cure and get taken advantage of. I really enjoy reading all your posts. God bless you and stay in the fight.
Jim,
Lived your article. Colon Cancer Stage II Oct 2006. 48 Years old. Every goofball is the area became my “close friend” with “the answer” for me. Including my own Father.
My wife took over and told everyone to back off and leave me alone. Couldn’t do it myself in the mental state I was in. After surgery and chemo I’m in remission. Not sure if thats the right word. But so far so good.
I have lived life everyday since then. Gone on about 15 one to two week vacations. Bought a motorcycle.
May God bless you and your family.
Although I’ve not been diagnosed with cancer, I do receive junk mail and unsolicited advice from “well-meaning” people who possess the ultimate diabetes “cure”.
Junk mail is good for kindling in the wood burning heater I have.
Jim, now that’s funny. The story sounded a bit like “horse manure”. I guess you must have put it under category 1 and 2……and if it was recorded “Beep”.
Teddie