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spidxysense · 5 years

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Back to You | 2

Summary: He broke your heart, but you’d always love him. Two souls that not even the universe could tear apart, even if you wanted it to at times.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: So I got to thinking, maybe I’ll do a schedule for new releases? I was thinking I’d update every Friday to Sunday, so I’d be updating a chapter either Friday night, Saturday or Sunday, just so it’s also easier on me since squeezing in 3 chapters in like a week was honestly so stressful. This chapter is also notably a lot longer than the other two since A LOT happened in this one. There’ll be a time skip in the next one, so watch out for that!!! I honestly love your responses! And rest assured that I read every single one, I just can’t reply since my dumbass self didn’t make this her main blog and I honestly can’t share my main blog. I honestly love hearing from you guys, feedback, reviews, I’ll take them all! Even notes on how I can make my writing better? Or whatever you guys can think of!

Word count: 5,413

Prologue | 1 | 2

"WELCOME HOME!!!!" Someone screeches in your ear right as you open the door.

"Holy fuck." You stare in awe and bewilderment at the house party currently going on inside the house you share with Troye.

It's been a few days and you'd just gotten back from LA and now all of this was happening.

"Y/N! Y/N!" You try to turn to find who was calling you, your luggage long forgotten.

You squint your eyes at Troye, jumping up and down on the table he made as a makeshift stage as he called your name on the mic.

You pull your luggage along and push your way past all the people in the living room, just barely making it to the table, "What the hell is going on?!"

He covers the mic with his hand, and crouching down to speak to you, "I wanted to host a listening party to my new unfinished album but things got a bit…"

"Out of hand?!" You complete his sentence for him.

He nods solemnly, "But isn't this great?! Just what we both needed!"

You can't say you feel the same, but you nod anyway, "Did you make sure nobody came in my room at least?"

"Totally!" He points up the stairs to you room, "See for yourself!"

You lift the luggage above your head, maneuvering around all the people in your house, and at a certain point, they even help you carry your luggage, getting it to the top of the staircase before you. Cheek to cheek pecks and quick hugs are exchanged as you try to find your way out of the groups of people in the living room and by the time you get out, it's as if you'd been dancing with them from all the panting you were doing when you grab your luggage again. You stop in front of your door, scoffing in disbelief, "Leave it to Troye to make my room look like a crime scene." You mutter to yourself as you begin tearing off the yellow and black striped tape labeled 'CAUTION: DO NOT CROSS' You lug your suitcase into your room, leaving it in the middle of the room as you jump into bed face first. Just when you're about to shut your eyes, you hear your door click open and a body sit next to you on the bed, you don't bother looking, you already know who it was.

He slaps your thigh hard and squeezes until your sitting up and glaring at him, an amused grin on Troye's face.

"Come downstairs and have fun with us." He whines.

You rolled your eyes, "I just came from LA, there have been numerous girls in cars screaming 'Spring Break' in my ear even though it's the middle of November. I think I'm good on the party lifestyle." You fall back down on the bed, shutting your eyes.

He gets up, not letting go of your hand, "Janet told me she gave you your phone after your beautiful best friend got it fixed for you."

You lift your head in Troye's direction, "And?"

He gives you a pointed look, "And are you sure you didn't spend the past three nights looking at old pictures of you two and listening to his voicemails as you cried and hugged your phone?"

Only one of those two things were right, "Joke's on you, I didn't open anything from him." I fish out the phone from my back pocket, throwing it his direction, "So in your face."

He claps his hands giddily, "This calls for celebration then!" He manages to pull you up, and throwing a dress he'd already had hung on a chair, "Get changed, and get moving, because we're ending this night laying on the floor."

"I don't have any other choice do I?"

He bit his bottom lip, looking like a kid excited to meet Santa, "Absolutely." He grabs your hands pulling you up, "And I have a really big surprise for you too!" He rushes out the door.

"HURRY UP OR I'LL COME IN THERE IN 10 MINUTES AND DRESS YOU MYSELF!" He calls out from behind him. You sigh, looking at the piece of work you had to work on.

"This is gonna need more than an hour to look even remotely presentable." You mutter to yourself with a sigh.

You walk out your room, looking down from where you were looking out at the people still partying inside the house, "There she is! I have missed this Y/N, it feels like years since I last saw her!" You hear Troye say into the mic from below you.

You give him a sarcastic smile, flipping him off. But the sudden commotion near the front door is enough to take your attention away from him, and widening your eyes in shock and disbelief, and before you can even look back at Troye, you let your feet drag you there yourself.

"What is Harrison doing here?!"

Troye rolls his eyes, clearly drunk, "I'm pretty sure I invited him via text half an hour ago-"

You pull Troye to the nearest unoccupied bathroom, "Have you gone batshit crazy?! Why the hell would you do that?!"

He pats your head, "Don't worry, I told him not to bring Tom. Y/N, Harrison is a whole snack, he is so foine, and so toight-"

You scoff, "And you thought that just because you told him not to bring Tom, he wouldn't?" You turn on the faucet, letting it run under your hand before whisking him in the face with the water in your hand.

He looks at you in realization, covering his mouth in shock, "Holy fuck. Did I just indirectly invite your ex-boyfriend to my house party?"

You sigh leaning on the bathroom counter, "This wasn't exactly the surprise I thought you had for me."

He shakes his head furiously, "No, no, no, no, no! My surprise was I'm including our little song that we never released! I was gonna have you sing with me! I already told everybody and everything!"

You grip on tight to the bathroom counter, "It'll be fine, I can stay in here for the rest of the night, you can sneak me cheese platters and check on me every hour or so, I can do this. I-I mean, seriously, I've probably done worse-" suddenly you feel a sharp pain across your cheek.

You stand there frozen, staring at Troye who was also frozen, his hand still in the position of the slap he just gave you, "Oh my god, I am so sorry." He clears his throat, standing up straight, "But you needed that.” He points a knowing finger in your direction, and all you can do is nod.

“If not now, then when?” He paces back and forth, “You can’t just keep avoiding him forever, aside from the fact that I wouldn’t let you in the first place, it’s just impossible. So in hindsight, you should be thanking me.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh my god, thank you SO much, Troye for inviting my ex’s best friend and inadvertently inviting my ex who I’m not even remotely close to getting over in the process.” You continue rambling, "Thank you for letting the only guy who's ever broken my heart into your humble abode, that's for inviting who just the other day, you told me to get over to your party." You were screaming by now, "Thank you so much because everytime I see him, all I can see is him and Zendaya, who by the way is one of the most beautiful people I've ever met so I don't know how I'll even ever compare to that-oh my god, I need to sit down." You grab onto the counter for support while taking deep breaths.

He gives you a sheepish smile, “Feel better about that little confession?” he crosses his arms, "You are way prettier than Zendaya. Trust me. I'm gay, so I'm pretty much an expert at judging other people based on appearance alone." He speaks in a matter of factly tone, handing you a paper shot cup, like the ones from the dentist's office. You take a whiff, pure tequila.

You peer up at him, wordlessly taking the cup and tossing your head back as you take the shot. You’re breathing heavy but the weight from your chest has definitely lifted, “Yeah that did it, definitely feeling a lot better.” You grab his arm, pulling him out with you. Suddenly, right when you were about to walk into the kitchen, a familiar beat plays, and you turn around to find Troye, on the table, another mic next to him on the stand as he starts singing, holding his hand out for you to take while singing the song.

Young ambition

Say we'll go slow but we never do

You grab his hand, letting him pull you up on the table with him.

Premonition

See me spendin' every night with you

Oh, yeah, under the kitchen lights

You still look like dynamite

And I wanna end up on you

Oh, don't need no place to go

Just put on the radio

You know what I wanna do

We can just dance to this

Don't take much to start me

We can just dance to this

Push up on my body, yeah

You know we've already seen all of the parties

We can just dance to this

We can just, we can just

Dance to this

We can just dance to this

He turns to you expectedly and you stick your tongue out at him grabbing the mic, still attached to the stand, tilting it over while singing and dragging it along with you as your shimmeyed closer to Troye.

Dear beloved

You face Troye, gesturing for him to come closer with your index finger.

Bring those 501s a bit closer, bit closer

And dear, my lover

Do that thing we never do sober, sober

Oh, yeah, under the kitchen lights

You join him for the chorus.

You still look like dynamite

And I wanna end up on you (yeah)

Oh, we don't need no place to go

Just put on the radio

You know what I wanna do

We can just dance to this

Troye grabs your hands, jumping up and down with you as you laughed and danced t the song, completely forgetting about the people watching you two.

Don't take much to start me

We can just dance to this

Push up on my body, yeah

You know we've already seen all of the parties

We can just dance to this

We can just, we can just

Dance to this

We can just dance to this

I don't wanna sleep tonight-night-night-night-night

I just wanna take that ride

I don't wanna sleep tonight-night-night-night-night

I just wanna take that ride

We can just dance to this

Don't take much to start me

We can just dance to this

Push up on my body, yeah

You know we've already seen all of the parties

We can just dance to this

We can just

We can just dance to this

Don't take much to start me

We can just dance to this

Push up on my body, yeah

You know we've already seen all of the parties

We can just dance to this

We can just, we can just

Dance to this

Dance to this, love

Dance to this

We can just, dance to this

Dance to this, dance to this

We can just dance to this

I don't wanna sleep tonight-night-night-night-night

I just wanna take that ride

I don't wanna sleep tonight-night-night-night-night

I just wanna take that ride (We can just dance to this)

I don't wanna sleep tonight-night-night-night-night

I just wanna take that ride

I don't wanna sleep tonight-night-night-night-night

I just wanna take that ride

We can just dance to this

I don't wanna sleep tonight-night-night-night-night

You lean against his back as you two finish the song, hugging after it’s done.

Troye gives you a pat on the back and a proud look, “Still got it, Y/N." He gives you a hip bump, "Alright, well it looks like you’ve earned yourself some alone time. Go on up ahead to your room, I can hold the fort down here, but I expect to see you later." He hands you a bottle of unopened tequila, "You better be shitfaced when I see you later."

You make your way around the house, deciding to do a quick walk around just to greet the people who came, taking the shots they offered you whenever they came up to you, and telling them you'd be gone for a bit to organize your luggage. You come across Harrison in the kitchen, leaning against the stove. At first you don't mind him, going forward, but a force pulls you back, making a double take.

"Don't come crying to us if this night ends with you on fire." You try to speak over the music.

He jumps slightly in surprise but eases up once he sees it's you, "Jesus, Y/N!" He leans over to hug you tightly, "Where the hell have you been?"

You rub the back of your neck, "I've been here and there. Sorting some things out." He nods silently.

"Well, Tom's here too! I hope you don't mind I brought him here with me."

You give him a small smile, taking the shot in your hand, "Can't avoid him forever." You laugh, shrugging, remembering the joint panic attack you and Troye just had in the bathroom a hour ago.

Your eyes soften up, "H-how is he?" You stare down at your feet, suddenly nervous about the question, "Is he alright." If sounded more like a statement than a question, like you wanted him to be doing alright no matter what.

Harrison's face goes serious, "I don't know what to tell you, Y/N. I mean I could lie and tell you he cried for a few days and is now in the process of moving on, but if I'm being truthful here, he's an absolute mess." He sighs, running a hand through his hair, "It's hard enough just getting him out of bed. I mean, I don't blame you, he was an asshole, what you did wasn't exactly in the right either- you know what, this isn't even my business, so I'll keep out of it." He takes a sip from his red cup, "It was great seeing you again, Y/N."

"You're still the smartest person I know." You reach out for a hug.

He rubs your back, "Go talk to him, yeah?" He pats you on the back, "Sort this mess out, so I can hang out with the both of you again."

You give him a curt nod, you weren't really even sure you'd sort it out with Tom, and if you were being honest, part of why you even talked to all these people, walking around the house before retiring to your room was the small glimmer of hope you'd come across him. There was just too much emotion and issues there that you had no idea where to start to untangle. You turn around, walking out the kitchen, "Don't leave too many broken hearts behind you!" He calls out after you. You just laugh, turning to look at him, flipping him off.

Even Harrison knew the most obvious outcome of this breakup was that it was permanent. In your mind for the time being it was. It had to be, you were so sure of it that the scenario in your head when you see Tom again was you, acting aloof, keeping a strong footing as he asked to to get back together. But in the end, no matter how many scenarios you come up with, you don't know how it would end up between the two of you. Not anymore. Back then if you asked yourself that question you knew you and Tom would end up together, get married, have kids one day, and you'd live in London. But the you three or four months ago was someone different. The you back then had never even imagined Tom cheating on you was even remotely possible, the you back then loved him with so much more of your being, and you thought he did too.

You grab the doorknob to your room, turning it and pushing it open, but upon entry, a familiar melody drifts into your ears, a song written for only one person to hear besides you, and that person was standing here now, over by the window, staring down at the people below. You don't make a sound. Time seemingly flowing in slow motion as he turns around to face you. Thinking about this vs actually experiencing it was a stark difference. He looked tired, worn down, he looked like he had the world on his shoulders, like he hasn't been getting enough sleep, he was pale, and there was nothing you wanted more than to run in his arms and embrace him. Forget he ever cheated, forget he ever threw away all your feelings for him, forget he ever broke your heart, and just forgive him and love him without exception, but you don't because you know better and you remember everything. He was your world, but you had to love yourself more than the world ever could.

He played with the ring hanging from his necklace, the same one you left on top of the note you wrote him, "Y/N." His voice is hoarse as he walks to you with open arms, but you don't budge.

This feeling was strange, to have this person who you knew you loved, someone who you lived with and shared a home and life with for 2 years standing in this room that belonged to you, yet he looked like he didn't belong here. Like there was no place for him here, a complete stranger in a room that belonged to his other half.

He stops in front of you, clearing his throat when he realizes you weren't jumping into his arms, "I-I can't do this, Tom." You turn away from him as he furrowed his eyebrows and reaches out to grab your wrist.

"You can't." He sounds like he's on the verge of pleading, "You can't just leave me again." Tears were threatening to form in your eyes as he reaches out to hold your hands.

You pull them away, "You can't do this now." You put distance between you two, "It's not fair-"

He gives you a hurt look, "What's not fair is leaving in the middle of the night." He wipes his eyes, "What's not fair is refusing to take any of my calls and hiding out with Troye while I held out some hope that we'd get to talk about what happened like adults, I had no idea where you went, if I'd ever even see you again. I came home, Y/N. I stayed with you, and you wrote me a note and left me. We were going to talk about it in the morning-"

"Staying with me isn't going to fix the problem, Tom." You feel your eyes sting with tears, "No amount of talking between us would have solved this." You gesture towards the space between you two, "We were headed in different directions and you were just the first to do something about it to make it all the more obvious." You blink back the tears.

He reaches out again, grabbing your hands and this time you don't have the strength to pull away, "I love you, Y/N." He looks you straight in the eyes, "I have never loved anybody more than I love you."

"I know." You pause, taking a deep breath, "There's not a bone in my body that doesn't believe you do." You smile sadly at him, "But it's not the same anymore."

The tears fall down your cheeks as you hold his cheek in you hand, "I love you, Tom." He leans towards your touch, "But I can't be with you right now." You pull back your hand but he grabs it in time.

"No, no, no, no, no." He pulls you closer by the wrists, he rests his forehead on yours, his eyes shut as tears streak down his cheeks, "Come home. Come back home and be with me and-and we'll fall even more in love with each other." He whimpers, "Just don't leave me." He whispers, "We can slow dance in the kitchen, we can get more dogs, we'll watch your favorite romantic movies, we can kiss under the rain, we'll spend everyday together and we'll cuddle every night, we can travel the world, go anywhere you want to go, leave this whole thing behind, and we will just be us and I will love you so much more."

You feel the tears down your cheeks, words that had they been said to you months before, you would have jumped at the chance to make them come true, but that was then and this is now.

"We can't do that, Tom." You shake your head smiling sadly at him as you wiped his face free from tears, "I love you more than anything." You clutch the back of his head tight, "But we have careers. You're you, and I'm me, and a lot of people in the world are counting on us. We-we can't just leave that behind."

He grabs your face in his hands, softly, like he'd break you if he applied any pressure, "I didn't mean to hurt you." He sighs, "I just want to be with you so much."

"I know." You place your hands over his, pulling them down and away from your face, "But you did." You don't let go, "But we need to find who we are, I need to find who I am, and I can't do that if all I do is depend on you to be that defining factor of me."

"I'd follow you anywhere." He pleads, "Just be with me and I'll make sure you're happy, whatever you need to grow, as long as you stay with me."

You smile sadly at him, "In any given situation, Tom, I would absolutely love that. But the fact that you'd even be willing to let down all these people who are counting on you and who look up to you is proof enough that we both have some growing up to do." You caress his cheek, "But not together, not with each other, and when the day comes that we've both grown, a little wiser beyond our years, and we meet again, I think by then we'll both really know."

He shuts his eyes, savoring the moment, "C-can I kiss you?" He blinks a few times then adds, "For the road."

And you giggle, because that's what Tom always said before kissing you one last time before he had to go off and travel, you giggled because in that moment it was you two, just the two of you from months and years back when you knew and felt in your hearts that the two of you would end up together, when all you knew was loving each other, days when it was just you and him and nobody else, when things didn’t matter. You bit you lip, smiling nodding before he's leaning in. The kiss that you wished lasted a lifetime, at first both of you were smiling, but then, you felt tears coming from your eyes as you realized, this may be the last kiss you'd ever have with Tom, and you think he felt it too, because he was crying as well. You pull away first, his eyes glazed over, "I love you." He rests his forehead on your again before sighing, "I should probably get going." He sniffles, "I literally only came here to talk to you." He smiles sadly, his jacket in his hand, giving you a small wave, "I'm not giving up on us, Y/N."

You maintain the curt smile, giving him a tiny wave back, but when the door closes, you collapse on your knees, sobbing. This was supposed to help you feel better, it was supposed to feel liberating. But why did it feel wrong to let him go? You eye the abandoned tequila bottle on the carpeted floor and you take a deep breath, reaching over for it as you sat against your bed, slouching as you take a swig from the bottle.

It's been a couple of hours and the tequila bottle had been long abandoned an hour ago, instead you broke into your small case of wine from under you bed and now here you were, laying on your floor, halfway through your 2nd bottle of wine. A small couple of knocks brings your attention to the door. Troye peaks his head in.

"Hey." He gives you a sweet smile, "I saw him coming from here. I've already kicked everyone out. I thought I'd give you some time. Do you want more time?"

Suddenly you face contorts into all kinds of pain as you shake your head, "I need you " you cry.

He doesn't say a word, laying down next to you on the floor as the song plays in the background.

"Do you miss him?"

You stare straight up at the dimmed light, nodding your head silently.

"Did you get back together with him?"

You shook your head.

"Does it hurt?"

"So much." You barely manage to whisper.

He sighs, reaching for your hand and intertwining it with yours, "Good. That means you're living life."

You stay silent letting the song flow from your laptop, he takes a swig from your wine bottle, "Is this one of your new songs?"

You shook your head, this song was probably 2 years old, "I wrote it for him." You shut your eyes, letting the sound of your love fill your quiet room.

You remembered the day you first played this song. It was a month after Tom first said he loved you and you just replied with a thank you even though you already knew back then you felt the same.

2 years ago

You watch Tom get frustrated with the sink in your tour bus. It was the second to last month of tour and he'd be with you for the rest of the week, and things seemed tense with him. You stand up from your seat and walk over to him, hughing him from behind amd pecking him on the neck, "Hey." You whisper, "Are you okay?"

He sighs, "The bloody sink is just annoying me." He groans, walking away from you.

You furrow your eyebrows, "Well if I knew any better, I'd say you were pissed at me."

He was sat on the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose, he stands up, and stops in front of you, "Do you remember what I told you last month?"

You open your mouth in confusion, "We said a lot of thing last month." You place your arms on his shoulders, pulling him closer, "Come on, don't be mad at me." You peek up at him, meeting his eyes.

He sits you two down, facing each other, "Last month, I told you I love you. If I'm being honest I already knew it before I even said it, but it was a huge leap of faith that I took because I was absolutely terrified of saying it to you, and you said, 'Thank you'." He looked upset.

"Tom-"

"I don't know what that thank you meant to you, but to me, it was a rejection, that you didn't love me back." He sighs, "I thought maybe you needed some time, a couple of weeks to think it over, but it's been month and I think you really only meant it as a thank you." Tom was definitely annoyed.

"I just want everything to be perfect." You try to reason, "I want this whole week to be perfect." You emphasize.

"It's fine even if I just hear you say it, Y/N." He states point blank.

You gulp, you already knew Tom was pretty annoyed, but you really did want it to be perfect, you'd been preparing for it for a month or two now and to just say it now would be a complete waste of time, you were sure it was worth it, no matter the consequences.

He stares at you for a few more seconds before standing up, "Why does everything have to be perfect with you?" His eyebrows were furrowed and he was frowning all around you, as he gestures all around the room, "Why can't you just for once, accept that things in the world just aren't perfect and they don't have to be? I told you I loved you in that moment because if I didn't tell you any sooner, it felt like my heart would explode, because it was what I felt. But here you are worrying about the damn weather or whatever instead of worrying about getting the message across."

"Tom-"

He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, pacing, "I can't do this right now. I only get a week with you and I can't spend it mad at you." He rushes out the tour bus.

"Is there a reason you guys brought me here when I should be on my way home now?" You hear him ask the security personal.

You were sat at the piano, and right when the curtains opened, you began playing, singing along to the tune with a song you'd been working on for the past few months.

For you, there'll be no more crying.

For you, the sun will be shining.

And I feel that when I'm with you,

It's alright, I know it's right.

To you, I'll give the world.

To you, I'll never be cold.

'Cause I feel that when I'm with you,

It's alright, I know it's right.

By this time, Tom's sat in one of the seats, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his eyes glued on you

And the songbirds are singing, like they know the score.

And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before.

You peak over at him, his eyes turning soft and a huge grin slowly growing from the tight line he had his mouth in earlier.

And I wish you all the love in the world.

But most of all, I wish it from myself.

And the songbirds keep singing, like they know the score

He approaches the stage, stopping when he's standing next to the piano, as he stares at you and studies your face, a soft smile still gently lingering on his face.

And I love you, I love you, I love you

He reaches out, pushing your hair behind your ear as he caresses your cheek as you played the piano, "I love you so much, Y/N."

Like never before, like never before, like never before.

When the song finishes, you grab his hand on your cheek, "I'm sorry it took so long for me to tell you." You bring his hand towards your heartbeat, "But because this-" you point to your chest, 'and this-" you gesture towards your the side of your head, tapping it, "Don't get along sometimes, talking to you about how I feel or telling you I loved you seemed impossible, but I'm really trying my best." You cry, "And since I couldn't tell you, I thought I'd just say in through a song, but it took me months to finish it and I know it's sloppy and I could have made it longer-"

"I love it." He kisses you, "And I love you most of all." He kisses you over and over again all over your face, squeezing your hand in his.

You're staring down at your hand, intertwined with Troye's, "Do you think I made the right choice?" Looking at both your hand in his, it almost looked like Tom's and yours whenever you held hands, except Troye's hand was very dainty and feminine.

He sighs,"I honestly don't know." He squeezes your hand, "But I know for a fact that you did the right thing for yourself." He gives you a reassuring smile, "And that's enough for me to know that my best friend is going to be alright."

The silence between the two of you is comfortable, "Y/N." Troye speaks softly, wiping your eyes for you.

"Hmm?" You look him in the eyes, light blue, like the sky on a clear day.

"Do you still love him?"

You smile sadly, "Yeah." You pause, "I still do, and I think I always will."

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #Back to You #THIS TOOK ME SO LONG TO WRITE #SO MUCH ANGST #YN GURL YA NEED TO LIGHTEN UP

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debbie-tanthorey · 4 years

Text

65 DAYS IN MAY

CHAPTER ONE

Cosmic irony. A dentist saved me. You read that correctly – saved my LIFE, albeit inadvertently. An action as mundane as having one’s teeth cleaned, set fate in motion. Was the week of Thanksgiving 2019, bi-annual check-up. Dentist does his thing after the hygienist finishes. You know the drill (pun intended). Only this time he uncustomarily offers me a hand-mirror, tells me to look in my throat, asks me if I've had my tonsils out.

“No”

“You have a white spot back there, see that?” My eyes shift toward the mirror – I LIE – say I see it (don’t have my glasses on, PRIDE won’t let me admit I can’t see any white patch) He continues, “If you don't mind, am referring you to an oral surgeon for a biopsy.” The nefarious B-word; brain fires a warning shot. B-word leads to the C-word.

Alone now in my car, I fall apart. Hi, I'm a hypochondriac; I don't handle health challenges well despite the jovial persona folks see. A paralyzed-with-fear hypochondriac. Foremost in my thoughts is a long-time friend from high school, currently dealing with a devastating throat cancer diagnosis; I know not to minimize this. (R.I.P. Grady, August 8, 2020 😔) Get to my desk, dial my primary physician immediately, which is a big deal for introverted-me; set up an appointment for a second opinion. The Thanksgiving holiday means I can't be seen until the following week. What is normally a fun, family-gathering time of year, is effectively fogged in with dread, I go through the motions. All-consuming thoughts ruminate incessantly - I'm dying. Yeah, it's what hypochondriacs DO, we ‘dive off into the deep end,’ thrash, drown in ‘what if’s??’

The next week, my doctor smiles after he peers past my tongue into my throat, “Where?” Looks twice, insists I relax, “It's nothing.” He knows me well, adding, “if it would make you feel better, let's follow-up in three months.” His reassurance tempers my panic . . life resumes.

CHAPTER TWO

December 2019, January, February, 2020 the winter that wasn't. Work that was. Mid-February Housing fair at Ohio University's Walter Hall Rotunda. Event coordinator, Donna, introduces herself to Dave and me at our display table. Lively-soul, (I admire extroverts) she explains she recently transferred to this area from Columbus and, among other things, is a Stage 4 breast cancer survivor. Woman is spunky. Piques my interest. I share my sister's email address with her, explaining Cheryl is an 18-month soldier waging the same battle.

March approaches and the little nagging voice in my head reminds, “3-month follow-up, Deb, just do it.” Did. Friday, March 6. Confirmed, no dumb spot. Ha!! Your basic normal appointment. Crisis debunked. As visit concludes, Hillary, his nurse, scrolls through my medical record, turns to mention it's been more than a couple years since my last mammogram, they’ve all been clear, but I'm due, and would I want to set up one.

“Sure”

My youngest, Leah, works in this same medical facility, stop at her desk near the lab to say ‘hello.’ She’s my last to leave home, miss her in my house still. Always good to see and talk to her. She and Ian were married 18 months ago. Her desk-mate, Jordan, coincidentally one of Leah’s friends from her high school days, sets up my mammo appointment for Monday.

MONDAY, MARCH 9. Say ‘hello’ again to the girls at their desk. Check-in. Take a seat, wait my turn. Have had plenty of these 'grams in my lifetime, no big deal, no dread. Bare 'em, squash 'em, and get back to work. This time though, the tech knows my sister, and as I dress when we are done, from behind the screen she casually asks how old Cheryl was when she got her diagnosis and how’s she doing. (60. She is doing remarkably well, maintaining) 10 minutes later, I’m back at my work desk, phone rings, the mammo-tech is on the phone, needing me to return the next day for “a couple more, 'maybe clearer' pics, and an ultrasound.” That’s never happened before. A fleeting shot of panic surges, but since my most recent dread has been unfounded, I attempt to not over-react.

TUESDAY, MARCH 10. Keenly study the radiology-tech’s face for clues when she comes to fetch me from the lobby, I examine her demeanor as if I’m a police detective on a high-profile murder case and she’s my prime suspect. She's calm. So I'm cool. Rescan first, ultrasound second. Not especially pleasant the latter, (idiotic thing to say, was wholly unpleasant ) having your chest unceremoniously smashed in a circular motion against your ribs. The techs are studious, the room silent, I stare at the ceiling. Last time I had an ultrasound was 26 years ago and I was pregnant. Today, no fun at all. Understand now why my sister mentioned she is not a fan of these during her breast cancer struggles.

CHAPTER THREE

SATURDAY, MARCH 14, a knock on the front door, mailman is standing on my front porch and in the time it takes me to scribble my name on a card, I'm staring down at a certified letter in my palm, the return address of the clinic lunging off the paper at me. There's a low, barely-audible, foreign sound in my head. It's 'control', in human form, and is protesting/whining as she’s being forcibly dragged away from me. Remind myself I'm somewhat sane, an adult - just open the envelope. I do. And there it is, in black and white, the word -

ABNORMALITY

The rest of the weekend is a blur, debunking the need for concern with my daughters. Every excuse, every plausible explanation of why a letter like this would be mailed. A mistake, surely so. Just a glitch in the system. “Mom, if it was bad, they wouldn't notify you by letter,” Leah insists.

MONDAY, MARCH 16, my primary physician calls in regard to my somewhat-panicky email fired-off to him on Saturday, the day the letter arrives. He speaks in calm tones, explains he was on vacation the past week, is sorry he could not talk to me before the notice arrived, he's seen the offending spot on the film, offers it's so small, unlikely any cause for concern. “Indistinctive,” he assures. Forwarding to a surgeon for review.

CHAPTER FOUR

TUESDAY, MARCH 17, mama-daughter call . . normal stuff .. she’s working today at the clinic. She mentions the aforementioned surgeon has office hours today, maybe I could be squeezed in. I’m in luck, they can. So in a couple hours, I am shaking the hand of the head of surgery. Personable guy, he tells me he's reviewed my pics, if the radiologist had not circled the area, he would not have noticed it right away. Optimism duly noted. He thoroughly examines that body part, pokes and prods, asks me if I feel a lump. “I have not.” Today he doesn't either. Every woman knows about lumps. I absolutely know about lumps. I would never ignore one. Fact of the matter, there is NO lump!

We go over my less than stellar immediate family history of C. (HATE that word). Lung, breast, leukemia. He recommends biopsy to rule out any true problem. The B-word again. This day I say, ‘ok'.

Right here is where COVID-19 makes it's bizarro presence known, personally impacts ME. Doctor advises local surgery center is now closed due to the virus and procedures are limited to emergencies only but he is willing to go before the Board to plead my case. ???? While thankful he is willing to intercede for me; I am tamping down anxiety fighting to rise up, mentally jumping up and down, stomping on it, both feet.

Couple days later I get the call the Medical Board approves me for a needle biopsy. Control-of-my-life, she is sitting on the floor in a fetal position, rocking, whimpering in a locked padded-room somewhere.

CHAPTER FIVE

TUESDAY, MARCH 24, Jess drives me to Jackson. I don't need driven. Appreciate my oldest’s company though. COVID rules necessitate only a patient be permitted to enter any facility; Jess has to wait in the car. At the door, am screened for symptoms, this is the Twilight Zone. And it's too quiet in here. The place is dark and weird and I don't want to be here. I'm the ONLY person in the entire surgery center, I overhear the staff talking, they weren’t on the schedule today, I’m the only patient. hhmmmm, why am I so important?? Creepy.

Am ushered into the procedure room, nurses are professional, put me at ease. Entering, it’s impossible to miss my film aglow on the lighted-box on the wall; she asks if I want to see it. (NO!! I don’t want to see it!!) In reality, robotically, walk over to look. There it is, plain as day. The previously described small-likely-nothing indistinctive spot. Yikes, it's a glaring, ominous, bright white glob with literal tentacles reaching out, it’s in the middle of my precious flesh. No denying this now. Thing’s staring back at me. The only way I know how to describe the rest of the appointment, is that I am having an out-of-body experience, it’s not happening to me. No . . . is not.

You know the lifts in a garage of an auto repair shop? That's what this is. Clumsily climb aboard, assume a face-down position. There's no delicate way to explain the procedure. There's an enormous hole in the table, chest area, your beloved body part dangles and the table is raised, surgeon accesses it from below. Area is securely taped, prepped and numbed. Needles are fun, aren't they??! (eye roll) Am told the table will vibrate, surgeon cautions me to lay perfectly still or the laser will slice me. (no problem, I float away, not even present in the room) And it begins. Computer guides a gatling gun of needles as it commences to stab the tumor, withdraw specimens of cells. Sounds horrific, but it isn't, numbing tends to that. Divert my eyes from the red, fleshy goop siphoning into the container, my eyes clamped shut much of the time. Lasts just a few minutes, dress, then am on my way. Visit the same surgeon in a week for the results. Will not come back to this location, by then this center will also be closed by the pandemic mandate, next appointment is at a nearby hospital.

CHAPTER SIX

APRIL 1, 2020, APRIL FOOL'S DAY. First time I have ever visited this hospital, enter alone, virus protocol at the door. Surgeon’s office on the second floor, take the elevator. Few folks in the building, those that are, like me, are wearing masks. As I wait, pilfer on my ipad. Name is called, off I go. Today I find out this thing is benign, that I have been spazzing for weeks over nothing, naturally. Don't wait long for the Dr., I remain seated as he enters, greets me. He begins talking as he walks across the room, lays down my chart, then turns, making eye-contact, “you are so lucky to have had this test, mammogram did what it was supposed to do; we've caught it early.”

“...(I go effectively deaf) blah-blah-blah-blah-blah CARCINOMA.” A cataclysmic concoction of consonants and vowels strung together into syllables, words, in sentence form, delivered matter-of-factly. What happens here is nothing short of BIZARRE. Always imagined if I heard the words, “you have cancer,” I would react BADLY.

I would -

be angry

weep

go to pieces

vomit

all of the above

In reality -

I did not cry

I did not faint

I did not scream

Instead, sit calmly, silently. Stoic. Utterly, absolutely, wholly dumbfounded. ( this isn’t real - my head hurts - is this a stroke!?) REALITY Brain cells scramble to focus, I listen intently to every word, nod occasionally. Hearing all, absorbing little, during this a crash course on three types of breast cancer and treatment options available. (drifting off - I like him, he gestures with his hands as he speaks of surgery options.) Reconstruction; their plastic surgeon is top notch. The decision is mine. The doctor adds simply, “you know what will happen if you do nothing.”

I do

Unceremoniously and without a second’s hesitation, I react, “Get it off me,” hand on my chest. (subconscious protesting, “I feel FINE!!!! THIS. IS. STUPID!!”)

He nods in acknowledgement of my words, continuing, discusses recurrence rates on the opposite breast. Fuzzy math. Right here I interrupt him with the wave of a hand, “Get them both off me!” For good measure, I repeat it. Decision made, bilateral mastectomy it is, ASAP. Hands me a print-out with my diagnosis, I roll the paper up like a diploma and slip it in my bag. Stare down at the bag I take to work everyday . . (new-reality thoughts commence) or did … back when life was normal.

“Lousy April Fool’s Day, ya gotta admit.” I mutter out-loud to him as I rise to my feet, reach for the door. (how am I walking??!)

Ah, but COVID-19. Global pandemic, if it were a person, he’d be a cold-hearted, merciless jerk. I have to wait 14 days, be symptom-free in order to be permitted in their surgery unit or risk contaminating the whole place. Condemned to live with my killer for 15 more days, let it sleep with me, go to work with me, hang out with me while I visit my kids, grandkids. Melodramatic? You betcha, but the truth. All the while knowing the beast is growing.

I don’t exit the building until I am pre-registered for surgery, receive copious instructions, am assigned a day, APRIL 16. Next to the radiology waiting room, there I message my sister, she is the first to know. I have breast cancer. There’s lab work, x-ray, EKG. Am a zombie. A polite zombie with cancer making idle chitchat with techs who have no freaking clue my unremarkable and average life has evaporated in the last 45 minutes.

Poked, prodded, scanned and x-rayed - my walk across the parking lot is a 1,000 mile trek. Open the door, slide into the seat, fasten the seat belt, inhale deeply, fill my lungs with air just so I feel alive and less numb. Stare at my hands. Wish I could scream without attracting attention. Vomiting would be a blessing about now. I seem to be the same person that got out of the vehicle two hours before. No, am not the same at all. HOW do I do this????! Any of this??

HOW??????????!!!!!

In the days that follow, I will unroll my biopsy report, familiarize myself: invasive lobular carcinoma, 1.6cm, grade 1, ER+PR+HER2-. (translation = hormone fed) I will become versed about the enemy within, that if left untreated, would put me in the ground. Knowledge is power.

CHAPTER SEVEN

How do you tell the people you love, you have cancer? How do you toss a live emotional-grenade in a room? As terrifying as it is for me, I have to watch the realization sink in, the fear in their faces. Jess and Leah, my girls, having initiated a video chat with me as I wait for labs at the hospital. “Mom...well, how’d it go??” Not necessary to share details out loud, I crack, my eyes said all there was to say. Tough to hide that. Awful is the fact I’m in a public waiting room as they ask, am trying to hold it together, not disintegrate, explode into pieces. Watch them absorb what they now understand. I can’t help them.

Morning of April 1, the plan was to go back to work after the appointment. I don't. I aim the car toward home.

But first, I stop at my mom's house, to reveal the diagnosis to her and George. This is the first time I will say the words. Standing in the middle of her living room, my mouth opens and the emotion-less words fall out, “I have cancer too.” It is weird to hear it voiced and I feel bad for her. (her sister, my dad, my brother, my sister, now me) Explain to her what I plan to do and comfort that it'll be alright. She supports my decision: show no mercy to the beast.

Head home.

Turn onto my county road, Jameson calls, asks how the Dr. visit went. Avoiding answering, instead, ask if they are home, that I will be right there. Am thankful I am not them. He ‘knows’ from my tone, detects from the question. My son and wife, Patty, live 1/4 mile from my house, I arrive at their place in only a couple minutes, walk into their living room where they both were, learn the kids are upstairs, state the fact to the both of them, and I sit down for a bit. Just like that. Keep it light and matter of fact.

Life is insane.

CHAPTER EIGHT

What follows is 15 days trapped in a state of in-between. Desperate for normalcy yet knowing I can’t have it. What to do. What. To. Do. Staying right-minded is the aim. Crave it. C-word rarely leaving my thoughts. Every day ‘hospital Jessica’ calls me to ask a series of Covid-19 related questions and asks my body temperature that I am tasked with taking each morning upon waking.

What I CAN maintain right now, is routine.

COVID locks my office door in mid-March, am the only one staffing there. OU student move-in/move-out day is May 3. I’m the one in charge of this, making sure everything is ready. Can’t cancel it . . it goes on with or without me. Scheduling surgery mid-April, slashes two weeks off my prep time for this once-a-year event. Realize the timing could not be better, if there IS such a thing, I have little free time to ponder what’s coming, am too busy. Every day I plow through my work to-do list. Go home too tired to indulge doom and gloom.

Away from the office too, I quickly find another diversion, researching and shopping for items I might need after the surgery. Soft tops with inner pockets for drains management, ice packs, hot packs, special propping pillow. A miracle they all arrive on time because Amazon Prime has been waylay-ed by the corona virus. A sick and twisted ‘Merry Christmas to me’ as each package arrives. In some small way, gives me a semblance of control.

Sleeping is not an issue during these days. It’s my safe place. Sleep deep and well, courtesy of a little purple pill discovered years ago. (thank you, menopause) Each and every morning, have about 30 seconds of ‘normal’ before I remember what demon is living in me.

An entertaining activity during this time is staring in my lingerie drawer at the start of every day, choosing which style, what color bra for one last travel in the rotation. I waffle. At first, suffer pangs of melancholy while looking at the neat row of vibrant colors and lace. Then chuckle, cups are large enough to be made into hats for small children. No one wants to discuss my boobs, but this is an important part of the process of letting go. Acknowledgement. A girl spends what seems like her whole life waiting for these body parts to materialize; coveted, we dress them up, suspend them with steel reinforcement, make the best of them. They feed our children, we rock our babies/grandbabies against them. They’re part of who we are. Mine are set for execution. It’s them or me.

Time ticks by.

CHAPTER NINE

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 15. Mastectomy Eve, am something I have never been, radioactive. True. This day go into the hospital ALONE, pass through the covid-19 gauntlet; escorted to a quiet room with a massive machine, bet it was a CT scanner, I don’t ask, I lay down on a metal table and a needle is inserted in my chest region, right side (still find it weird to use the word ‘breast’) and a radioactive tracer is placed in my body at the sight of the tumor. I’d researched the procedure a little (LIE . . I researched a LOT) beforehand, and read it would be EXCRUCIATING. So expect the worst. Naturally. Tech is kind and reassuring; small talk. I notice what great hair he has. Stare at the ceiling as I lay there. Then the doctor comes in, says I’ll feel a stick (had read the area is numbed first) expect that. Did. Not horrendous - that’s an exaggeration, barely felt anything. Assume we wait for the numbing to take effect before he drills through to the core. What I DIDN’T expect, is him to say, “you’re done.” Meaning that tiny prick was it. Say what now? Before the morning’s surgery, I’ll come back to this table, and will find out if the cancer has leeched into any lymph nodes. I dress and exit the building.

ESCAPE! The rest of this day IS MINE. I take my dreary thoughts, my diseased chest, the ‘DD girls’ , and we hit the road, took the long way home. Gave ‘them’ the best darned last-day-alive you could ask for. Was the least I could do considering what I was consenting to do to them. Pitied them and wanted them DEAD at the same time. Them or me.

Flowers waiting for me when I got home, the first time I sobbed in earnest. A torrent of tears.

CHAPTER TEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 16, 2020. DtoDD DAY. Death to DD’s Day. (and my Mom’s 81st birthday) Eerily calm. I grab my packed bag, stare at my freshly-made bed as I turn to exit the bedroom. Oh here comes one of those bizarro thoughts I have at times like this. Glancing around, mutter, “when I return, nothing will be the same. Gee, I hope I come back.” Melodramatic to a fault I am. Patty drops me off at the hospital door at a ridiculously early hour. Did I mention this is during a pandemic so no one can come in and that the hospital is spooky-empty and hushed?? Well, it is. Apocolyptically-quiet. Surreal. Check-in is swift and efficient and a surgery-nurse retrieves me promptly, accompany her to the prep area. this is real?

This unit has a circle of several cubicles, all but three are empty though. Settled in, changing into hospital gown, then I have three hours to ponder the fact that the last time I had surgery was 26 years ago and I am not as young as I used to be, and nowhere near ready to die, and lordy, I am no fan of pain. I feel FINE . . how can something deadly be in me yet I feel this HEALTHY??

In the hours I wait, return to scan-room to see if this thing has reached my lymph nodes. Dark room, humming machine. Same tech lets me watch the screen, bright lights like tiny fireworks become visible. No clue what I am watching.

My appointed time arrives, was about 9:30 a.m. Accompanied by a surgical nurse, I walk down the hallway to the O.R., my IV pole in tow. this isn’t real Three surgical staff are busily prepping. Funny how apprehension makes one awkwardly talkative with strangers, more so than normal. I greet them and cannot shut up, blather, “you know how kids took home tonsils in a jar?? (clutching my chest) you have a gallon jug I can take these home with me?” (yes, I really did say it) Laughter from them, that’s good. Am offered a stool to climb onto the table. I do. My God, to the gallows, ‘girls’

Jettisoned into the Twilight Zone right here. In the time it takes me to scoot, get comfortably horizontal on the table, sterile people descend on me, all over me doing things. Arms, legs . . belt around my abdomen. Am picturing masked-ants. Busy, busy. Big light on the ceiling lowering, settles above my upper torso and head. I feel FINE Am here, but not here. Oh God. Gentle voice to my right, as a mask is fitted over my nose and mouth, “take a couple deep breaths.”

Blackness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I’m struggling in deep water, not diving down - but up, shooting to the surface of the water, I need air. Regaining consciousness, a jostling, repeating, “Debbie, wake up. Can you hear me?” Awake. Literal first conscious thought, drenched in relief -

“... NOT DEAD”

Body is being tugged, moved, but I’m not doing it. Realization hits me, where I am and what's happened. Conscious, I no longer feel fine, unrelenting waves of nausea wash over me. I give myself over to whichever medical professional wants to tend to me. They can have me, I don’t want me. Not this me.

End up in a hospital room, no recollection whatsoever how. Silence interrupted only by BP cuff on an ankle, inflating noisily at intervals reminding me I’m alive. Not moving. Lord, what have I done? Ice packs under both arms. Detest feeling this gross. I hang onto the sheets for hours, ride out the nausea.

As terrible as that was, and it was horrendous, it ends abruptly once I am fully awake later in the afternoon. In fact, feel remarkably good - considering. Any pain is well-managed. I can move, even lift my arms. I can walk to the restroom, tend to myself. Am hungry and eat a good dinner. Pleasantly surprised at this half of the day.

Curious. Here’s where I gingerly lift the blanket to get my first look. DD-girls are gone, replaced by a thick layer of bandage all across my chest, tubing, two drains, and . . . oh my lord . . . HOW long has my belly been that size??????! God bless boobs, they divert one’s attention from a myriad of flaws. Geez-louise.

Thank you, Covid-19, for the hospital stay’s solitude, I don’t mind, I welcome not having to share this day with visitors. Am only interrupted intermittently by nurses and the doctor. No big deal. Not much to tell. Post on facebook that I survived. Was released to go home the very next day with surgeon’s, “no restrictions. See you in a week, will have lab results for you then.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

FRIDAY, APRIL 17. HOME. Here’s where it gets funny. Seriously. Humorous. Reality. My youngest, Leah, volunteers to stay for the first few days. Plan on not needing much in the way of assistance. Stubborn. Not too uncomfortable, prop on pillows, watch tv, pain meds. First-night, decide my bed is where I will sleep, let her have the couch. Undeterred in the middle of the night, manage to get myself to the bathroom alone. Good for ME!! Ah, but then the sun comes up. Right here I discover Super Woman I am not. Attempt the same maneuver and the stabbing pain angrily asserts, “NOT THIS TIME, SISTER!” Ah, bladder is bossy and insistent. But Pain is in charge. “#*&@*#&$}” a little too loudly (translation) “Leah!! Help!!” She comes trotting and I’m laughing, trapped in my own bed. Arms frozen at my sides, literally cannot move under my own power without an instant excruciating reaction. With urgency (full bladder loudly protesting) instruct her to wring a bed sheet, get to the foot of the bed, hold the ends, let me grab the middle . . . PULL!! It works!! Whew, lesson learned, until I could get up and down on my own unaided, I didn’t sleep there again.

Drains. Grateful to only require two. Three times a day they need emptying. Unceremoniously, Leah’s job. When large portions of flesh are removed, one’s body compensates by attempting to fill the space with fluid, drains are typically inserted to draw off this fluid, speeding recovery. These ‘things’ (drain hoses) are just under my skin across the width of my chest, a stitch holding them in place at the hole (yikes) where they exit on either side. The bulbs at the end of the 12 inch lines are clear grenade-shaped receptacles collecting wound-juice. (you winched at the visual, didn’t you? haha) They get full. Necessary to milk the line first, with sterile gloved fingers of one hand, she grasps and steadies the line where it exits my body, with the other, she slides her pinched fingers down the tubing, pushes the ooze and any clots to the end. Pops the top of the bulb, empties 'ick' into a measuring cup, and logs the amount and color. Squeezes the bulb as she closes the lid so siphon will commence. My only job is to 'enjoy' the vigorous suction. eek

I sit dutifully still on a stool while she goes about her ‘work’, chit-chatting about this and that, am intentionally not watching the gore slipping, dripping into the bulb. She's not hurting me but every now and then will feel a subtle tug, a movement of the tubing. (shudder) Sunday evening she taps the bulb’s bottom on the table, remarking, “darned clot won’t fall through.” (rap, rap, smack) “Eww, that’s gross,” she says, “clot (tap) won’t (tap) let go ( jiggling it, the dangling, stringing bloody blob just hanging there, swaying back and forth).” My skin is warming . . . interesting sensation . . getting hot. Really HOT. She is sitting right next to me, is talking but her voice is fading. Am looking her direction, but she is drifting away in a misty vapor . . . waaaaaaaaaaaay over there now, voice, can’t hear her. Vision going and the room is moving ever so slightly.

I see my girl in slo-mo, she realizes what is happening, "Mom, Mom ... MOM!" (my mouth no longer works, cannot respond) hear her excited, “DAD!!!! Come quick!! Help! Mom’s passing out!!!”

Didn't. (did get to the couch . . sat still for an hour, feet up . . w/ice pack alternating on my neck, forehead) Didn’t vomit, so that's a 'WIN" for the day.

I learn to do it myself once she goes home. No big deal.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 23. A week passes, mostly uneventful. Sick leave, lounging, medicating, tracking excretion of Deb-juice, healing. Tough to remember the days in March and early April when I felt GOOD. I feel terrible. Blah - which to me, IS terrible. No fever, no signs of infection, just a general feeling of malaise. (such a descriptive word, ‘malaise’) Post-op visit, a follow-up with the surgeon. Oldest daughter Jess, chauffeur for the day. The entire drive down to Gallipolis, I imagine they’ll take one look at my sorry self, react in horror, re-admit me immediately. I have to be dying, something has to be terribly wrong. No one can feel this bleak and survive.

Mull my life over for that hour drive, did I live it adequately, what is left that I have not done, am I going to throw up IN or OUT of her car . . oh woe is me . . my thoughts are rambling, disjointed, grim. (BEYOND melodramatic) LOL Get to the hospital, I have to admit I cannot even walk in under my own power. I have no power, drained dry. Jess requests a wheelchair and I feel how I imagine being 150 years old and feeble feels, reliant on a stranger for transport up to the waiting area. Pitiful. I hate this. Too puny to care.

And remember COVID . . Jessica can’t come in with me. My mummified remains parked in a desolate waiting room. sigh I need a transfusion. I need a transplant, I need SOMETHING . . want my life back. Where’d Debbie go??!!

Eventually wheeled into the exam room (decrepit thing that I am) to wait. Surgeon enters, his normal perky self, smiles my direction. I lament the state of (absence of) well-being and inability to go to the bathroom for DAYS. (how embarrassing) “Sweetheart (NO, he did not say 'Sweetheart’) it’s your pain meds doing this to you. STOP THEM.”

huh?????!

Examines the 12-inch incisions on either side of my torso. Both doing well. No stitches to remove, interior stitches will dissolve on their own. Exterior sterie strips will fall off in the next week. He studies my drain-log, then simply remarks, “looks great, amounts are decreasing steadily. You want them (drains) out today?” (glimmer of hope) Instantly agree, so without ceremony and with a quick snip of a stitch and a wiggle of the tube and a firm TUG, one Jackson Pratt drain is out. Nasty thing now coiled on the exam table. OUT!!! The other follows swiftly. Oh dear lord . . feels soooooooo good to be rid of those things. Best part . . expected to have them at least another week, that the extrication of same, would be horrendous. Wasn’t. Didn’t hurt actually. Bandaids applied to my newest holes. No stitch, no nothing. “See ya in a month. No restrictions.” Surprised he didn’t pat me on my sorry head.

Trip home is infinitely better, envision the tunnel and light shining in the distance. aaaahhhhh

Not another pain pill crosses these lips . . the man is a genius. (epilogue: my decline was indeed induced by the pain meds . . out of my system - recovering was a breeze. TIP: get off them as soon as you can)

P.S. Almost forgot the most important part!!!!! Lab results!!! Geez . .the tunnel, the light . . THIS IS WHY!!! TODAY I learn I am CANCER-FREE‼️‼️‼️ Well, I would hope so!! Nearly six pounds of flesh sacrificed / removed . . CLEAN MARGINS around the tumor. Lymph nodes are CLEAR!!! Sentinel node removal a bit messy, seven others unable to be separated from it, come out as well. Sobering fact is that I, nor the surgeon, felt a telltale lump - but it was there. In black and white, sobering words, “STAGE TWO”. Appointment with oncologist in May to discuss options. Why??? Here's the thing about breast cancer, sometimes IT COMES BACK.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Want to tell you the euphoria was warmly welcome and long-lasting. Yes and no, in that order. Sharing with friends that surgeon ‘got it all’ was met with copious genuine exclamations of ‘thank God!’ and ‘hallelujah’. For good reason. Pathology report of clean margins and clear nodes is a positive outcome. IT’S GONE!! And like me at this juncture, believe that’s the end of it. Too few days of relief pass swiftly - the reality that it may not be over, steadily seeps back in as I educate myself. But with a stubborn childlike optimism, trust the oncologist will study my diagnosis, pronounce my journey with this evil thing over. “Deborah, congrats, you’re finished with it and it with you. Have a nice life.” Let’s go with that. I want it.

Just a couple more weeks to find out.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In the meantime, at home I’m getting bored. ‘Bored’ is WONDERFUL. It’s normalcy. And a strong signal that it’s time for life to go on.

I am well enough to attend to work emails, becoming more frequent as students prepare to leave Athens officially, the stalwart diehards who came back after Spring Break despite the lockdown that commenced mid-March. Boredom, the impetus, that gets me out of the house.

TUESDAY, APRIL 28, 12 days post-op, several days free from pain-killers and feeling almost back to my old self, I slide behind the wheel of my car, new precious pillow between sensitive chest and the seatbelt and drive to work. Man oh man, how I missed 70′s radio . . sing all the way. I last at my desk for 4 hours this first day, mindful to recognize limitations, cut the day short, but go home triumphant.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 30. Meet-my-oncologist day. (mentally mark off THAT on my ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’) First things first, why am I here??! Surgeon recommends I have a chat with the man . . rule out the need for anything further. Youbetcha. Today is THE. DAY!! Fully expect to be ‘blessed’ and sent on my way . . “Debbie, you were lucky, it’s all gone. Your cancer journey was intense and brief and now it’s over. Go live your life, girl.”

Check in. Hunker down at the back of the vast lobby, comfy chair. I absorb the room. Oh you know I don’t want to, but I do. A few patients are here. One unhealthy looking older lady on a hospital stretcher over there. Another slightly-weathered woman near the wall, wearing a turban. And there’s me. Odd-man out, pain-killers now out of my system: (yes yes, am minus the ‘girls’) full head of thick hair, kinda sorta minimally wrinkly, feeling strong and healthy . . . like me again.

Name called. BP and weight. Perks of the day . . bp is good, especially good for me. Literally-asked-the-nurse-to-repeat-the-numbers good. And am down 10 lbs. I’ll take it!! Gee, this visit is headed in the right direction!

Lead to an exam room, given a questionnaire. Ugh. Bottom of the page. Please list details of immediate family members . . . health issues, explanation. Here we go . . Melvin / dad / died in 2000 @64 / lung cancer (scribble to the side ‘life time smoker’ . . like it somehow negates the dying) Tim / brother / died in 2000 @39 / leukemia (again, the scribbling, master mechanic, hands in chemicals) Stephen / brother / died in 1957 @6 weeks / S.I.D.S. Bottom of this page is an OCD nightmare, ink scribbles in every direction, sad that I ran of space. Add, “Cheryl / sister / is 61 / @60 stage IV breast cancer (’maintaining’ . . didn’t add, but wanted to, “THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!”) Janice / mom / is 81. Terry / brother / is 55.” Finishing up, as MY oncologist enters the room.

Brief introductions . . Cursory physical exam of surgical site.

Oncologist reviews the information I provide, studies my chart. Two verbal inquires of me -

do you or have you ever smoked? “no”

do you drink alcohol and how much? “rarely”

He pauses. He can ascertain I’m not fudging the details. “Never?” he queries again. Shake my head in the negative. Sincerely he adds, “this makes NO sense. Risk factors are not there for breast cancer. No sense at all.”

Dr. Hamid relates there is a genetic test that can be performed using my tumor tissue, (eewwww, they still have it!!) the results determining whether or not chemo therapy would be of any benefit to me. Again - I am confused why a person who is now disease-free, minus seven pounds of her best flesh, needs ANYTHING additionally. I consent. He jots down for me the chemo recipe that I would receive if it’s indicated. Metaphysically burns my fingertips as I take the slip from him. (chemo??! stifling a scream) If not, I would be prescribed a pill to stop my body's remaining production of estrogen. Anastrazole is the drug of choice, there are a few common side effects: bone/joint pain, fatigue, etc. Majority of women experience no side effects of any kind, he assures. (mental note of an over-achiever: I will be one of THOSE) Dr. adds, “Lab work takes about two weeks to get back. Come see me in two weeks please. Oh wait . . you drive quite a distance to get here, right? Just call my office on May 13, we can handle this over the phone.”

uh huh . . . so much for being blessed and sent on my merry way. CHEMO, sub-set item under 1. CANCER on ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’. TRULY . . . there is nothing I enjoy MORE, than waiting on test results. (epic eye-roll right here, stomach twists in knot)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

This is the last chapter of ‘65 DAYS IN MAY’ (today it’s February 25, 2021) I am a procrastinator. Am still me, after all. My instructions were to call oncologist’s office on Wednesday, May 13, 2020, to learn whether or not chemo therapy was the next step in my cancer treatment. By now I have little recollection of the blur of days between April 30 and when Dr. Hamid called me with my genetic testing results, my Oncotype score. Every day seemed endless, recovering well, feeling progressively more like myself. I let work duties bulldoze me through those days, thoroughly occupied. I was thankful to have nearly 300 college students moving-out and moving-in on May 3rd. Grateful to be bone weary at the end of each day, having little time to thrash about the prospect of chemo - that, and staying safe as COVID rampaged.

TUESDAY, MAY 12, at my desk, alone in a pandemic-locked-down office. One last day not having to call, know anything. Ignorant bliss. Phone rings, spy caller I.D., uh-oh, cancer center. I stop breathing. Lift receiver, ‘Hello, this is Debbie.’ Not breathing. HERE WE GO (9+ months later now, still recall the catch of my breath and pounding heart. Am not exaggerating when I tell you time froze.) Dr. Hamid’s voice was soft, he wasted no time relating my Oncotype score plus chance of recurrence is low and chemo is not necessary in my situation. He’ll call in an Anastrazole script for me, it cuts my chance of recurrence to less-than 5%. Only question I had, “what exactly was my number?” 17 “See you again in 6 months,” as he ends the call. Stare at the phone receiver clenched in my hand.

NO CHEMO . . with exorbitant gusto, I EXHALE

Celebration fireworks in my head, both hands in the air, stifle an audible, triumphant HALLELUJAH! For the moment, issued a reprieve. I soak it up. Once composed, swivel chair to my right, run my palms slowly, purposefully over the desk calendar, lift the pages, studying, absorbing. Begin to count . . . .

STINT IN PURGATORY - 65 DAYS IN MAY

EPILOGUE

(stay tuned)

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jerrytackettca · 5 years

Text

Evidence-Based Homeopathic Family Medicine

Homeopathy has been a form of medicine for hundreds of years. Dana Ullman, whose father was a medical doctor, a pediatrician and allergist, has dedicated a significant portion of his professional life to the practice of homeopathy. Ullman was introduced to this medical art as a junior at University of California (UC) Berkeley, in 1973.

"A Stanford-trained doctor and a male midwife created a group of people to study homeopathy together: three doctors, two nurses, two yoga teachers, a dentist and several laypeople. We met weekly for five years. Towards the end of that, I was honored to be arrested for practicing medicine without a license. That was in 1976.

We won an important court case settlement by differentiating medical care from health care. We made it clear that I wasn't treating a disease. I was treating a person with a disease.

The courts agreed that was a reasonable interpretation, and that as long as I have written contracts with my patients that differentiate medical care from health care, as long as I refer patients for medical care, which is not what I am providing, then it can work out. I've been doing that ever since," Ullman says.

Definition of Homeopathy

The principles of homeopathy were originally developed by Dr. Samuel Hahnemann (1755-1843), a German physician to the Royal family, and are based in the law of similars, also known as "like cures like."

"Homeopathy is a type of natural medicine that uses nano-doses, really small doses of plants, minerals, animals and chemicals," Ullman explains. "We look to find whatever toxicological symptoms that substance causes. Once you know what syndrome or symptom a substance causes in the toxic dose, you can use specially prepared nano-sized doses of that substance to treat the syndrome that it causes.

The logic of that … [is that] your body does whatever it can to survive. Your symptoms are not the result of breakdown. Your symptoms are the result of that doctor inside of you that is trying to defend you and is trying to heal you. Your symptoms are part of your defenses.

And the very word, 'symptom' means sign or signal, and symptoms are just that. They're signaling us that something's wrong. Instead of turning off that signal, in homeopathy, you turn into the skid.

One of the things that your driver's education teacher probably taught you is that when you skid, you turn into the skid — that's the best way to get control of the vehicle and come to a stop more easily …

In about 20 percent of our patients with chronic illness, [there's] a healing crisis at first, where their symptoms get worse … in the first 48 hours. Sometimes they re-experience old symptoms they haven't had in many months, years or even decades … Especially, it brings out skin problems, or women might have an early menstruation that will be clotted, because it's almost like they're going through detox.

When they begin talking about old symptoms coming back, those symptoms were typically treated in an allopathic way, and thus suppressed. One of the things people have to understand is that when we say conventional medicines work, all too often, that's the bad news.

That means they were effective in suppressing a symptom and a disease, and from a homeopathic point of view, the reason there's more mental illness, more cancer and heart disease, chronic fatigue and immune dysfunction is because we treat illness in a suppressive way.

Our body-mind is so brilliant that it does whatever it can to defend itself and heal. Whatever symptoms we're having are the best effort of our body at that time to defend ourselves. If we cut off that defense, then it's like the body surrenders, and our body gets suppressed and then develops a new serious syndrome."

Homeopathy Was a Leading Medical Treatment Until 1901

In 1900, homeopathy was the leading alternative therapy in the U.S., with 22 homeopathic medical schools, including Boston University, University of Michigan, Ohio State, University of Minnesota, University of Iowa and New York Medical College, which at the time was called New York Homeopathic Medical College.

All of this changed when, in 1901, the Rockefeller Institute for Medical Research was established, and in 1910 when the Carnegie Foundation in secret collaboration with the American Medical Association (AMA) published the "Flexner Report," with the aim of replacing homeopathy and other natural medicines, such as herbs, with chemical drugs. I wrote about that part of history in "How the Oil Industry Conquered Medicine, Finance and Agriculture."

Ullman also delves into some of this backstory in this interview so, for more, listen to the audio or read through the transcript. Here's just one sordid tidbit:

"In 1860, homeopathy was beginning to gain a lot of traction. Homeopathy was already appreciated by the smartest people in America, most of the literary greats — the transcendentalists, from Mark Twain to William James, Emily Dickinson, Louisa May Alcott and Harriet Beecher Stowe — they were all big advocates for homeopathy.

The American Medical Association was so threatened that they wrote into their ethics code that if any conventional doctor simply consulted with a homeopath on a patient, they would lose their membership in the AMA. In the 1860s, that meant you lost your medical license until, finally, the homeopaths organized and created a separate medical board. So, at least if you got your license revoked from the AMA, you could go to the homeopaths."

Homeopathy Basics

Homeopathic remedies are essentially nanomedicines. A 2012 study published in the journal Langmuir, published by the American Chemical Society (ACS), tested six homeopathic medicines — gold, silver, copper, tin, zinc and platinum — at three different dilutions:

1 to 100, six times

1 to 100, 30 times

1 to 100, 200 times

There's a principle in chemistry that says if you dilute something 1 to 100, 12 times, none of the original molecules will remain. This is a mathematical estimation, which turns out to be untrue. Ullman explains:

"What actually goes on is this — and it's quite amazing. In homeopathy, we use test tubes made out of glass … because we thought glass was inert. But guess what, it isn't.

Modern spectroscopy [shows] that if you take double-distilled water, which is the highest pharmaceutical-grade water presently known … [and] shake it vigorously in a glass container, the nanobubbles [hit] the side walls, and six parts per million of silica fragments fall off into the water.

The vigorous shaking, the 40 shakings, create turbulence and increase the water pressure to what the head of Stanford's Department of Material Science estimated to be at 10,000 atmospheres … What that means is that whatever you're making into a medicine will be pushed into these silica fragments.

Then, when you dump out 99 percent of the water to make a dilution, a lot of the fragments cling to the glass walls. This ACS study found that no matter how many times you did these dilutions [fragments remain]. Three different types of spectroscopy measured the original gold, silver, copper, tin, zinc or platinum in the water.

And guess what? Our body's hormones and a lot of our neurotransmitters operate at nano-dose levels. They actually found nano-doses of each of these substances, no matter how many times they did these dilutions …

Whenever you see a homeopathic medicine that says 6 X — X is a Roman numeral for 10 — that means it was diluted 1 to 10, six times, 12 times or 30 times. When it has a C after it, that's a Roman numeral for centesimal. That means it was diluted 1 to 100. Two C's would be 1 to 1,000. M stands for 1,000. That means it was diluted 1 to 100, 1,000 times. Now we even have 50,000, 100,000 [times] and even more.

Over 200 years of clinical experience by tens of millions of patients, we have consistently found that the more these medicines go through this potentization process, the longer they act, the deeper they act, and the less doses are needed."

Less Is More

In other words, the more diluted the medicine is, the more effective it becomes. While this may sound incredibly paradoxical to the modern mind, there's a good explanation for it. One is the simple fact that these nano-doses are able to penetrate the blood-brain barrier, entering into deeper recesses of the brain.

These nanoparticles can also enter cellular membranes with greater ease without triggering a defense mechanism. A more concentrated dose can set off a proverbial alarm in the cell, causing the membrane to lock itself down to prevent the foreign substance or toxin from entering.

"Once it's inside the brain, the body realizes 'We've just been infiltrated by lead, silver or gold,' and says, 'How do I get rid of it?' When a patient has the symptoms of gold or of the substance that they're having, the body then has a powerful immunological reaction that begins to heal it," Ullman explains.

Another major benefit is the fact that there are no side effects. Were you to select the wrong remedy, nothing happens. There's no reaction — no benefit, but also no adverse effect.

Is There Scientific Evidence That Homeopathy Works?

The media will typically tell you there's no evidence that homeopathy works. In reality, there are more than 300 double-blind and placebo-controlled trials published in peer-reviewed medical journals, including The Lancet, The British Medical Journal (BMJ), Pediatrics; Chest American College of Chest Physicians, Cancer (the journal of the American Cancer Society), Rheumatology (the journal of the British Society for Rheumatology), Pediatric Infectious Diseases Journal, and many more.

"Many of the best journals in the world have published positive studies on homeopathy," Ullman says. "So, whenever you hear people say there's no evidence that homeopathy works, they are either misinforming you or directly lying.

You have to realize that it's a lie, and then you also have to remember that Big Pharma advertises on TV news so that they can own the news … That's one reason why we're not getting accurate information about natural therapies and about the importance of vaccine safety. It's because Big Pharma really runs and owns the news …

And if you think conventional medicine is scientific, please know statistics show that, last year, enough drugs were prescribed to give every man, woman and child in America 13 prescription drugs. Yet there's no evidence of safety or efficacy of multiple drugs together. They don't do science that way. Conventional medicine is standing on Jell-O. The evidence base is really limited."

The AMA has also gone to great lengths to keep homeopathy suppressed, and if it weren't for the AMA, there'd be a whole lot more scientific research backing homeopathy. Here's just one of the stories Ullman recounts in this interview:

"We're all familiar with the Sloan Kettering Foundation. What people don't know was that Charles Kettering was a big advocate for homeopathy. Kettering was vice president of General Motors (GM). Alfred Sloan was president of GM, but Kettering was the inventor. He was the one that developed the electric battery. Delco battery was his company.

In 1920, he gave $1 million to Ohio State University for their homeopathic medical schools' research department.

Wouldn't you know it, a month later, one of the key members of the AMA went to meet with the president of Ohio State and gave him an ultimatum, saying that unless you return that million dollars back to Kettering, the AMA would reduce the grade of Ohio State's allopathic conventional medical school (Ohio State had a homeopathic medical school and an allopathic one).

As it turns out, the president of Ohio State returned the million dollars to Kettering. That was supposed to go to homeopathic research. Once again, a million dollars in 1920 money is like a billion dollars today."

The Irrational Stance of FDA

When it comes to the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA), its stance on homeopathy is irrational to say the least, because on the one hand, it claims there's no active ingredient in it; in other words, it's essentially a placebo, yet on the other hand it claims homeopathic remedies are dangerous.

As explained by Ullman, the FDA was created in the early 1900s, but the agency really wasn't empowered until 1938, during Franklin D. Roosevelt's reign, when New York senator Dr. Royal Copeland wrote the Federal Food, Drugs and Cosmetics (FD&C) Act of 1938, which charged the FDA with the regulation of drugs. Ullman offers the following bit of historical background:

"Royal Copeland was not just a senator. He was a medical doctor — a homeopathic physician. He was the dean of the New York Homeopathic Medical College. Before that, he was the mayor of Ann Arbor, where he grew up. He was a professor at the University of Michigan, which had a homeopathic department.

A part of this legislation gave recognition to homeopathy on par with the United States Pharmacopeia. The United States Pharmacopeia and the Homeopathic Pharmacopoeia were on equal footing. Then, in the late '70s, the FDA deemed that homeopathic medicines are primarily over-the-counter drugs, because they're so basically safe, you don't need a doctor's prescription to use them.

Up until that time, the FDA and the homeopaths had a good working relationship. In fact, up until literally a year or two ago, we had a good working relationship in that our medicines were allowed. There were certain [homeopathic] medicines that only medical doctors and naturopathic physicians were allowed to prescribe due to dose issues. We're fine with that too. But the vast majority were over-the-counter drugs.

However, in the last year or two, as a result of pressure brought by Big Pharma and skeptics of homeopathy, they began to change the regulations. We don't know with specificity what they are planning to do. They're saying now that they're changing it from the present model to what's called risk-benefit model.

Because their position is that homeopathy provides no benefits, we are concerned they're going to find little risks in different things, like they did with Standard or Hyland's Homeopathic teething tablets … We're now waiting for them to come out with the specifics of their [new] guidelines.

We've written to them, many of us, in detail, making our recommendations. We're now ready for them to respond … They say they're going to maintain most of the homeopathic remedies, but I am worried they may reduce access to what are called homeopathic nosodes.

Nosodes are homeopathic medicines, super diluted, made from different bacteria and viruses. Right now, only medical doctors, naturopathic doctors and professional homeopaths have access to these nosodes. I'm fine with that. But it would be a real problem [if they were taken away]."

Homeopathy Versus Drugs

Again, it's worth remembering that the FDA approves all pharmaceutical drugs, and the average American is on 13 of them simultaneously — many of which have flimsy justification for their use at best. Drugs, as a general rule, never treat underlying causes. They treat symptoms by suppressing them.

The insanity of this model is evidenced by the fact that drugs, when properly prescribed and taken, kill an estimated 106,000 Americans each year. Yet, in the name of "protecting public health," the FDA claims homeopathic remedies may need to be reined in because they might be dangerous — even though there's no active ingredient. As noted by Ullman:

"Here's where your bullshit detectors need to go up, because it's so obvious that homeopathic medicines are safer. To reduce access … to the safe medicines, and yet have complete access to so many conventional drugs, which are so dangerous, would be the epitome of a 'doctatorship.' That's a word I developed.

There is also what I call 'medical chauvinism.' There's the assumption that there's only one way to heal people. You and I, and I bet every other person listening to this, knows there are other methods. We need to stand up for ourselves."

More Information

To learn more about homeopathy and/or obtain Ullman's services, check out Homeopathic.com and HomeopathicFamilyMedicine.com. For direct questions, you may also write to him at [email protected]. Ullman has also created an e-course called "Learning to Use a Homeopathic Medicine Kit," which is available on www.HomeopathicFamilyMedicine.com.

This course is for laypeople or health professionals who have no real desire to become a licensed homeopath but would still like to learn how to use simple remedies for common injuries and for various non-life-threatening ailments. The accompanying e-book, "Evidence-Based Homeopathic Family Medicine," is nearly 550 pages and filled with specific references, including links to published studies. A series of video tutorials are also included.

Another excellent resource is the National Center for Homeopathy (NCH), which is the leading organization for homeopaths. They have a couple different websites, including HomeopathyCenter.org, where you can find a listing of qualified homeopaths and a helpful "Find a Remedy" search feature. NCH also holds an annual conference and issue a bimonthly magazine. "They are doing the most important work," Ullman says.

Lastly, there's also a group of mothers in Texas called "Americans for Homeopathy Choice." They've been putting together petitions for homeopathy. "I really support their work," Ullman says.

"One last thing is that I know a lot of people go to Amazon to buy their homeopathic books, medicines and different things, but I want to encourage people to, when possible, use homeopathic sources, and use natural medicine sources for getting your medicines.

We have to support the organizations. We have to support the businesses that are in this field, because if we don’t do that, then when the FDA and other giants begin to attack homeopathy, who’s going to be there to help us?"

You can also learn more about homeopathy from Ullman’s previous articles, “Water and Homeopathy: Latest Discoveries at Science’s Cutting Edge” and “The Logic, Wisdom and Scientific Evidence for the Homeopathic Treatment of Influenza.”

from http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2018/12/02/evidence-based-homeopathic-family-medicine.aspx

source http://niapurenaturecom.weebly.com/blog/evidence-based-homeopathic-family-medicine

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paullassiterca · 5 years

Text

Evidence-Based Homeopathic Family Medicine

youtube

“A Stanford-trained doctor and a male midwife created a group of people to study homeopathy together: three doctors, two nurses, two yoga teachers, a dentist and several laypeople. We met weekly for five years. Towards the end of that, I was honored to be arrested for practicing medicine without a license. That was in 1976.

We won an important court case settlement by differentiating medical care from health care. We made it clear that I wasn’t treating a disease. I was treating a person with a disease.

Definition of Homeopathy

“Homeopathy is a type of natural medicine that uses nano-doses, really small doses of plants, minerals, animals and chemicals,” Ullman explains. “We look to find whatever toxicological symptoms that substance causes. Once you know what syndrome or symptom a substance causes in the toxic dose, you can use specially prepared nano-sized doses of that substance to treat the syndrome that it causes.

And the very word, ‘symptom’ means sign or signal, and symptoms are just that. They’re signaling us that something’s wrong. Instead of turning off that signal, in homeopathy, you turn into the skid.

One of the things that your driver’s education teacher probably taught you is that when you skid, you turn into the skid — that’s the best way to get control of the vehicle and come to a stop more easily …

In about 20 percent of our patients with chronic illness, [there’s] a healing crisis at first, where their symptoms get worse … in the first 48 hours. Sometimes they re-experience old symptoms they haven’t had in many months, years or even decades … Especially, it brings out skin problems, or women might have an early menstruation that will be clotted, because it’s almost like they’re going through detox.

That means they were effective in suppressing a symptom and a disease, and from a homeopathic point of view, the reason there’s more mental illness, more cancer and heart disease, chronic fatigue and immune dysfunction is because we treat illness in a suppressive way.

Our body-mind is so brilliant that it does whatever it can to defend itself and heal. Whatever symptoms we’re having are the best effort of our body at that time to defend ourselves. If we cut off that defense, then it’s like the body surrenders, and our body gets suppressed and then develops a new serious syndrome.”

Homeopathy Was a Leading Medical Treatment Until 1901

All of this changed when, in 1901, the Rockefeller Institute for Medical Research was established, and in 1910 when the Carnegie Foundation in secret collaboration with the American Medical Association (AMA) published the “Flexner Report,” with the aim of replacing homeopathy and other natural medicines, such as herbs, with chemical drugs. I wrote about that part of history in “How the Oil Industry Conquered Medicine, Finance and Agriculture.”

Ullman also delves into some of this backstory in this interview so, for more, listen to the audio or read through the transcript. Here’s just one sordid tidbit:

“In 1860, homeopathy was beginning to gain a lot of traction. Homeopathy was already appreciated by the smartest people in America, most of the literary greats — the transcendentalists, from Mark Twain to William James, Emily Dickinson, Louisa May Alcott and Harriet Beecher Stowe — they were all big advocates for homeopathy.

Homeopathy Basics

1 to 100, six times

1 to 100, 30 times

1 to 100, 200 times

There’s a principle in chemistry that says if you dilute something 1 to 100, 12 times, none of the original molecules will remain. This is a mathematical estimation, which turns out to be untrue. Ullman explains:

“What actually goes on is this — and it’s quite amazing. In homeopathy, we use test tubes made out of glass … because we thought glass was inert. But guess what, it isn’t.

The vigorous shaking, the 40 shakings, create turbulence and increase the water pressure to what the head of Stanford’s Department of Material Science estimated to be at 10,000 atmospheres … What that means is that whatever you’re making into a medicine will be pushed into these silica fragments.

And guess what? Our body’s hormones and a lot of our neurotransmitters operate at nano-dose levels. They actually found nano-doses of each of these substances, no matter how many times they did these dilutions …

Whenever you see a homeopathic medicine that says 6 X — X is a Roman numeral for 10 — that means it was diluted 1 to 10, six times, 12 times or 30 times. When it has a C after it, that’s a Roman numeral for centesimal. That means it was diluted 1 to 100. Two C’s would be 1 to 1,000. M stands for 1,000. That means it was diluted 1 to 100, 1,000 times. Now we even have 50,000, 100,000 [times] and even more.

Less Is More

In other words, the more diluted the medicine is, the more effective it becomes. While this may sound incredibly paradoxical to the modern mind, there’s a good explanation for it. One is the simple fact that these nano-doses are able to penetrate the blood-brain barrier, entering into deeper recesses of the brain.

“Once it’s inside the brain, the body realizes 'We’ve just been infiltrated by lead, silver or gold,’ and says, 'How do I get rid of it?’ When a patient has the symptoms of gold or of the substance that they’re having, the body then has a powerful immunological reaction that begins to heal it,” Ullman explains.

Another major benefit is the fact that there are no side effects. Were you to select the wrong remedy, nothing happens. There’s no reaction — no benefit, but also no adverse effect.

Is There Scientific Evidence That Homeopathy Works?

The media will typically tell you there’s no evidence that homeopathy works. In reality, there are more than 300 double-blind and placebo-controlled trials published in peer-reviewed medical journals, including The Lancet, The British Medical Journal (BMJ), Pediatrics; Chest American College of Chest Physicians, Cancer (the journal of the American Cancer Society), Rheumatology (the journal of the British Society for Rheumatology), Pediatric Infectious Diseases Journal, and many more.

“Many of the best journals in the world have published positive studies on homeopathy,” Ullman says. “So, whenever you hear people say there’s no evidence that homeopathy works, they are either misinforming you or directly lying.

You have to realize that it’s a lie, and then you also have to remember that Big Pharma advertises on TV news so that they can own the news … That’s one reason why we’re not getting accurate information about natural therapies and about the importance of vaccine safety. It’s because Big Pharma really runs and owns the news …

And if you think conventional medicine is scientific, please know statistics show that, last year, enough drugs were prescribed to give every man, woman and child in America 13 prescription drugs. Yet there’s no evidence of safety or efficacy of multiple drugs together. They don’t do science that way. Conventional medicine is standing on Jell-O. The evidence base is really limited.”

The AMA has also gone to great lengths to keep homeopathy suppressed, and if it weren’t for the AMA, there’d be a whole lot more scientific research backing homeopathy. Here’s just one of the stories Ullman recounts in this interview:

“We’re all familiar with the Sloan Kettering Foundation. What people don’t know was that Charles Kettering was a big advocate for homeopathy. Kettering was vice president of General Motors (GM). Alfred Sloan was president of GM, but Kettering was the inventor. He was the one that developed the electric battery. Delco battery was his company.

In 1920, he gave $1 million to Ohio State University for their homeopathic medical schools’ research department.

Wouldn’t you know it, a month later, one of the key members of the AMA went to meet with the president of Ohio State and gave him an ultimatum, saying that unless you return that million dollars back to Kettering, the AMA would reduce the grade of Ohio State’s allopathic conventional medical school (Ohio State had a homeopathic medical school and an allopathic one).

The Irrational Stance of FDA

When it comes to the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA), its stance on homeopathy is irrational to say the least, because on the one hand, it claims there’s no active ingredient in it; in other words, it’s essentially a placebo, yet on the other hand it claims homeopathic remedies are dangerous.

As explained by Ullman, the FDA was created in the early 1900s, but the agency really wasn’t empowered until 1938, during Franklin D. Roosevelt’s reign, when New York senator Dr. Royal Copeland wrote the Federal Food, Drugs and Cosmetics (FD&C) Act of 1938, which charged the FDA with the regulation of drugs. Ullman offers the following bit of historical background:

“Royal Copeland was not just a senator. He was a medical doctor — a homeopathic physician. He was the dean of the New York Homeopathic Medical College. Before that, he was the mayor of Ann Arbor, where he grew up. He was a professor at the University of Michigan, which had a homeopathic department.

A part of this legislation gave recognition to homeopathy on par with the United States Pharmacopeia. The United States Pharmacopeia and the Homeopathic Pharmacopoeia were on equal footing. Then, in the late '70s, the FDA deemed that homeopathic medicines are primarily over-the-counter drugs, because they’re so basically safe, you don’t need a doctor’s prescription to use them.

Up until that time, the FDA and the homeopaths had a good working relationship. In fact, up until literally a year or two ago, we had a good working relationship in that our medicines were allowed. There were certain [homeopathic] medicines that only medical doctors and naturopathic physicians were allowed to prescribe due to dose issues. We’re fine with that too. But the vast majority were over-the-counter drugs.

However, in the last year or two, as a result of pressure brought by Big Pharma and skeptics of homeopathy, they began to change the regulations. We don’t know with specificity what they are planning to do. They’re saying now that they’re changing it from the present model to what’s called risk-benefit model.

Because their position is that homeopathy provides no benefits, we are concerned they’re going to find little risks in different things, like they did with Standard or Hyland’s Homeopathic teething tablets … We’re now waiting for them to come out with the specifics of their [new] guidelines.

We’ve written to them, many of us, in detail, making our recommendations. We’re now ready for them to respond … They say they’re going to maintain most of the homeopathic remedies, but I am worried they may reduce access to what are called homeopathic nosodes.

Nosodes are homeopathic medicines, super diluted, made from different bacteria and viruses. Right now, only medical doctors, naturopathic doctors and professional homeopaths have access to these nosodes. I’m fine with that. But it would be a real problem [if they were taken away].”

Homeopathy Versus Drugs

Again, it’s worth remembering that the FDA approves all pharmaceutical drugs, and the average American is on 13 of them simultaneously — many of which have flimsy justification for their use at best. Drugs, as a general rule, never treat underlying causes. They treat symptoms by suppressing them.

The insanity of this model is evidenced by the fact that drugs, when properly prescribed and taken, kill an estimated 106,000 Americans each year. Yet, in the name of “protecting public health,” the FDA claims homeopathic remedies may need to be reined in because they might be dangerous — even though there’s no active ingredient. As noted by Ullman:

“Here’s where your bullshit detectors need to go up, because it’s so obvious that homeopathic medicines are safer. To reduce access … to the safe medicines, and yet have complete access to so many conventional drugs, which are so dangerous, would be the epitome of a 'doctatorship.’ That’s a word I developed.

There is also what I call 'medical chauvinism.’ There’s the assumption that there’s only one way to heal people. You and I, and I bet every other person listening to this, knows there are other methods. We need to stand up for ourselves.”

More Information

To learn more about homeopathy and/or obtain Ullman’s services, check out Homeopathic.com and HomeopathicFamilyMedicine.com. For direct questions, you may also write to him at [email protected]. Ullman has also created an e-course called “Learning to Use a Homeopathic Medicine Kit,” which is available on www.HomeopathicFamilyMedicine.com.

This course is for laypeople or health professionals who have no real desire to become a licensed homeopath but would still like to learn how to use simple remedies for common injuries and for various non-life-threatening ailments. The accompanying e-book, “Evidence-Based Homeopathic Family Medicine,” is nearly 550 pages and filled with specific references, including links to published studies. A series of video tutorials are also included.

Another excellent resource is the National Center for Homeopathy (NCH), which is the leading organization for homeopaths. They have a couple different websites, including HomeopathyCenter.org, where you can find a listing of qualified homeopaths and a helpful “Find a Remedy” search feature. NCH also holds an annual conference and issue a bimonthly magazine. “They are doing the most important work,” Ullman says.

Lastly, there’s also a group of mothers in Texas called “Americans for Homeopathy Choice.” They’ve been putting together petitions for homeopathy. “I really support their work,” Ullman says.

“One last thing is that I know a lot of people go to Amazon to buy their homeopathic books, medicines and different things, but I want to encourage people to, when possible, use homeopathic sources, and use natural medicine sources for getting your medicines.

from Articles http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2018/12/02/evidence-based-homeopathic-family-medicine.aspx source https://niapurenaturecom.tumblr.com/post/180708805801

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jakehglover · 5 years

Text

Evidence-Based Homeopathic Family Medicine

youtube

We won an important court case settlement by differentiating medical care from health care. We made it clear that I wasn't treating a disease. I was treating a person with a disease.

Definition of Homeopathy

And the very word, 'symptom' means sign or signal, and symptoms are just that. They're signaling us that something's wrong. Instead of turning off that signal, in homeopathy, you turn into the skid.

Homeopathy Was a Leading Medical Treatment Until 1901

Ullman also delves into some of this backstory in this interview so, for more, listen to the audio or read through the transcript. Here's just one sordid tidbit:

Homeopathy Basics

1 to 100, six times

1 to 100, 30 times

1 to 100, 200 times

"What actually goes on is this — and it's quite amazing. In homeopathy, we use test tubes made out of glass … because we thought glass was inert. But guess what, it isn't.

Less Is More

Another major benefit is the fact that there are no side effects. Were you to select the wrong remedy, nothing happens. There's no reaction — no benefit, but also no adverse effect.

Is There Scientific Evidence That Homeopathy Works?

In 1920, he gave $1 million to Ohio State University for their homeopathic medical schools' research department.

The Irrational Stance of FDA

Homeopathy Versus Drugs

More Information

Lastly, there's also a group of mothers in Texas called "Americans for Homeopathy Choice." They've been putting together petitions for homeopathy. "I really support their work," Ullman says.

from HealthyLife via Jake Glover on Inoreader http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2018/12/02/evidence-based-homeopathic-family-medicine.aspx

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