See The Amazing Burning Boy Dance, Just 25 Cents

See The Amazing Burning Boy Dance, Just 25 Cents
or Things I Release Forever -- The shining suit case handle

Copyright, Terry Turner, 2009


Of late I have been writing mainly about dealing with deadly cancer and, of course, you can't deal with cancer without looking at other issues.


All serious integrative medicine knows, absolutely, that we store emotional and physical damage in our bodies, and this stored negative energy is very adverse to human health. At another time I will list resources in regard to this "storage" but in the short term, take a look at folks like Marty Kleva http://gemfireair.com/aboutme.html --- the book Soul Dancing and a great deal of invaluable material on her website; or Cindy and Dr. Bob Deering of http://www.spiritemergenceoftaos.com/ --- free consultations available, or people in the tradition of Dr. Hamer of Germany.


At this time, I am simply going to address a terrifying memory which I would love to totally release and replace entirely with good and happy thoughts.


Around 1945 or so, I would have about six years, old. In the late fall of the year I had an event which cost me pain for months then and probably for all the years since.


At that time of year, it was common for property owners to clear away dead plants, trash, and debris of every sort. In the neighborhood where I lived there were gigantic honey suckle and other bushes of enormous size on most the properties.


When the wintry blasts had killed the green leaves, turning them to a sort of toasty colorful brown and red, all such plants were cut back and piled in ditches...what we called bar ditches at the time. These ditches ran along side our oiled roads and drained off water from rains. The ditches tended to be rather deep, I am guessing on average maybe about three or four feet deep.


When all the debris had been cleared from the property, which invariably included a goodly amount of trash which might contain anything, it was piled in the ditch between the property and the road and burned. Burning such trash was totally uncontrolled at that time.


Depending on wind, the amount of trash, the amount of plant material, and such factors, these fires might burn for half a day or a day or two and, over time, the top of the debris would develop a thick ashen gray coat which looked cool, and was material that had been totally burned away, but that gray blanket covered a small ocean of red hot embers that smoldered on..... white hot, red fire banked, volcanic like, beneath its warm gray blanket.


On this particular, day, as a young tow headed kid, I was walking along the road, I think returning from my first grade classes and suddenly, from the corner of my eye I saw something bright and very shinny --- clearly it was some wonderful thing. Do recall, please, that this is early on in WWII --- there were few bright and shinning things for kids --- and it was a khaki and olive green world for most people at the time, not black and white, not color. At the time things like our little tiny toy trucks were mainly rubber and colored with lead paint; dolls were still often bisque or relatively high grade well finished plastic, but they did not shine and sparkle as now do all things in our so called modern world.


Standing on the edge of that deep bar ditch I could feel some heat, and in Texas, even in September it is hot anyway.... we try to ignore heat to the extent possible. I could feel heat wafting off the gray ash; I could see the bright handle gleaming in the afternoon soon.


And, of what use was that bright handle to a young kid? Are you kidding me? In that day all kids existed on imagination ... we did have movies, CDS, videos, electronic toys, we just imagined things. You could pretend that handle was pistol just like Tom Mix's own six shooter. Ha! with anything that bright it could even be one of those spark throwing Flash Gordon rocket and space type guns. You could clean it and carry it around in your little stripped overalls and show it to other kids.... and they would all wish they hand one, so rare were really bright things. There was no end of uses, like digging holes, and pretending that it would unlock doors and who knows what and it would be my very own little treasure. And it was free!


The deep gray ash extended down the ditch about 100 feet it each direction.


So I resolved to have it. I would just jump in the ditch, seize the suitcase handle, and jump out.


Little did I know I was about to enter an endless molten hell.


I gave a little jump towards the middle of the bar ditch, and as my feet sank through the top of the ash, the ash flew skyward, a huge quantify of ash propelled by my weight and the rising heat instantly towered over me, I was sucking the ash into my lungs, I had to close my eyes, and following the ash the red hot embers shot skyward as I sank deeper and deeper into the burning inferno.


I knew I was in bad trouble and I knew I had to get out some way, even though I was now effectively on fire, my clothes and flesh were burning and I was blind for practical purposes and, then, I made yet another bad decision, I got a glimpse of the length of the ditch and began to run towards the distant end where the fire terminated.


I must have looked like a little motor boat racing down a channel of water and throwing up a rooster tail of ash and fiery red embers. How fast can you run while being cooked alive? Fast friends, fast.


Coming out the end of the bar ditch, which left a long string of fire, smoke, embers, and hell behind, me all I could think was to run to my grandmother, the woman who raised me, Annie Turner. My pants were burned off almost to my knees, my little shoes were bubbling away on my feat, embers were smoldering all over me, in my hair, on my clothes and anywhere a hot coal could lodge a holding.


I do not recall much of the run for home. Most of when I then remember is that Mom and some neighbor grabbed and dosed me from a rain barrel and then in quick order swept everything off the kitchen table. Mom first doused me with kerosene from top to bottom --- kerosene was the useful alternative treatment for everything in that era. I suppose it is too refined today to be of use for anything on a medicinal level. Once she had me soaked in kerosene, she cut off my shoes and clothes and did what ever mothers can do to calm me... in the meantime, reaching into her flour bin (the 25# of flour kind that was under every kitchen counter of the era) she steady added huge quantities of flour, water, and some buttermilk to a huge bread bowl, and once the paste was acceptable to her, she began to slather the paste onto me so that no air could reach my body... this went on, to me, forever, the cooling paste helped soothe the fire.


I however remained in excruciating pain which went on for days. I don't really recall much about it. Mom worked on me day and night, especially on my feet which took the worst of it. I am sure weeks were involved and I am quite sure Mom never left me, steady replacing the paste, steadily watering me down with kerosene, steadily applying butter to really bad places, steadily using little bits of block ice here and there.

Eventually, I was well enough to crawl around on my knees, so long as I manged to keep my feet in the air... again this went on a long time. Weeks I suppose.


Eventually, I got well, got to wear shoes, and began to feel normal except that a great deal of trust had been removed my life, a great deal of fear had been installed.


Another kid got the shining handle.


This event, even at 70 years of age plagues me now and then. As do many other events in my life. All of us have such traumas some more or less dramatic but all deep, scarring, and painful.


My present solution is this. I am going to open a home in my 70 year old heart for that young tow headed kid. I am going in deep meditation back to that burning hell and I am going to rescue young Terry Don before he leaps into that ditch and I am bringing him back to live forever, safely with me. We can be pals. Maybe we will get catcher's mitt and find someone to play ball with but we are going to forget, forgive, and forever release the burning bar ditch on East Second Street in Wichita Falls, Texas.


Traumas are out there. Not far into the future I would find myself at death's door electrocuted by a radio antenna hanging over a 50,000 KV electric transmission line; and far off in the future lay a buffalo attack, and many other events to address. But, today, I am going to bring Terry Don from the past to the future.

Photo: Annie and Joe Turner seated, 1941, Joe holding Terry Don about age 2; I was gigantic, and, standing in the background, my brother/uncle, William Laverne Turner, "Buddy."

Path of the Flower Child

Copyright, Terry Turner, 2009

Being a flower child was really easy until, say, around age 65.

Then, somehow, it began to get inexplicably harder.

Critical? Who? Me?

Copyright, Terry Turner, 2009

I have never been critical, ever,

unless it was of someone else.

A Slice of the Real Anti Cancer World

Copyright, Terry Turner, 2009

Thursday was my last radiation day for which I am grateful, but that or something left me feeling sort of deflated. Never the less, several of you have asked what am I doing out here in terms of recovering my health and defeating my cancer which, as mentioned, when discovered was eating my spine, eating into my my spinal column, attacking my spinal cord, my ribs, and working away to digest my left lung.... a nasty silent aggressor.

One person said, I suppose you stroll up and down the beach a lot. Ha! Stroll? Those us who arrive in this part of the West are sitting on the edge of our graves. We have been, almost without exception, given an emotionless death sentence by members of an oncology team who seem totally bereft of feelings other than trying to figure out how to scare you into killing yourself by committing to about $200,000 worth of chemotherapy and, maybe some fun options like having lots of your body cut up and, maybe some radiation as well too burn you until you can't swallow, digest, or take a dump.

You may recall they told me I was a Hail Mary Miracle Case in the beginning --- small cancer, easy to deal with, then suddenly I was rather drastic and needed urgent chemo, and then, in quick order I only had a two percent chance of survival, even with chemo, and when Susan and I kicked back and said we would seek a second opinion and take a look at what we believed, in our hearts, to be true, that chemo and radiation and surgery produce dead survivors and that cleansing, nutrition, clean food, immune support and logical, safe, minimally damaging treatments produces not survivors but people who have recovered from cancer. Of course, Susan and I have been advocates for clean food, nearly impossible to get in America these days, and good nutrition most of our lives.

"Mr. Jolly," as I shall call my happy oncologist, called us the next day and said we could not start chemo fast enough, that it was too late for me in any case, and then he added, you will be paralyzed in a matter of days, your spine is already too week for you travel. Suzi was busy booking the flight and notes and other powerful encouragements were arriving daily from family and friends around the world. I am so happy that I can say that I had not one nay-sayer to deal with (other than Mr. Jolly) and in essence everyone supported our decision to head west for the best center of integrative and alternative and traditional care that could be found under one roof -- that roof belongs, of course, the Issels Medical Center.

So, when we get here, we are not strolling, most of us are glancing downward into the pit that is clearly the grave that modern diet and modern medicine have digging for us for years.... it catches up with some of us sooner than others. Exhausted and hardly able to walk, rise, sit, stand upon arrival here, a caring staff has its hands full to deal with us ... believe me, upon arrival, trying to grasp how quickly your life has been splintered, fearful of the darkness towards the bottom of the grave, mentally exhausted, ordinarily due long term pain (almost 15 weeks in my case before I had any relief), your emotions are slowly becoming a sea of fear, mush, and tears which, somehow, you must manage to marshall into a positive we can do this and win attitude. So, again no, we do not stroll the beach. The few of us with the strength to do so do, of course. I tried to make it to the beach but simply did not have the strength to stand nor the stamina to walk that far. I do thank God that I can daily hear and see the ocean from our little apartment.

So, what happens out west and what do we really do here. I will give you the best picture I can but every day is unique to the day, the patient, and the cancer, and the odd things that attend the day. For example, one day I was scheduled to go into Far Infrared Therapy but I came out of one treatment and for unknown reasons began to cramp and had to do some quick marching up and down the hall to try to relive the cramps ... and this, in turn affected the rest of my schedule for that day.

In the beginning intense medical history and test results are assembled form wherever such things can be had.. collected by FEDEX, Email, fax, etc. so that the doctors can assemble the best profile of you and your problem as possible and, of course, all the usual things such as weights, pressures, oxygen content, supplements taken, medicines taken, prior and other medical problems and histories and so forth. As I am 70, and having had a rather eventful life I have to be careful to remember every thing and just drafting this reminded me that I failed to report that I had a voluntary vasectomy in 1963. I must let the staff know tomorrow.

As this material begins to mature into one's database, the various treatments, tailor made for each case, each person, and each day begin to be launched. There are no days on which all the same things happen day after day but, on most days, something like this will be the drill.

Susan and I arise about 5 Am, I joke that I do so to work on my original Issels Opera, "Have you had your coffee enema today? It's one thing that will help keep cancer away." I brew the un-roasted special coffee for my approximately cup and a half enema. It is hard to make enemas a pleasant topic and many of us, for a time, take the coffee enema morning and night.... twice the coffee, twice the fun.

We do some quick housekeeping, Susan is busy trying to figure out how to do a live organic type breakfast for me (not the huge portions of scrambled eggs with lots of cheese that I like) and invariably she wants to peel a large cucumber.... I like cucumber, of course, but some days, looking at the pale cucumber, I do realize it is not a good hot steaming biscuit of the type I am fond of making.

Between food preparation, enemas, showering, dressing, and all that goes with that, we have to begin to sort and assemble the supplements for the day.... these numbers vary, of course, from case to case, and time to time depending on the patient, the cancer, and the medical stats. In my case I start with three saucers. I put the morning, noon, and evening dose, individually, in each saucer. When each saucer has its allotment of pills, I leave the pills on the morning saucer as I must take them immediately after our breakfast.... not my beloved hot biscuit, gravy, or such of long ago and far away. The pills in the other two saucers I transfer to plastic bags for later use.

At this time, day in and day, I am prescribed one powdered drink called Wholly Immune. I am prescribed about 90 drops of three liquids in a quart of water (the Heel Detox Kit), and I take, ore or less about fifty assorted pills each day before any additional pills given me at the clinic.

The price of some supplements are rather breathtaking, though I am not complaining. One item called Salvestrol Platinum, 75 caps, costs about $195 per bottle....such is the nature of the battle.

Then we have to try to handle some of our emails, do things to try to keep our little interests going, and get showered and ready to move out by taxi or hitched ride to the clinic around 7:30 AM --- arising at 5 barely gives us time to do this, though I do admit to having a little fresh coffee before we launch fully into the day.

Arriving at he clinic, all our daily stats are gathered (weight, pressure, oxygen, etc.) and then we all begin to move off to our various treatments. Wednesday, as I recall, I had far-infrared therapy first in which the name of the game is weakened cancer cells with heat. Cancer does not like heat and so we strive to heat our bodies to around 105-106 degrees and hold that temperature to kill the cancer cells. There are two methods, one is dry heat, and one is in a closed chamber which will pull the sweat off your body in copious amounts and, in that case, you are trying to drink all the water you can.

Then you might move on into a hyperbaric chamber (an oxygen box) in which you are sealing in a large plastic chamber, rather shaped like a giant hot dog, and you breathe oxygen... it gets hot in the chamber and I usually ask for a block of ice.... as the pressure rises your ears pop, airplane style, and the heat goes up; the ice helps me keep cool and distracts me.

Probably then you might move on to, for example the IV room, where they punch the needles and ports into your arms that must be opened to become the highways for the various specialty IVs. Some IVs --- an IV is a bag of nutritional fluid or meds which is conveyed into your body via the needles --- are what I call shorties, maybe they only last an hour, some are dreadfully big and, like the type which are mainly large vitamin C dose type, nay last three to four hours. These long bags are bothersome in that you need to remain seated for long periods of time and they certainly interfere with bath room time.

With all this going on someone always has a little cup of this or a drink or that or another pill to be taken while the IV continues.

Somehow, with all this there are conferences to be held with the doctors, there are grief counseling sessions with Dr. Walter Lewis, a man for whom I have the greatest respect, and so on. Having the chance to personally talk with Dr. Issels, or Dr. Walter Kim, or Dr. Lewis is always a high point.

Then, thanks to a caring and determined staff somehow you will get more and other treatments worked in. Off to reflexology, quick let's get to acupuncture, or lymphatic massage. Let's keep moving, let's get some new blood draws ... just six or seven new tests today, and in between these wonderful nurses are seeing that you get down a ton of water, that you don't fall on your head, that you don't pull over your IV tower, that you get your green drinks, your green salad, and your green lunch.

Whirling around in the back ground are some great informational lectures, too bad the whole world cannot hear these which explain how our dead farms are providing us with dead food that is killing us, how faulty lab tests can be, how erroneous diagnosis can be, and so forth.

And, of course, there are some classes such as what types of ingredients to avoid, or how to select food, or how to prepare food (for many people the idea of preparing food is almost as alien to them as cancer, but prepare food you must if you are going to live. And, of course one must relearn how to think about food, how to select food, and how to eat food. Here is a clue for you. Eat more than half your food as raw uncooked veggies to take a great step towards avoiding cancer. Suzi and I feel that though we ate raw food, we did not eat enough in our rush to attend to business. I can assure you, in our present and future lives, nothing will replace the need to first and foremost take care of our personal health issues.

Towards the end of the day, the fat IV bags grow flat, at last, and as we make preparations to wrap up the day, it is not uncommon to get an immune boosting shot, made from you own blood, on the spot, to help launch your immune defenses to keep them fully stirred up and active against cancer.

This "schedule" of course is only approximation of our daily schedule but I think it will give you a picture of sorts. At the end of our day, around 5:00 PM, for two weeks, Suzi and I then had to gather up our books, my supplements, meds, and liquids and go to the Cottage Hospital where I would then take the daily radiation treatment which I had to have due to the advanced attack cancer made on my spine. By the time we process through the radiation treatment and return to our apartment, the clock is advancing on 7:30 PM, and it is time for us to figure out an organic meal, suitable to my program, and do all the nightly things that require attention before the 5:00 AM alarm calls us away.

The folks there were fabulous, kind, caring but and do note this, they seemed somehow disconnected on one level because they offered cookies at the entrance and candies throughout the facility to the public, clients, visitors and so forth.

Regarding all the candy and sugar, I so wanted to say, "Hey! Folks, don't you know cancer is trying to kill us and you are feeding cancer free sugars, its favorite food?" I did not tackle that with the administration. I was just too tired to go to battle, but, dear family, dear friends, don't just assume that what you see, what you hear, what you are offered is sensible. Anyone can see that offering sugar to a cancer victim is an actual crime. This of course raises the question as to whether people in the healing professions should engage in concerns about social amenities like cookies or should they do all that they can to educate their patients.

As I patient, I would prefer to be reminded to avoid sugars at all costs.

Addendum, my first radiation treatment was in August 2009, in Santa Barbara, California; by November I was again having radiation in Mt. Pleasant Texas at the Bo Pilgrim Oncology Center... Bo Pilgrim is the well known chicken king in a Pilgrim style hat.

Your Constant Curmudgeon,

Terry Turner

Image Credit; to the best of my knowledge the image is part of a small photocopy of a painting which was possible done by an American Indian person by the name of Ron Twelve. The copy was then glued on a Russian style three piece triptych and, to me, remains incredibly charming. The original title of the piece may have been Indian Easter. I regret that is all that I can offer in the way of information.

Gold Coin, Golden Friends

Copyright, Terry Turner, 2009

When I think about the people across my life who have helped me, I shall be resolved to recall all of them and record the varied and many ways in which they helped me.

There are people who have helped so much, so often, and over such a long period of time that it would require Gone with the Wind volumes to try to thank them.

Today, I am thinking about various to aid or not aid decisions I made and whether I did the right thing. It is often hard to know if you were right or wrong or whether something was in your own best interest or, for example, in the best interest of the person you were trying to help.

Around 1982, Susan and I were hard pressed financially as a result of a severe strain on our resources which involved trying to keep a Colorado gold mine afloat. During that time a young mother with two relatively small children, a friend and business acquaintance of mine, called on us in our offices and explained that she was basically homeless, jobless, and had no way of feeding her children. Her name was Hope and I do recall what a tremendous optimist she was and had always been. Susan and I were nearly in the same condition as she at that time, but we did have around $1200 in cash.

What to do? What to do? We elected to give her our remaining cash and hope for the best ... while we did not regret the decision then or now, it led in an infinite number of problems for us because we became the sourceless ones. Perhaps we should have advanced her less and kept more... who can know?

Some four or five years later, Suzi and I found ourselves in a situation in which we could not manage to pay our own rent for, I suppose, the first time in our lives. It was an alarming situation which we had tried to resolve by reducing our rates for typesetting to nearly zero but there was just no income to be had... the personal computer had arrived and typography was dying like the very last leaves before a December storm.

At that time we had the custom, one of our "luxuries," of having a home cooked meal on Thursday evening with an old friend. We enjoyed the cooking and the fellowship, and the chance to think of anything except business and money. In those days, we will still in the burger era and often enjoyed huge burgers and sometimes with rice and huge bowls of gravy ... our appetites were hearty and the thought of a "healthy diet" did not interest or repress us. Our conversations usually ran the gamut of everything from the effect of retrograde planets to the reflective questions that surrounded meditation or even structured water and vibrational theories of one sort or another.

Our guest was always Greg, an old friend of many years who probably knows more about my life than any man alive. As we made our way through dinner it was quiet clear that finances would not be kept from the dining table. As Greg came to understand our plight, I have no doubt that he had reservations about what he could or should do. He had a wife, he had obligations, and he knew whatever he advanced us would, at the time, be far beyond our ability to repay.

Whatever his own thoughts may have been, however great my humiliation may have felt, when
Greg took his leave for the evening, a bright gold coin lay on the dining table between Susan and I.

If you have never been in similar circumstances, you cannot imagine how big such a coin looks, you cannot image how it seems to flash and glow as from an inner fire, you cannot imagine how heavy, how solid, how reliable, how substantial it seems to be. There lay our immediate rescue, a bright golden circle of power holding our landlord at bay.

The next day we had to cash it in for paper money.... gosh, how we wished we could have kept the coin as opposed to trading it for paper, but we had to have the cash that would pay our rent and still buy a bit of food and gasoline, and the precious time to get ourselves reorganized and moving in a viable direction.

Years would go by, businesses would come and go, until finally, one fine day, Suzi and I were able to drive up to Montrose, Colorado and purchase a fine golden coin to return to Greg and his beautiful Catherine. It went to him by mail from Colorado to Texas. We did not send interest nor, I am sure did he expect it, but at least the coin made its full circle. I have not seen Greg in years but across time and space we are yet good and strong friends and, believe me, time will never diminish the importance of that particular gold coin in our lives.

How often do we find ourselves calling for help or being able to offer help in a lifetime? More often than most of us would think. And, how many people, friends, do you suppose desperately need help and cannot find the voice to ask for that same help? There are many.

I am now headed toward my 71st birthday and, recently. due to an unsuspected cancer attack which nearly cost me my life, I found my self liquidating whatever assets I could put a hand to, and quickly leaving Texas oncology behind to seek the alternative treatment in California that I hope and believe will save my life and spare my spine, already invaded by my silent attacker.

As I write you, I am midstream in my battle to overcome this cancer, feeling fully humbled, actually feeling embarrassed and humiliated to once again be dependent on donors, gifts, and loans of every stripe.

Thanks to God for my many benefactors among family, friends, and even people that I do not know, who have come to my aid, whether with cash products, transportation, or other resources which allow me to continue purchasing the great services of the Issels Medical Center in Santa Barbara, California.

In this little tale, I mention Greg. I could mention others of heroic dimension, such as Marty, Caroline, Ann, Sandy, Ron, Wilbur, Kim, Brod, Mickie, Mark, Sizemore, Joan, Edna, Todd, Lou, Linda, and others, many, many others.

One of those whose name I have not sung for a long time was my deceased uncle William Laverne Turner. In World War II, a mysterious time for young children, a time when events left children feeling lost and at odds with things, I recall that Buddy, as we called him, was about to ship off to Egypt. I remember how "formal" he looked in starched golden khakis and I recall that he picked me before boarding a local West Texas bus and said a few words to me, and when he put down, he reached in his pocket and put a big silver dollar in my hand. "Terry Don," he said, "it is fine thing to have a little money in your pocket." Then he was gone, disappearing in the rumble and dust of the departing bus, to save the very America that is today being destroyed.

Many years later his sister, Dorothy, would hand me a Pick Wick grocery bag of shirts for my school year... they were rather shimmery and very colorful, I think they Hawaiian shirts and, as she was hard pressed to support her own children, I do not know how she manged to get the shirts for me.

The shirts were used, of course, but how colorful, shinny, and new they seemed to me. Long years later her sister, my aunt, Ollie Irene, would reach into her meager resources to keep me in freshly laundered and starched white shirts in order to help me in my quest to find work.

This story, as I write it, gives me an odd feeling... I sound like a person who never made pay day yet, looking back over the decades, I was a hard working successful executive. After my military service, I quickly became the most often promoted employee among junior executives at Southwestern Bell Telephone and served as staff trouble shooter for some time; from there I moved on become Business Manger, Materials Manger, and Industrial Engineer of Cessna Aircraft, then in short order I became the International Materials Manger, Purchasing Manger, and Senior Project Engineer of Whitaker Cable... all Fortune 500 companies, before I dropped from corporate business and became an entrepreneur involved in oil, mining, magazine and newspaper publishing and a wide array of other ventures. Even so, today, as you see, I am quite reduced in my prospects at the moment (please don't think I am "finished," I am simply regrouping for another attack).

Ah friend, if you could feel the white hot tears that rush down my cheeks now, propelled by feelings of gratitude, shame, humility, humbleness, and pain --- emotions that are simply excruciating as I wonder whether I thanked them well and good; and, of course, I must ask myself if I could have done more for them on other occasions. I am reminded of email I often get from a lady by the name of Sharon which, invariably, exhorts one and all to "Be kinder than necessary for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle."

If you can't pay it back, maybe you can pay it forward. If you can't pay in kind maybe you can pay in other ways but, in any case, in these and such things we can at least build a little of the fraternity and fellowship that we so desperately need in this world. I think also, that we need to always remember that for some much is little, for some a little is a great deal. I have a sister who devotes virtually all of her resources to animal rescue type activities. She has denied herself many joys, many treasures, for many years to fulfill her decision to help protect and care for defenseless animals; when such a person can also reach out beyond her immediate cause such a person reaches a long way and gives far more than you might imagine.

Materialism is a funny thing. Today one of my doctors mentioned to me that a one of the treatments he would like me take (just one of a variety which I need) will cost about six thousand dollars a pop!!! Can you imagine what I thought? Six grand for one treatment and we are bleeding $1500 a day already. Are pills and drops truly so dear, so costly?

He, the optimist, my doctor, thank you God, said he might be able to get me on an evaluation program which would provide the drug free. I have to love his thinking.

I suppose if God wants me to live the drug will be free. But what is the insane system that we have erected to cause the expenses associated with drug development to cost so much? How many sick and dying people can even consider the cost of medications in that price range?

I can only suppose that true cause is, as always, the fine hand of our increasingly incompetent government. The solution, of course, can only be better and less government. And, friend, what sort of criminal thinking creates a world in which insurance, more or less, will only pay for therapies that are conventional and that will almost certainly fail while totally refusing to support alternative methods which are succeeding and have, in some cases, been succeeding for decades? Is this insanity or simply intentional cruelty and profiteering?

Photo Credit, Ridgway evening sky, 2005, looking toward Red Mountain from Ridgway, Colorado, by Terry using an old Dimage X digital.

Throw Away Pot

A Throw Away Coffee Pot

Most of you know I am rather challenged with a cancer situation that is trying to eat me alive...but little does the cancer know I am winning... thanks to many of your prayers and good wishes.

In the meantime, more than you care to know about almost any subject begins here. We are staying in a one bedroom condo on the Santa Barbara coast with cool sea breezes, the ocean to murmur us to sleep at night and, like all furnished quarters, lots of defective things about.

The tradition four cup coffee pot, designed and ever improved some 30 years ago was my first objection as I do insist on a good cup of coffee.

We were telling my sister Kim about this and that we had not fond a place within 15 miles to buy a coffee pot so she said she would send us a throw away pot.

It arrived at the clinic where I am taking treatments. I would not say it was exactly a throw away pot as it took two UPS drivers to get it up to the second floor of clinic after which we had to hire a taxi driver to haul it down and help us carry it into the condo. We keep hoping she did have to mortgage something to finance the pot.

I don't want to say this pot is LARGE but is BIG. We have negotiated a deal with a neighbor here to let us leave it on his patio at night so we have room to open the dishwasher, the fridge and things like that.

I have been thinking I could rent his patio and maybe open a little al fresco coffee shop with a couple of umbrellas, you know the type that are too hot to sit under if you are Texas but are perfect in Santa Barabara or Paris.

At any rate, it makes the best darned coffee you ever tasted but, following their instruction requires us to use about a half pound of cofffee a day, nevertheless it is really good coffee and does not suffer from all the excitotoxins that come automatically from those places like Star Bucks where they add triple chemical zingers to plain coffee in order to make your eyeballs pop like baby giant firecrackers.

Kim has always been too generous to a fault and has the most open hand and heart one ever heard of.... she has always been far too good to me.

Just so you don't think this is all a picnic, I can hardly type this for the cramps that have plagued me for hours.... but not to worry, I am winning and it is losing.

Photo Credit. Quick throw away shot of Terry and Sky Williams with her attempt to do a painting of the Spring Maiden...... a painting of many tales and, after many trials, created especially for Ann K.

Drugs ineffective against Wilbur Ramsey

What can you do with a blog, of any sort, except tell stories, and try to correct some errors and omissions? I am not a blogger in the usual sense, I am just looking for ways to communicate these days since I can't do the huge volume of email that used to characterize my daily communications. I need all that energy, now to fight my cancers.

Fighting cancer takes a lot out of you and it takes a huge amount of physical energy away, energy formerly squandered on politics, fighting giant pharma, big agra and others who seem determined not to understand that they poison not only me, not only you, not only the world, but they poison themselves and their own children.... think not?

If you think they are are not killing their own children, let them try to find some absolutely clean water; let them try to eat an absolutely organic chemical free cabbage; let them try to pick a fresh plum that is not covered by xeno dust, powders, chemicals, who knows what chemical insecticides, fungicides, and other fallout; let them eat plums,l apples, and carrots that must suck up water polluted with every sort of medical, agricultural, and human and feed lot chemical, plums that must breathe air that floats like a sort of universal sea of chemicalized, contaminated air prepared as far away as your next town, pollutants from China, radiation from Russia, and other parts... think that we are not all poisoned? Think, think again.

But, as I was saying, I need all that extra energy now, all the energy I can muster to help me process the daily radiation burns and the monumental detoxification on all levels required to fight the aggressor --- a sort of silence, powerful, evil termite that invaded my defense system, and slowly began to consume me, rather like a voracious Trojan Horse hidden in my lungs and bones, digging holes in my spine, trying to collapse my tower of strength, .... who knows when the attack on my body started, who knows how long I lived side by side with my silent, invisible, killing visitor... I had not a clue. Then, in seven incredible days in July, I was determined to be a miracle case: July 12, we never catch it this early, it is small cell carcinoma, only a small patch in your lower left lung.... we can clean it up quickly), about July 5: your condition is very advanced, very serious and it has spread to the spine you have to start some treatment immediately, we are ordering more tests; then, the fateful July 15 when the oncologist, without benefit of all tests told me quickly in less than ten minutes that I only had a two percent chance to survive, that I would be paralyzed in a matter of days.... the termite was trying to finish off my T4 vertebrae and take control of my spinal canal and prepare to lunch on my spinal cord.

I wanted a second opinion, I wanted something besides the virtual death guaranteed by chemotherapy. You can't travel they said; you are dead walking he said. But shortly, I was out of Texas and in California and getting both radiation and alternative therapy..... and boy did I need the radiation to help head off the cancer at the pass commonly called T4... stop them there or call it a day it seemed.... now I have four more days of radiation to go..... gotta love those cobalt canon firing their deadly invisible beams into my deadly cancer termites.

But I digress, I wanted to talk about Wilbur Ramsey, and with you permission, here is what I wanted to say to an old friend. I am writing the following in particular because I failed to thank Wilbur in a prior email ... it was, I think, an odd oversight on my part. I blame it the pain killer drugs with which I am loaded. Drugs are certainly an essential if very excessively used part of our society but they also pose a serious intervention in the brain which may sometimes go unnoticed

Yesterday I was trying to remember people to thank. I wanted to be sure to make note of some very important contributors in my life even though I know there are too many to fully appreciate or recognize, try though I may. At the moment, about 2:15 AM, I am sweating it out again, drenched, and thinking of a friend, a former newspaper editor and publisher --- from the old days when the newspaper was published for the community, not for the political agenda of some far off power broker. And the world was still more or less what we once considered the world to be, unlike the present formless, plastic situation in which nothing is sure on any level.

I failed to mention him in my prior communique and find it odd that he slipped the foggy pain free zone that used to be my ever alert brain.

Wilbur Ramsey and his wife have been friends for a number of years. Wilbur is a dedicated fellow health research aficionado and has often aided us in helping others based on his keen memory and the thousands of pages of true research material which he has read during the last several years.

He has never failed to voluntarily help me by suggesting product sources, offering editorial suggestions, sending or turning me on to some good manufacturing labs. Wilbur is also a fantastic product designer and on his website you can find some of the best alternative products on the market today. Men, in particular, would find Wilbur's prostate product well worth examining along with things like cancer fighting Graviola, Esiak Tea (Canadian Nurse Essie), and AHCC --- the great Japanese mushroom product... I am not saying these things will cure you, cancer, or anything, I am saying they are good products, and well worth investigation and research. Wilbur is a great source for these types of unique products and for information about such types of products.

You can find Wilbur at
www.globalnutritions.com/catalog.htm

But what I wanted to say is that when Wilbur found out I had cancer, the following morning or so, I had a huge box of cancer fighting Graviola, Esiak Tea, and AHCC (active hexose correlated compound) sitting on my desk compliments of Wilbur... even drugs can't make you forget old friends like Wilbur. I did not see an invoice or questions about payment.

This is not the end of this or any story, it is one of many. Shortly I want to tell you a story, an old one, a little story about a gold coin which our friends, Greg and Catherine Leake, know of.

I have been trying also to think of what to say to and about Marti DeCluitt --- http://www.facebook.com/people/Marti-DeCluitt/1321035873 ---a remarkable person, a world class citizen in many ways, and a good friend decade after decade after decade.

Thanks for allowing me to share this memory.

Terry

I regret I still can't deal with open phone lines but I do accept messages at 903-285-6661, I am getting mail here in California and I am getting mail at PO Box 596, Mount Vernon, Texas, 75457, our personal PO Box.

I answer what I can as I can.

The Opinion --- You have a 2% chance of survival and you will probably be paralyzed in a couple of weeks.

Needless to say, a sane person can hardly go forward with such a premise as a plan of action!!!

Having recently been given a very bad cancer prognosis by some conventional doctors in Texas, I am now in California with one of the world's premier alternative doctors at the Issels Medical Center in Santa Barabara, California where I am doing both alternative and conventional treatments. As my situation is very serious, I think you can at least assume that I am telling you the truth as I see it. As I am on some drugs, I may not be as clear as I would like to be, but these words are my view at the moment, drugs or no.

I wish I had the energy to write all that I would like to communicate but, while I feel I am making progress, and I am still rather weak and can't address many things I would like.

First of all thanks for the huge blessing your thoughts words, works, and resources have been to me in this particular crisis. I strongly suspect that without the immediate surge of support, I might already be history. As it is, circumstances carried me immediately to this wonderful clinic and its very anti-cancer contrarian staff--- they have a world class outlook, almost fifty years of proven experience,and they are winning the broad battle against cancer.

It is pitiful that the standard insurance and medical practice drivers, the PTB (the power that be), of this country are only dedicated to promoting chemo, surgery, and radiation when other, cheaper, and more effective tools are well known..... the big guns in this country just will not support alternative medicine or research yet, though as the cancers spread perhaps their outlook will, at last, change.

Even he worst of things, greed-materialism-immorality-poverty, must collapse in time and we can look forward to a brighter day in these and other arenas. I should mention, that even though my alternative doctors generally oppose radiation, they all agree that I have no alternative but to undergo radiation to stop the invasion of my spine by my rapidly advancing cancer and, hopefully avoid the threat of a spinal collapse and paralysis within a short term.... so I am being daily cooked in my mid back zone with radiation from Cobalt guns... .a surreal experience conducted in near darkness and total silence while giant machines seems to study your body for the best place to take a bite. I regret the need, I do not fear the technology, it is just technology unlike chemo which is just a perfect total body poison... not big deal and I do appreciate the subsequent pain relief I have felt. I was in terrible pain for nearly 15 weeks and the radiation has almost eliminated the pain in four low dose treatments back to back.

If you wonder why I am so busy, just think of this, while I am getting various IV potions, people are busy taking blood, taking temps, weight, blood pressure, oxygen content, and on and on, in the meantime I am being herded up and down the halls going from Far Infrared Therapy... .a way of being cooked at around 125 degrees inside and out and then on to Hyperbaric Oxygen Saturation, very hot and drying in a large plastic tube..... but cancer cannot survive in oxygen... it loves sugar, alcohol, and hates oxygen and fresh green vegetables (these are clues folks).

While these things, and lymphatic massage, and acupuncture and related things go on, I take the equivalent of one pill about every four minutes..... it keeps a fellow busy, not to mention the business of brewing and taking coffee enemas (coffee for enemas is not a Folgers' product' and you tell it is medical coffee by the price :-)

Suzi is exhausted trying to deal with me and my needs and, frankly, without her I would be as near to a dead duck as I would care to be. She is worked to death dealing with trying to keep our little cottage by the bay (Issels Medical Clinic housing) on a diet plan that corresponds to my needs, dealing with my sweats and T-Shirts and such due to the fact that I with my nightly fever condition (detoxification) go three three two or three sets of sweats and underwear a night... or more.

I get very hot, sweat out the suit, then I begin to freeze and have to change into dry clothes at once..... along with this problem I taking drugs to help tamp down pain and inflammation; drugs like hydrocodone (rather like codeine), morphine (which I take as little as possible--really nasty stuff), prednisone which helps with pain and inflammation (and worse, perhaps) it makes me so emotional that I can hardly speak at times.... I know it drives Suzi crazy, when she says, "Be careful or how do you feel?" and I respond by tearing up or telling her I will cut her heart out and serve it up on a raw onion taco.... this will test the limits of any relationship.

In the dark of the night, I think of better times, not that these are not great, Thank You God, I listen to or read Marty Kleva (Thank You God) and her works regarding stress and overcoming major body trauma -- you can find Marty at http://www.gemfireair.com/, and I often read from Martina Newberry's poetry collection where we can all discover that we are somehow attached to Blue Island and Martina and each other (Thank You God.)

Most of you know Suzi is very petite, has small structure and hands and it hard for her to handle heavy things, jar lids, and such, and yet here she is stuck with lifting everything in our life... I can't even lift a quart jar and the laundry weighs more than she does.

I have to sign off..... I am hopeful of some sleep.

I do want especially to thank Caroline Durston of Spa Rio Caliente ( a great place for rest, R&R, and to dump some stress) near Guadalajara, in old Mexico, for her quick, forceful, positive support and encouragement, to Edna Hennessee of Dream Valley the quick influx of a priceless supply of Aloe Mystery and WLA 132 --- two of the most powerful agents in the world against radiation burns and effective against cancer, --- if you have an interest in Aloe, Edna is the expert with the best, purest aloe on the planet, in my opinion, and she also provides great private label product services and fine aloe drinks --- and of course, all thanks to my wonderful family, Kim and Todd in particular, for providing us an easy way to make the planes and arrive here promptly.

I want to thank the Deerings, old Taos friends, who daily continue to help me with certain types of bioenergetic information and symbols (peculiar to the type of exceptional and unique body information that the Deerings have developed in connection with healing) The Deerings can be found through Spirit Emergence of Taos --- if you have a health problem you can't overcome, these folks are well worth consulting. Trust me, I have many more to thank for many things including those who, like Marty Kleva, Marty DeCluitt, my wife's family, and my own family, seem to have always been ready in the background.

Believe me, I am doing all I can to beat this and will, in due course, bring the news about how to do it to the public in anyway that I can. Suzi and I will soon put up a website to explain what we have learned and to share that with others.... I imagine we are going ahead to make this some sort of donor/subscription/and free service but these, and other events remain to unfold in their own good time.

In closing, some of you who know me well, may be amused that there is long chance that an attack by a buffalo, now about 30 years ago, may have a role in my current health battle; seems that some elk and some buffalo are infected with brucellosis which has many similarities to cancer... it will be another week before we have these answers.

The best I can suggest to you at this time is to broaden your relationship with whatever your version of the Great Spirit is, eat raw green leafy vegetables, drop all the stress you can, cut sugar and alcohol and smoking at once, and, every day, for every challenge, for every pain, for every second chance, just say, "Thank You, God, Thank You."

Terry Turner