Monday, June 12, 2017, 11:43 AM EST...passed away peacefully...no, no, no. But, it was true. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Yeah, me-the compassionate pharmacist healer born to teach prevention, to somehow prevent the world from poisoning itself with physical and emotional toxins. Yet, I couldn't even heal my cool, calm, intellectual sistah-friend from almost dying from a stroke at age 57, only months after opening her own copywriting business, Catchphrase Copywriting. I, the western trained pharmacist with a holistic heart, had finally grown kahunas large enough to to be able to say that helping people with their health had little to do with dispensing the contents of an amber-colored vial and much more to do with facilitating the dimensions of wellness. She, having been the valiant soul that she was, fought back, though. She wasn't going out like this-after all, she had to get better-she was her mother's (dementia) caretaker. But it was going to be an uphill battle, the kind of battle you fight when you have no idea where the enemy came from, no clue what color the uniform is, nor what kind of weapons are in their arsenal. And then, the revelation... F**k. It was the the worst enemy possible. How? Why? Not the GBM army. Couldn't we have some kind of negotiations or something? A little time to form a treaty? No. Western medicine would rather play tiddlywinks with research that produces CAR-T cell therapies that "retail" at $500,000, while research on prevention and determining the root causes and origins of these "incurable" diseases goes severely underfunded and subsequently just not done...sufficiently. How many Brittany Maynards, Karen Glovers, John McCains, Beau Bidens, Ted Kennedys and countless others must linger, wither, and fall off before we collectively stop and say, "enough?" Out of nowhere, (the few risks that we do know-like ionizing radiation, head trauma, filtered cigarette smoking Karen didn't have nor was she exposed to) glioblastoma's tentacles squeezed my friends grey matter like silly putty oozes out of a strong man's grip, and robbed this world of one of its finest. Oh sure, she lived for 26 months post-diagnosis, but at what cost? Can the months of pain, disfigurement, and disability really be counted as live-ing? Karen Glover, March 22, 1958-June 12, 2017. KAREN SO MUCH BUT ACHIEVING SO LITTLE #GBMwearecomingforyou #gbmawareness #glioblastomaprevention #itstime
CUP OF JOE: The Blog
Conjecture, facts, and opinion on health and wellness, holistic practice, and the quest for sustainability & optimal health.