I Am Beating This. Also My Oncologist Can Piss Off.
How metabolic warfare, fasting, and cannabis became my strategy to outlive stage 4 cancer, and why the real enemy is the system.
The day I found out I had stage 4 cancer I walked out of work. My oncologist had called to let me know and discuss my options. I went home and cried like a bitch, face down for three straight days. Regret, disappointment, fear, sadness, every rotten emotion spilled out of me like sewage. On the fourth day, I stood up. Committed 100% in my heart and mind that I wouldn’t die like a punk. I’d show my daughters and the rest of the world what fighting really looks like and beat this fucking disease.
When I stood up I also did something else. I started digging. Researching. Refusing to accept the neat little coffin plan they hand you at diagnosis. That’s when I found Professor Thomas Seyfried’s press-pulse protocol and the world of metabolic warfare. The idea that cancer isn’t just some mystical curse, but a metabolic disease that can be starved, pressured, cornered like any other opponent. Pair that with plant medicine, cannabis as shield, sword, and salve and suddenly I wasn’t just waiting to die. I was building a war plan.
Once I brushed off the fear and depression, the message was clear: this can be solved. Maybe not cured in the Hallmark sense, but managed, beaten back, lived with on my terms. Just like business. My whole life, I’ve solved problems by being dedicated, pragmatic, meticulous. This wasn’t a Q3 revenue miss. This wasn’t a client screaming on the phone. This was a Duane-dies problem. Which meant the stakes were absolute, but the strategy was the same: strip away the bullshit, stay disciplined, execute flawlessly.
And here’s the twist, I am beating it. My labs look better than most people without cancer. My body is handling poison drips like they’re cheap whiskey. No nausea, no endless diarrhea, no crawling into a hole. Just a constant low-grade misery, which, compared to what they promised me, feels like winning the lottery. I fast. I live in ketosis. I smoke the green medicine. And I thrive in ways that make the medical establishment uncomfortable.
But the longer I fight, the more I realize the cancer isn’t the biggest enemy. It’s the system. The machine. The white coats with their one-size-fits-all protocols and their factory-line medicine. The insurance companies who treat life and death like an accounting trick. The oncologists who smirk when you ask a question, like your curiosity is an insult to their degree.
When I got cancer, I thought the fight would be against the cells eating me alive. Turns out, the real war is with the people who claim to be saving me. The “care” is cold, rigid, profit-driven. They don’t want you informed, they want you obedient. They don’t want you experimenting, they want you nodding while they shrug about side effects and bill you into bankruptcy.
I’ve had to learn to manage my own care. Question every prescription. Double-check every dosage. Hunt down research they won’t mention because it isn’t profitable. Talk to survivors who actually lived through this hell and came out the other side. Not just the ones they parade in pamphlets. I’ve built my own playbook because theirs reads like a death sentence.
I’m beating cancer not because of them but in spite of them. I’m alive because I refused to lay down and play the good patient. And they hate that. They hate when you show up armed with your own data, your own discipline, your own will. Because it reminds them their system is broken, and maybe, just maybe, it’s killing more people than it saves.
Cancer was supposed to be the enemy. Now it’s just the backdrop. The real monster is the system pretending to cure you while cashing you out like an old lottery ticket.
So yeah I’ll say it again. I am beating this. And my oncologist? He can piss off.
Thank you everyone for tuning in and if you know of anyone or need some support and guidance through your own cancer journey please reach out.
