The Things People Told Me Would Save Me
6 min read
After you have been diagnosed with cancer, people want to help. Sometimes they bring dinner. Sometimes they offer to drive. Sometimes they sit with you and listen.
And sometimes they tell you how to cure your cancer.
A motel guest once recommended that I visit one of the underground health mines in western Montana. People go into the mines and spend time exposed to naturally occurring radon. The guest believed it could help me.
A former classmate told me to drink large amounts of sage tea. She did not say it might help. She told me God had told her it would save me.
At some point, I came across information claiming that consumable hydrogen peroxide could be used to battle cancer. And years ago, my dad told me he had found information saying a person could help fight cancer by drinking their own urine.
Those recommendations may sound easy to dismiss when you read them together. Some may even sound absurd. They did not always feel that simple when they reached me.
Cancer changes the way you hear the word “cure.” It changes the way you respond when someone says they know something your doctors may not know. Even when a claim sounds unlikely, a small question can remain: What if they are right?
That question carries more weight when the stakes are your life.
Not every suggestion came from a friend or website. A doctor once told me he “wouldn’t normally do this,” but he liked me and thought I should look into a doctor in Canada who had treated cancer patients with ivermectin and gotten amazing results. Hearing that from a doctor gave the suggestion more weight. But it did not answer the questions we were learning to ask: What kind of cancer? What results? Were they documented? Was there enough evidence to justify changing the care I was receiving?
I did not have to decide whether he meant well. I believe he did. I had to decide whether the recommendation had enough evidence to change what I was doing.
Most of the people who shared these ideas were not trying to hurt me. They cared about me. They had heard or read or felt something that gave them hope, and they wanted to pass that hope along. I can appreciate the intention behind that.
But good intentions do not make a claim true. They also do not remove the pressure the claim can place on the person with cancer. Suddenly, there is one more thing to investigate, one more decision to make, and one more possible path to consider. There may also be one more person who feels disappointed if you do not follow their advice.
The certainty can be especially difficult. “You should look into this” is different from “This will save you.” Adding “God told me” makes the weight even heavier. How do you question the claim without seeming to question someone’s faith? How do you say no without wondering whether fear, pride, or closed-mindedness is keeping you from the answer?
Cancer already asks us to make decisions with incomplete information. It leaves us trying to balance hope, risk, quality of life, and the advice of people with years of medical training. Unproven claims add another layer, often presented with far more certainty than our doctors would ever use.
Doctors talk about evidence, possible benefits, known risks, side effects, response rates, and what they still do not know. A cancer claim often offers something much simpler: certainty without all the uncomfortable questions.
That simplicity can be appealing. It can also be dangerous.
That is where my concern becomes anger.
I continue to see social-media posts and videos from people who say they ignored their doctors, changed what they ate, and beat cancer “naturally.” Their personal result is presented as proof that other patients should do the same. Sometimes the message goes further: if the rest of us would eat correctly, avoid conventional treatment, or believe strongly enough, perhaps we could save ourselves too.
I have spent years following people on cancer boards. This is only my observation, not a scientific study, but the pattern I have seen is painful. People who reject medical treatment in favor of “natural” approaches often seem to be among those who die sooner. Their stories do not travel across social media as far as the confident success stories do.
That is why these posts infuriate me. A person may sincerely believe a diet saved them, but that does not establish what caused their outcome. We usually do not know their complete diagnosis, the other treatments they received, or how their cancer might have behaved. Eating differently may support someone’s health or help them feel better, but that is not the same as proving that a diet cured their cancer.
Yet someone newly diagnosed may see a polished Reel at the exact moment they are frightened and looking for a way out. What sounds like one person sharing hope can become another person’s reason to turn away from treatment supported by strong evidence. That is a heavy responsibility, whether the person posting recognizes it or not.
The influence is real. A 2026 study found combination prescribing among cancer patients increased more than two and a half times after a celebrity endorsement, even though rigorous clinical evidence did not support the drugs as cancer treatment.
Patty and I have never wanted to stop looking for possibilities. My current treatment is part of a clinical trial. We know that treatments move forward because researchers keep asking whether something different might work and patients are willing to participate.
But there is a difference between a new treatment being carefully studied and a claim that has skipped that work. “New” does not mean we should dismiss it. “Natural” does not mean we should automatically trust it. A personal story may be completely sincere without proving that the same result will happen for someone else.
We ultimately chose treatments and other healthcare choices that had strong scientific research behind them. We also paid close attention to guidance about what I could—or should not—take with the treatment drugs I had chosen. We learned that large amounts of almost anything—including natural products such as sage tea—could interfere with my primary treatment or cause harm of their own.
Over time, Patty and I learned that hope and questions can exist together. We can listen without accepting every recommendation. We can appreciate someone’s concern without following their advice. Declining the advice does not require us to reject the person offering it.
We can ask where a claim came from, what evidence supports it, what the risks are, and whether it could interfere with the treatment I am already receiving. We can bring it to my healthcare team and ask them to help us understand it.
That does not mean turning every decision over to someone else. It means becoming active participants in my care without pretending we have to become experts in everything.
There is nothing wrong with hope. We have needed it throughout this experience. Hope has helped us move forward when the next step was uncertain and when the choices in front of us were difficult.
But hope does not have to make us hurry. It does not have to silence reasonable questions. It does not require us to trust a stranger, a testimonial, a confident friend, or a website simply because they promise the outcome we desperately want.
Hope can pause. Hope can ask for evidence. Hope can sit beside uncertainty without allowing someone else’s certainty to make the decision for us.
That may be one of the most important things Patty and I have learned through cancer: we do not have to choose between hope and careful thinking.
We can hold on to both.
If you found this reflection useful, we’d love to invite you to continue the conversation.
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Read: Before You Trust a Cancer Claim →
Read: You Don’t Have to Become Your Own Doctor →
Life Between Scans shares experiences, not prescriptions. This Reflection is based on Scott and Patty Carroll’s experience. Cancer treatments, supplements, diets, and other products can carry risks or interfere with medical care. Discuss possible changes with a qualified member of your healthcare team.
