Today, we honor and remember Stuart — an admin, a leader, and the single most prolific contributor in our community. It is with heavy hearts that we share that Stuart has passed away. We learned of his passing through his friend Kevin, who shared that Stuart took a fast turn, struggled for a few weeks, and passed just before Christmas. Stuart was extraordinary in his dedication to this community. His contributions were unmatched — not only in number, but in depth, clarity, and substance. He shared relentlessly: research, protocols, insights, experiences, and updates — always with the goal of helping others understand their options and think critically about cancer treatment. He believed deeply in taking ownership of one’s journey, in understanding the science, and in exploring innovative, tissue-sparing approaches that respected the body rather than destroying it. He was methodical, analytical, and generous with his knowledge — never posting to impress, only to inform and empower. In his final post to the community in October, Stuart shared details of advanced ablation therapies he was pursuing — histotripsy and pulsed electric field (PEF) ablations for liver and lung cancer. As always, he wrote with precision and hope, outlining not just the treatments, but the reasoning behind them: sparing healthy tissue, tracking outcomes through PET/CT scans, liquid biopsies, immune markers, and aligning therapy with metabolic and lifestyle strategies. Even in that post, Stuart was teaching. He spoke openly about ketogenic nutrition, body composition over scale weight, aerobic movement, immune monitoring, and the importance of adapting intelligently to physical limits. It was classic Stuart — thoughtful, grounded, forward-looking, and deeply committed to doing things the right way. Stuart was not just an admin. He was a cornerstone of this community. He helped shape conversations, raise the level of discourse, and set a standard for what informed, empowered patient advocacy looks like. Many people here learned because of him. Many felt less alone because of him.

Today, we honor and remember Kimberly Smith — a pillar of the Cancer Warriors community and someone who meant everything to so many of us. With heavy hearts, we share that Kimberly has passed away. Her oldest son Troy and her husband Bob were kind enough to reach out, knowing how much this community meant to her. Troy shared: “This group was a big part of her journey and her fight. She lived to inspire others to do the hard things and take control of how they treated their cancer, to question standard of care and seek valid alternatives to chemotherapy. Thank you all for your support.” Just two months before her passing, on October 25th, Kimberly shared a post here that now reads as a powerful reflection of who she was: She wrote about living 22 months progression-free, with periods of NED, and about having outlived her original prognosis. She celebrated meaningful victories — her son returning safely from Iraq, time spent at the farm, and a life still being lived with intention. At the same time, she spoke with honesty about progression, fatigue, uncertainty, and difficult decisions — always thoughtful, informed, and grounded in patient autonomy. She closed that post the same way she lived her journey: “Love and healing to you all.” That was Kimberly. She was deeply loved, deeply respected, and profoundly impactful. She wasn’t just an admin — she was a leader, an advocate, and a steady voice of reason and courage for countless people navigating cancer. She contributed immensely through sharing her journey, her research, and her unwavering commitment to patient awareness. Kimberly believed in empowerment. She believed in asking hard questions. She believed in doing the hard thing — even when it meant standing apart from conventional paths. Through her posts, her constant support of others, her leadership, and her role as host of the Cancer Warriors Podcast, Kimberly helped educate and inspire so many. Those conversations, shared publicly on YouTube, remain part of her living legacy.

How to Starve Cancer: A Conversation with Jane McLelland Another voice that lipids pathways may need to be blocked as well in some cases. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jOwGD5gxHmc

You are some of the bravest people on this planet. Every day you wake up and push forward through fear, pain, exhaustion, and uncertainty… yet you still keep going. Your strength is seen. Your courage is felt. Your fight inspires more people than you’ll ever know. Whether you’re in treatment, recovering, supporting a loved one, or carrying the memory of someone you’ve lost — I want you to know this: I’m praying for you. For peace, for comfort, for strength, and for a light that carries you through the hardest days. You are not alone. You are loved. And your fight matters. -Dr.Chris 🕊💛

I’d like to share a story from my new hero, who sent me an email today. He’s my new hero because he indirectly helped me stabilize my prostate MRI scan and improve my prostate symptoms, thus renewing my hope. I hope this story can be a source of inspiration for you all. Happy reading *The Electric Language of Life* (An essay in four movements) What cells know that our textbooks still refuse to say. Dr. h.c. Andreas Ludwig Kalcker November 29, 2025 In 2012, a senior oncologist in Madrid (I will call him Miguel) diagnosed his closest friend since university, Luis, with locally advanced pancreatic adenocarcinoma. The tumor had already wrapped itself around the superior mesenteric vessels. No surgical option. The guidelines were clear: palliative chemotherapy might buy a few extra weeks of nausea and fatigue, nothing more. Miguel sat Luis down in his office after hours, closed the door, and did something most oncologists never allow themselves to do. He spoke the truth. “Luis, the statistics are brutal. Even with treatment you have three to six months, probably less. Chemo will make you feel like death while only postponing it by days. If it were me, I would skip it.” Luis listened, pale but strangely calm. He asked only one question: “So I can do what I want with the time I have left?” Miguel nodded. Two weeks later Luis flew to Bali with a one-way ticket, leaving behind a stunned family; he refused to participate. He had always wanted to see the coral reefs before he died. He rented a small losmen on the coast near Amed,, and started diving every single day—sometimes three or four dives. The salt water, the weightlessness, the pure oxygen-enriched air from the tanks, the sun on his skin. He started to feel alive in a way he had never felt in his job translating contracts in a grey Madrid office. One of the divemasters noticed how quickly Luis moved through the water and asked where he had learned. They offered him a job teaching German tourists. He accepted. He never went back.