I've been a cancer patient, injecting poison into my system every couple of hours, every day, for months. I don't know about you, but I'm less than amused to learn that big pharma is paying the people at NIH who are supposed to INDEPENDENTLY detemine how safe and effective drugs are.
If you've ever had cancer, or, I imagine, any serious illness, you know how confusing it can be. I remember, at my consultation with the third oncologist that my wonderful doctor sent me to see, getting the third piece of confusing advice that matched neither of the other two pieces of advice I'd gotten concerning chemotherapy, breaking down in tears and explaining to the doctor, "I'm a lawyer. It's not that I'm an idiot. It's just that this is not my field. I keep getting different advice and, if I make the wrong choice concerning things that I really don't understand, I'll die."
At least, back then in the Clinton era, I didn't worry that the drug company set to make big profits off of the drug was the one greenlighting its use by doctors.
Have I mentioned fucking hating this fucking coup?
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."