I'm a dad. A husband. A three-time cancer fighter. And I should be dead.

On June 3rd, 2025, Sarah and I should have been celebrating 25 years of marriage. Instead, I opened the patient portal on my phone and read the pathology report from my lung biopsy. Stage 4. The cancer was back. It had spread to my lungs and bloodstream. They gave me four months.

I looked at my wife, my partner through everything, and we decided that wasn't good enough.

This wasn't my first fight. Since 2021, I've battled head and neck cancer. Seventy rounds of radiation. Twenty chemotherapy treatments. A high-risk five-hour radical neck dissection where surgeons cut from behind my ear to my collarbone. Sarah, a disabled veteran, held our family together while I fought. We raised two sons, one with special needs. I kept working as a project manager between treatments. I kept showing up.

Then something happened that the doctors didn't expect.

The cancer started shrinking.

My oncologist called it remarkable. I call it a miracle. A miracle built on faith, an incredible medical team, and an integrative treatment plan that combined conventional medicine with therapies most oncologists never mention. High-dose IV vitamin C. Repurposed medications. A complete overhaul of how I fuel my body. I documented everything.

I'm still here. And I want to help others walk this same path.

I've built a website, WaynesCancerJourney.com, where I share my protocols, my research, and my story. I'm writing a book so others facing this nightmare have a roadmap. Every day I hear from cancer patients asking what I did. I want to keep answering them. I want to keep being living proof that there's hope.

But the fight isn't over.

The Cost of Surviving

The radiation that saved my life also destroyed my nerves. I live with excruciating chronic pain every single day. Nerve damage. Muscle spasms that seize my neck without warning. Pain that never stops, never fades, never gives me a break.

And I lost my voice. For a project manager, your voice is everything. I lost my career. I lost my income.

Now I'm trapped in what they call the SSDI donut hole. I can't work. I can't collect unemployment. And my first disability check won't arrive until mid-February. Meanwhile, the bills keep coming.

My immunotherapy, Keytruda, gives me a fighting chance. But the treatments that are actually healing the damage? Insurance says no.

Where Your Donation Goes

Alpha-Lipoic Acid (ALA) Infusions: $5,500 per cycle. This treatment can actually repair the nerve damage from radiation. It could give me my voice back and reduce the relentless pain. My insurance won't cover it.

High-Dose IV Vitamin C Infusions: $2,400 per month. These infusions support my immune system and help my body tolerate treatment. Research backs it. My insurance won't.

Repurposed Medications: $500 per month for off-label cancer-fighting drugs that studies show can slow tumor growth. Not covered.

Copays and Medical Expenses: $10,000 annually in out-of-pocket costs for scans, appointments, and treatments.

Survival Until Disability Arrives: Groceries. Utilities. The basics to keep my family afloat until mid-February when SSDI finally kicks in.

Why I'm Asking

This is the hardest thing I've ever done. Harder than the surgery. Harder than the chemo. Asking for help goes against everything in me.

But my family still needs me. My son with special needs lives in a group home, and I'm his primary support for every specialist visit. My other son is navigating his early twenties, and I want to be the dad who's there for him. Sarah and I spent our 25th anniversary reading a cancer diagnosis on my phone. I want to give her a 26th worth celebrating.

One share. One prayer. One donation. It all matters.

Thank you for standing with me.

With gratitude,

Wayne