Suzanne Somers works to ‘Knockout’ cancer

Actress and New York Times best-selling author Suzanne Somers has had her fair share of experience with cancer. She was diagnosed in 2000 with breast cancer and later had another cancer scare involving a terrifying misdiagnosis. Now, in her new book, “Knockout,” she shares her story and interviews with doctors about treatment options. The following is an excerpt.

Chapter 1: A cancer story — mine
November 2008, 4:00 a.m. I wake up. I can’t breathe. I am choking, being strangled to death; it feels like there are two hands around my neck squeezing tighter and tighter. My body is covered head to toe with welts and a horrible rash: the itching and burning is unbearable.

The rash is in my ears, in my nose, in my vagina, on the bottoms of my feet, everywhere — under my arms, my scalp, the back of my neck. Every single inch of my body is covered with welts except my face. I don’t know why. I struggle to the telephone and call one of the doctors I trust. I start to tell him what is happening, and he stops me: “You are in danger. Go to the hospital right now.” I knew it. I could feel that my breath was running out.

No time to wait for an ambulance. We race to the emergency room. I am gasping, begging for yet one more breath. I am suffocating. I am running out of time. I don’t have time to think or be frightened; I can only concentrate on getting one last breath. I am dizzy ... the world is spinning. Breathing is all I can think about.

We arrive. My husband has called the hospital in advance. They are waiting for me. The emergency room workers — nurses, doctors, and other professionals — are wonderful people. They have dealt with this before. They are reassuring: “Okay, we’ll take care of her.”

As soon as I am in the emergency room they inject me with Decadron, a powerful steroid. “Why can’t you breathe?” the ER doc seems to be yelling in my ear, but I can’t answer. I am unable to get words out. They inject me with Benadryl for the welts and the rash. Now I’m inside the ER, but I still can’t breathe. I can’t even sit up. I am bent over trying to find oxygen anywhere ...

They put me on oxygen and albuterol to get me breathing, and slowly, slowly, life returns. I am still grabbing for each breath, and there are spasms in my lungs, like someone is turning a knob that pulls my lungs inside out, but unlike before, the breath is there ... labored but there.

“We have to do a CAT scan,” he says. I already know that there are large amounts of radiation inherent in CAT scans, and it bothers me to think of doing that to my body. This is the first time I have had any pharmaceutical drugs in me in eight years.

I always say, “I am not anti-pharmaceutical, but they should be saved as the last tool in the practitioner’s back pocket.” My life was just saved by pharmaceuticals. Maybe this is one of those times that radiation is justified to find out what is wrong? Because something is seriously wrong. I am healthy. I don’t know anyone who does more for her health than I do on a daily basis. CAT scan ... I don’t know.

I say to the doctor, “It seems to me that I’ve either been poisoned or am having some kind of serious allergic reaction to something. I mean, doesn’t that make sense? The rash, the strangling, the asphyxiation. Sounds classic, doesn’t it?”

“We don’t know. A CAT scan will tell us. I really recommend you do this,” the doctor says. “Next time you might not be so lucky — you might not get here in time. You were almost out.”

I know that. I could feel the life going out of me in the car ride over. “Okay,” I answer meekly. I am concerned and wary. My husband is with me, holding my hands, rubbing them. His face is twisted with fear, concern. Nothing is making sense.

A week ago, I was the picture of health. I hosted a beautiful evening at my home for all the wonderful doctors who had participated in my bestseller “Breakthrough.” It was a beautiful, warm evening, and together we all celebrated health and wellness. The stars were out that night in full force, and while the air was filled with the sounds of live musicians playing my soft jazz favorites, the forty people at the table were enthusiastically conversing about the possibilities of aging without illness; aging with bones, brain, and health intact; dying healthy at a very old age. We were all turned on. We had all realized it was attainable, and we were excited to know that we had jumped on this incredible bandwagon in time.

This was an amazing group of people. These doctors were the courageous ones who stepped out of the Western “standard of care” box to declare that the present template of medicine is not working. Drugs are not the answer. Drugs and chemicals are degrading the brains of our elders and sneaking up on the unsuspecting young ones.

I looked around at this group of healthy-looking, vibrant people and was excited to bring them all together. We were all living this new approach to wellness. And before our delicious organic meal was served, everyone pulled out their little bags of supplements. We all got a laugh over that one.

More in breast cancer awareness After breast cancer: ‘They can rebuild me’ Pose nude? No way. After breast cancer? OK! Healthy habits help prevent breast cancer 8 ways to reduce your risk of breast cancer

It was so exciting to talk about true health enthusiastically instead of in the hushed tones that accompany talk of a loved one in a diseased state. I felt there always seemed to be a hopelessness that accompanied so many of today’s approaches to health. Even when they worked, there seemed to be an undesired reaction in the body. Somehow you weren’t the same person anymore; you became slowed down, aging faster, fragile.

Socially, in most groups I tempered my conversations on my approach to health because those who entrusted their lives to allopathic, “standard of care” Western doctors might not want to entertain the idea that they might have made the wrong choice or that their way wasn’t the best way. I respected that. Life and health are about choices. There is the old way and the new way, and each of us has to do what makes us most comfortable.

I chose the new way and I have never felt better, happier, more energetic, more hormonally balanced, and more sexually vibrant in my life.

So why am I here, in this hospital? What happened?

MORE FROM HEALTH

Health Section Front

Curry compound kills cancer cells, study shows   Busting breast myths   Look and feel your best after cancer Husband and wife both victims of breast cancer I’m 27 and about to have a double mastectomy Clue hints at how breast cancer spreads KISS drummer Criss: Men get breast cancer too Suzanne Somers works to ‘Knockout’ cancer After breast cancer: ‘They can rebuild me’ Pose nude? No way. After breast cancer? OK! Health Section Front   Add Health headlines to your news reader: