The GcMAF Book (2.0)

Chapter 11

If Cancer Cells Could Talk...

Wistful ruminations of a cancer cell

“For a long time we cancer cells had a great job. Our Nagalase enzyme Stealth bomber squadrons made it easy to keep cancer going. Sneaking in under the radar and demolishing GcMAF production facilities was our specialty, and—if I say so myself—we were good at it. I never missed my target—and I never caused any collateral damage. We shut those GcMAF factories down big time. Blasted them into oblivion. And we had billions of cancer kills.

“Without their daily dose of GcMAF, those macrophages couldn’t get out of bed. They didn’t really have a chance against us. It was a romp! Cancer ruled!

“I’m surprised at how long it took the scientists to unravel our scheme. Our killing spree lasted hundreds of years! Try and match that!!! Lives lost in wars pales in comparison. In fact, we killed many times more humans than all the wars in history combined.

“Even when human molecular biologists finally figured out how we operate—’cracked the code,’ so to speak—and Dr. Yamamoto outed us by explaining to the world how we did it, it still took them another decade to pay attention and finally shut us down. The cancer establishment didn’t want to sacrifice their cash cow so, instead of implementing these new discoveries, they still just kept lobbing those silly useless drugs at us. As usual, that slowed us down a little, but it took another ten years before they finally started routine Nagalase screening, and then giving weekly GcMAF to everyone with an elevated Nagalase. Why did it take them so long to see that fixing the immune system was infinitely preferable to their mostly futile attempts to “shut the barn door after the horses had gotten out,” so to speak. Given half a chance, the body can cure itself. Because of that mistake—and it was a huge one—we killed millions more before they sidelined us.

“So how did I personally escape the GcMAF and activated macros? Well, I’m one of the lucky ones, and I must say there are very few of us. When Dr. Yamamoto discovered Nagalase, I switched sides and changed my identity. Now I’m in a—sort of—witness protection program. The only reason they don’t kill me is because I’m useful to them as a mole, a whistle blower …they call it a cancer marker—however you want to put it. The docs test levels of me to see wheteher (and how much) cancer or virus is present in my host’s body.

“I’m a fortunate guy. Before GcMAF, the cancer cell community adored us Nagalase molecules. Now, post-GcMAF, I am still a hero, but to the other side. Now I help doctors find new cancers and track known ones, so suddenly I went from bad guy to good guy. Now, as a spy, I provide you guys, my former enemies, with early warnings that cancer is on the move. And I let you know whether your treatments are working. Here’s how that works: More of me means more cancer (or virus), for sure. And less of me means the cancers (or virus) are going away. If I appear to be going away but then come back, you’ll know the cancer or HIV has returned (i.e., wasn’t fully killed off) and my owner person needs another round of GcMAF.

It’s a job, and somebody had to do it. Considering the alternatives, well— like I said—I’m a lucky guy!”


Looking at Nagalase from a future perspective: “Back in The Day…”

It is 2020. Two cancer cells, Jimmy and Jack, are having a chat. Jimmy’s the young go-getter and Jack the seasoned but terminally cynical veteran.

Jack, in animated tones, reminisces about the good old days when cancer could wreak havoc…

“I want to tell you about Mickey, the legendary cancer cell who discovered Nagalase. Mickey’s discovery catapulted us cancer cells from a minor nuisance up into one of the all-time greatest threats to the survival of humanity. Of course, those days are over now, but man, we had quite a run. Millions of years and billions of kills! Not bad, huh?

“Oh, there’ve been other famous cancers. Henrietta Lacks’ immortal cervical cancer cell line comes to mind. But even though he’s less well-known, Mickey was by far the greatest. With Mickey’s Nagalase in our arsenal, we were unstoppable. Like Bruce Willis or The Terminator. The oncologists and surgeons and radiologists could aim their peashooters at us all day long — the chemo, the surgery, the radiation —but, man, we just shrugged them off and kept on comin.’

“But it’s all changed now. Right, Jack? I mean, they’re testing just about everybody for Nagalase now. We don’t have a chance.” Jimmy tentatively intones. He knows a story is coming.

“Mickey discovered Nagalase back in the ancient history, Jimmy, in the stone age of cancer. Before written history, so we don’t know exactly when. And how he did it, I don’t know—in fact nobody knows. Probably a mutation in his genome that generated a protein that stopped cancer in its tracks. Of course Jimmy’s contribution—and it’s not one to be sneered at—was recognizing its value. A lesser cancer cell might have received the gift of Nagalase production, but failed to appreciate its crucial importance—but not Mickey. He saw that Nagalase stopped the macros in their tracks…

“How does it work, Jack?”

“It’s so simple. Nagalase simply breaks a pair of electrons apart. This particular pair of electrons make up a bond that holds a crucial part of the GcMAF precursor molecule (the molecule GcMAF is made out of) together, so the GcMAF can’t be manufactured. Aalakazam!!! No more GcMAF! Can’t be made because the precursor disintegrated. Bottom line: no more macro activation, no more macros eating my pals. End of story. We win.

“Wow, Jack. That’s amazing.”

“And Mickey also figured out how to spread the word and make a lot more Nagalase.”

“How?”

“By teaching all his friends and neighbors, our distant relatives, how to make it. They just shared the genes for it. No big deal. After a while, due to Darwinian survival of the fittest, all of our cancer cell brethren that couldn’t make Nagalase just died off. May they rest in peace. Well, actually, they didn’t exactly die—they were eaten by the macros. But the ones that could make Nagalase survived and passed on the gene. We use the humans to carry it around in their DNA. The power to set us free (and make us dominant) remained in there, locked into perpetual existence in the human genome, the blueprint for life …and death. It was replicated and passed on from unsuspecting generation to unsuspecting generation inside the humans, and it just sits there in all of their genomes, lying in wait, ready to be exploited by us cancer cells whenever we get the chance to start growing. And by smoking, eating pesticides and spewing an enormous array of toxic chemicals into the environment, they gave us plenty of opportunities.

“Then, back in 2010, along came GcMAF. The docs finally figured out that if they gave people GcMAF, it would bypass the Nagalase and activate the macros. Now, instead of ruling the roost, we are on the run. The macrophages are everywhere, buzzing around, ganging up on us, and there’s nowhere to hide like in the old days. They can take out brigades of our cells with no effort at all. And they target the younguns—that’s not nice!

“If you ask me, GcMAF is cruel and unusual punishment to us cancer cells. We were just doin’ our thing man, if you know what I mean.”

“But those were the good old days, Jack. Now it’s different and we have to adjust…”

“You’re right, Jimmy, a good thing can’t last forever. We have to accept that our run is over, our time has passed. Nagalase testing has become more popular than cholesterol used to be. Nowadays, everybody gets tested for Nagalase, starting—can you believe it, in high school? They find us so early now—and then they pour on the GcMAF. We don’t have a chance anymore. Usually the macros nail us so early that we can’t even metastasize. Adding insult to injury, then they monitor us with Nagalase testing until they’re sure we’re gone. Normally, we can’t get a serious tumor going. Our current host, however —man, this dude is clueless. For some reason or other, he hasn’t gotten tested. That’s the only reason we’re alive here, Jimmy.

“Oh, we still have pollution, toxicity and chemicals on our side, so we’ll be hanging around in small numbers, generating the occasional new malignant colony, but unless we come up with something really good like Nagalase used to be, we are basically toast. It’s only a matter of time.

Then, startled, Jimmy screams: “Oh, oh. Yikes!!!! What’s that huge blob coming around the corner of the building over there? Is that what I think it is?”

“Dang! Yup. That’s a macrophage, son. Well, I figured they’d come after us sooner or later. This guy must have finally gotten tested. We’re dead meat now, Jimmy. It’s coming to eat us!!! Dodge those superoxide radicals, if you can! Watch out for that pseudopod! It’s been nice knowing you, Jimmy. Arggggh….”

Copyright © 2010 Timothy J. Smith, M.D.