Archived from Charlotte Gerson's booklet

Story

   Kent Gardner sent us a "first-person" account of his experience:

   My name is Kent Gardner. I was born on December 24,
1953 in White Plains, New York. As a taxidermist, since 1967,
I knew all about lions, tigers and bears. I knew much more
about animals than about the human body, including my own.
I felt I didn't need to know. I rarely ever had a cold or flu or
any of the diseases that plague mankind.

   I did not smoke, had an occasional drink, drugs were not
for me. I knew nothing about nutrition. I would eat two to
four apples a year, two to four oranges, never a salad. I
thought salads were rabbit food. If I ate some whole wheat
bread, I thought I was on a health kick. Looking back, I ate
purely junk food, convenience foods, as I blazed through each
day.

   For ten years, while building my business, I worked 10 to
16 hours a day, seven days a week. Still, we were two years
backlogged with eight full time workers. My environment
was a text-book toxic scenario. As a taxidermist I knew, anything
that is labeled a preservative, has to kill what it preserves,
including, as I learned, the taxidermist. In small amounts you
kill molds, bacteria, fungus, souring. Larger doses are FATAL.
I worked with them all. Even salt, that is killing Americans, was
just one of the milder preservatives I used daily. Formaldehyde,
lacquer thinner, fiberglass, urethane foams, paints, all sorts of
chemicals are all part of the trade.

   Over the years, I could feel something happening in my
throat. At first I just had to clear it now and then. Much later,
I started having to clear it often enough that many people
commented that I sounded like a smoker. Later I found swallowing
was becoming a problem. If I breathed heavy I could
hear a new sound coming from my neck and larynx area. I
knew, something wasn't right, but didn't really want to know
what was wrong. For the first time in my life, at the age of 37,
I sought out the doctors for an answer. After a series of tests,
the next step was a scheduled surgery, slit my neck open
almost from ear to ear, remove as much as they could, then
chemo and/or radiation treatments. After the initial shock of
hearing this, and not knowing otherwise at that time, I was
ready to go with the flow.

   Thank God, I received the fact sheets on the survival rates
of patients with my particular cancer. According to the
National Cancer Institute, cancer of the esophagus and larynx
is among the deadliest. It has less than a eight percent five
year survival rate, after conventional surgery, chemo and radiation.
It said nothing of a five-year cure rate or a ten-year cure
rate. I was furious and canceled all further conventional
methods. Because of the location of the tumor, and the procedures
necessary to remove it and do a biopsy, I never received
a biopsy report.

   In view of the odds, I knew I wasn't going to do what the
doctors had offered me.

   Less than 30 days later, a friend, Patty, told me about a
book, "The Gerson Therapy". I bought the book, read it twice
in less than 20 days, and decided I had nothing to lose. I was
dying. The coffee enemas were a mental hurdle I had to overcome,
but once I experienced one, I could feel the difference,
and understood their importance.

   The journey began, and in two and a half days. In two
and a half weeks, I experienced all kinds of reactions in my
body that I'll never forget.

   After about one and a half months, the swelling was way
down, and whatever this tumor was, it was now dead.
Reducing in size weekly, it was rotting in my throat. Frankly,
it was Hell! This thing now produced a constant, horrible
smell and taste, unlike anything I had ever experienced, even
after 24 years as a taxidermist!

   After about two and a half months, as I locked my car
and walked into a local Home Depot, this tumor, fluttered for
about two seconds, then broke loose and I swallowed it! I got
into the store, broke a into profuse sweat, panicked, started
losing consciousness and fell to my knees.

   Later I realized the tumor had fallen into my stomach,
and digestive juices hit it, producing a severe poisoning. I
should have tried to throw it up, but ego, and not being able
to think clearly, didn't allow me to throw up publicly. To this
day I don't know nor remember how I recouped enough
strength to make it back to my car and drive home, a 20-
minute ride. The next five days I was totally bedridden, took
three enemas a day with my wife's help, doing all that was
necessary. The toxic poison effects were manifold.

   On the sixth day I was able to walk around. I have been
walking on water ever since. Thank you Max and Charlotte
Gerson.