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Directions
Take 1 capsule, 3 times daily, with meals.
Cautions
This is a stimulating laxative and should not be used for more than 1-2 weeks without medical advice. Do not use if pregnant or suffering from Crohn's, colitis, apendicitis or other gastrointestinal disorder.
Long term use of Senna as a laxative may lead to dependency.
Only use for occasional relief.
For ulcers and colitis, consult your physician.
Do not take Licorice if you have chronic hepatitis, cirrhosis of the liver, or any disease that impedes the flow of bile from the liver. Avoid it also if you have abnormal muscle tension, poor kidney function, or low potassium levels in your blood.
When taken in high dosages for an extended period of time, Licorice Root may lead to excessive loss of salt from the blood, water retention, high blood pressure, and heart irregularities. Because of the possibility of these side effects, limit your use of Licorice to 6 weeks. The side effects disappear after the drug is discontinued.
Licorice can increase the potassium loss caused by the other drugs, such as diuretics that flush excess water from the body (Diuril, Zaroxolyn, others). This potassium loss can, in turn, increase your sensitivity to drugs containing digitalis, such as the heart medication Lanoxin.
Licorice may also increase the effects, and unwanted side effects, of steroid medications such as prednisone (Deltasone).
Do not take Licorice preparations during pregnancy.
Not recommended if you are pregnant or breastfeeding.
Do not use when the colon is already empty.
Rhubarb Root may cause urine to appear yellow or red, but this is common and no cause for concern.
Additional Information
TerraVita is an exclusive line of premium-quality, natural source products that use only the finest, purest and most potent ingredients found around the world. TerraVita is hallmarked by the highest possible standards of purity, potency, stability and freshness. All of our products are prepared with the highest elements of quality control, from raw materials through the entire manufacturing process, up to and including the moment that the bottles or bags are sealed for freshness and shipped out to you. Our highest possible standards are certified by independent laboratories and backed by our personal guarantee.
TerraVita exists to meet and ensure your family's health and wellness without the harmful effects or chemicals and prescription medications. We strive to make all of our products affordable and reliable and are constantly searching the market to maintain our affordability and to look for new ways to serve you and the ones you love. TerraVita has become a trusted household name for many families and can bring you and yours the very best herbal supplements, blends, teas and spices that are on the market today.
TerraVita is packed in childproof, tamper-proof pharmaceutical-grade recyclable containers.
ZooScape is proud to be the exclusive distributor of TerraVita teas, herbs and supplements in the United States, Canada and around the world. Please direct all wholesale and bulk inquiries to Simona Heather at 905-494-1785.
Related Reading - As Voted by You!
What to Do when They Say "It's Cancer": A Survivor's Guide
Summary From the Author:
When I was a child I used to have a recurrent nightmare. I was being chased by a lion. No matter how hard I tried to run, my legs wouldn't move. I felt trapped. Nothing recaptured that caught feeling more vividly that my doctor saying, ‘It's cancer,' 43 years later.
At once all the desperate terror of my childhood nightmare returned: ‘This feels like a bad dream. It can't be happening to me. I'll wake up soon and it'll be over.' But I knew this was not a dream. I could feel the blood drain from my face, my stomach contract, everything went quiet.
When I unfroze, I thrashed around, looking for a way out of this nightmare. At the time, there was no treatment to cure my rare form of cancer. I searched here, there and everywhere for a way out. Every direction I took led me back to the same bad dream. The full story of my battle to survive the prognosis in 1983 that I had less than three months to live, is told in my first book, Time of my Life.
When I had recovered, I decided to write the kind of book I wished had been available to me when I was first diagnosed with cancer - a guide that would tell me all the things I had to find out the hard way, the things doctors never mentioned, the things it was nobody's responsibility to tell me about:
How do you go about getting a second opinion? . How do you break bad news to your family and friends - and especially your children?
How do you choose the right doctor for you?
How do you find the right treatment for your particular type of cancer? and for your particular needs?
How do you build confidence to make your own choices? . How can you and your family best handle the practical and psychological stresses of your changed life?
How do you maintain optimism and hold despair at bay?
How do you find a meaning to life while facing your own death?
How can you conquer your fear of dying?
I wanted to offer others a book that would take the fear out of cancer and maximise the chances of survival by providing practical advice for meeting the medical and emotional needs of cancer in the best way possible. In doing so, I have drawn not only on my own experience but that of countless others.
I completed the last draft of this book five days after undergoing surgery for lung cancer. I am determined to survive cancer again.
In the twelve years in between my two different cancers, I have counselled people with cancer and other life-threatening illnesses. I have addressed support groups and gatherings of doctors and nurses. I have researched every aspect of cancer - its causes, its cures, its physical and social effects to its emotional and spiritual impact. Using my own databases, the internet and the advice of consulting doctors, I started a company to help people find out more about their illnesses and treatments.
As I complete this book, and apart from counselling cancer patients, I am working with a health promoting palliative care unit and a cancer association to develop and promote cancer support. health and death education, and survival skills. This book grew out of my experiences in survival. It is essentially about how your own resourcefulness and spirit can enhance your survival - for however long. When you are despairing, it is often the stories of others suffering the same experience that can inspire, guide and comfort you. But first let me retell, briefly, my story, as it reveals the context for much I have learned about surviving cancer. It began in the summer of 1992 with a pain in my right shoulder. At first I ascribed it to my strenuous exercise schedule. I managed to ignore the pain for a few weeks but, when it became unbearable, I went to see my general practitioner. He thought I had strained a muscle, so he sent me to a physiotherapist. After weeks of deep massage, manipulation, ultrasound and cortisone injections, he referred me to an orthopaedic surgeon. He, in turn, could make no clear diagnosis. I was now convinced that my increasing tiredness was simply due to the relentless pain, so I visited an acupuncturist. After several weeks, with my distress still unrelieved, my GP's partner was less concerned about my painful shoulder than my paleness. Mumbling ‘possibly anaemia' under his breath, he sent me to a hematologist, a specialist in blood disorders. In an attempt to find out why I was now having night sweats and why my blood counts kept falling, he sent me for a blood test once a week for the next eight months. I tied to bury myself in work.
I didn't realize it at the time, but working longer hours provided me with an explanation for my growing tiredness, while my giving up all sports gave me an excuse for my expanding midriff. Out of fear of what they might have said, I didn't challenge my doctors for an opinion, nor did I consider asking them for a second one.
Eventually, in the autumn of 1983, the specialist suggested I have a bone-marrow biopsy. The result was inconclusive. In the end, I endured no less than sixteen of these agonising procedures. CAT (Computer Aided Tomography) scans and more blood tests followed. Still no one could diagnose my problem. The night sweats had become worse. I changed my pyjamas and the bedclothes several times a night. When these ran out, I slept on towels.
The months dragged on. Small lumps started to develop in my groin and my armpits. When I came out in boils, I was tested for fevers found in countries I had never visited.
In the summer of 1983 I underwent a second bone-marrow biopsy. Two days later, my doctor called me in and said, ‘At last! We have a name for it. It's an extremely rare form of cancer called hairy cell leukaemia.' ‘Is it benign?' I asked. ‘No,' he said. ‘It's malignant.'
The pit of doom engulfed me.
‘How long do I have?' I asked, outwardly composed.
‘I can't say,' he said. ‘But if we remove your spleen, we could buy you a little time.'
My second question was, ‘Will the operation save my life?'
‘There is no cure,' he replied. ‘But I have made arrangements with a top surgeon to remove your spleen. You should be home before Christmas.'
The moment he told me he had made arrangements for surgery without consulting me, all my survival instincts were aroused. I decided to get a second opinion.
I couldn't get an appointment with an oncologist, a cancer specialist, for two weeks. My acupuncturist opened the door to an endless line of people offering a range of alternative treatments. By the time I went for a second opinion from a cancer specialist, I'd discovered meditation, changed my diet, attended church and lined up appointments with several healers.
The oncologist confirmed the initial diagnosis. As for the pain in my shoulder, he was surprised that no one had told me it was a referred pain from my spleen. Two days later, I called my previous specialist and told him to cancel the operation. He was not impressed, and told me so. ‘I went to a lot of trouble to set it up,' he said.
By now, my night sweats had become more severe, my tiredness a constant drain. I began to experience severe headaches. The lumps in my groin were swollen and most uncomfortable. My spleen was growing larger and more painful day by the day.
I became convinced that alternative medicine offered more hope. For more than a year I followed the regimens of some well known and obscure alternative therapists-Gerson, Isserls, Kelly, Breuss and Wigmore. I was treated by spiritual healers, numerologists, a hypnotherapist, a clairvoyant, a world-famous psychic surgeon from the Philippines, and a homeopath from India. I tried Chinese medicine-including acupuncture, poultices, herbs and heated suction cups on my back. I tried homeopathy, macrobiotics, naturopathy and visualisation. I consumed vast amounts of vitamins, especially vitamin C. At one stage, I was taking 40g a day. I bought a non-centrifugal juice extractor and drank thirteen juices a day made from vegetables, wheat grass, raw liver and carrots. The paraphernalia of alternative medicine had me mesmerised. Nothing was too far-fetched to try. I twirled crystals over my food to determine if they were right for me, and placed a broom under my bed to align me with the earth's magnetic forces. I ate organically-grown vegetables, avoided cooking in aluminium pots. I tested for food allergies. I tried various fasts, exotic herbs, took colonic irrigations and coffee enemas.
I believe if my optimism could keep me afloat, that my determination would steer me through these troubled waters. I meditated for several hours daily, joined a cancer support group, and read extensively. Staying alive was exhausting-and very expensive. I had stopped working to devote myself fully to my recovery. It was not an easy decision; in the end, it broke my marriage.
Despite all my efforts and conviction that I was on the right course, the evidence pointed the other way. My blood counts continued to fall. The night sweats continued, and my spleen grew larger. I was able to walk only two or three paces before stopping to catch my breath and allow my heart to stop pounding. My gums-and later, my nose-began to bleed spontaneously. I would wake to find my pillow soaked in blood. My headaches became more severe. My expanding spleen hurt more and more, jamming up against my stomach so I could not eat a full meal. Eventually, I subsisted by sipping juices and snacking. I had also turned bright yellow from carrot juice.
This presented many unforeseen problems. I had reluctantly agreed with my wife's decision not to tell our children about my illness. In order to ensure there would be no breach in this wall of denial, we kept the news from friends and work mates alike for almost a year. Everyone thought I had jaundice and could not understand why I was taking so long to recover. The most serious consequence of this decision was the effect on my sons. It has taken me a long time to heal the wounds of lost trust. I learnt how unwise it is to protect your loved ones from reality.
A year after my diagnosis, I suffered a retinal hemorrhage. Later that day, I received my first platelet transfusion. Despite determined optimism, my life now became dependent on full blood transfusions every week, platelet transfusions whenever my gum and nose bleeds could not be stanched. At the same time, stories about a new and deadly virus, AIDS, began to appear in the newspapers. Contaminated blood was implicated in many of the new cases. Each transfusion became a game of Russian roulette.
Each bone marrow biopsy revealed an increase in the number of hairy cells. Platelet transfusions were becoming less effective. The consensus of medical opinion was that I was likely to die within three months - most probably from a brain haemorrhage or severe infection.
A near-death experience, complete with a tunnel of light and clouds of love, helped me cope with my fear of death. I was now living by the day, finding peace in meditation, solace in the ageless insights of spiritual teachings.
But the reality of my situation was that my spleen was now 28 cm long - a normal spleen cannot be felt. My haemoglobin was 4.5-normal is 13.5-18.0. My white cell count was 0.6-normal is 4.0-11.0. My platelet count was 9 000-normal is 150 000-400 000. I was running on water. I could do nothing now except pray for a miracle.
It appeared a week later in TIME magazine. In the July 1, 1985 issue, I came across an article about a new drug-interferon-being trialed in the USA. Interferon is a naturally occurring substance and forms an essential component of the body's own immune system. I felt goose bumps on my arms as I read that the only disease for which interferon had achieved remarkable success was a rare and uniformly fatal form of cancer: hairy cell leukaemia.
I called my specialist and told him of my find. Thanks to his efforts, two weeks later I became the first person in Australia to receive this wonder drug. Today, interferon is a front-line drug against hairy cell leukemia as well as a number of other once-fatal cancers.
Nonetheless, the treatment proved almost as uncomfortable as the symptoms of the disease itself.
Tests to ensure the safety of trial drugs are extensive. Interferon was no exception. I had to undergo more bone marrow biopsies, bone scans, blood tests, cardiographs, liver ultrasound scans, chest x-rays and body CAT scans. I was injected with radioactive dyes and scrutinised on monitor screens in subterranean rooms. I was x-rayed after swallowing porridges of barium and mixtures of alkalis and acids to make me fizz. I was x-rayed standing up, lying down and upside down.
At that time, no one knew what the most effective dose should be. My initial dose was four times what was later considered optimal. For the first few weeks my temperature hovered around 40 degrees C. I had all the symptoms of unrelenting influenza: my teeth chattered, my head hurt. Two large fans helped to cool me down, two hot water bottles and several blankets were used to keep me warm. My blood counts rose and fell so often I had to receive countless blood and platelet transfusions to keep me going. To say I felt wretched is an understatement.
As awful as the side effects of treatment are, they are as nothing when compared to the side effects of the disease itself. When I left hospital after almost three weeks, no one knew whether the treatment had worked or not. It didn't matter to me: I felt as if I had been granted a life pardon. I gave myself injections for the next three years during which time my symptoms slowly receded. It was a time to heal, a time to reflect on what I had been through, a time to decide what I wanted to do with the rest of my life-for however long that might be.
I began to prepare notes for my first book, worked initially as a volunteer with cancer patients and then, after further study, began counselling other cancer patients. It was a time of hope, exploration, and a new appreciation of life. To cap it all, my eldest son graduated as a doctor.
It was also a time of learning. I realised that not only was there still much about cancer I didn't know, but that most other people knew even less. It seemed that doctors were either reluctant or unable to communicate with their patients and that people, by and large, are given little guidance on what to do when they are diagnosed with cancer.
These experiences began to crowd my thoughts, and so I began writing my first book, Time of my Life, sharing what I had learned and beginning to explore the themes that have crystallised in this one. (Readers who are interested can obtain copies of it via the publisher of this book).
Partly out my desire to learn as much as I could about cancer, and partly because I was still hopeful of finding some new treatment to completely cure me, I continued reading the most up-to-date medical journals and textbooks. About a year later, I read an article in the authoritative New England Journal of Medicine about a new drug being trialed in California. The drug was 2-chloro-deoxy-adenosine, or 2-CDA. According to the initial results, doctors had achieved remarkable success in treating people with hairy cell leukaemia and non-Hodgkin's lymphoma.
I contacted the institute which had developed the drug and obtained more information about it. As successful as interferon had been, it was clear that this drug broke new ground. I was determined to take part in the trial even though, as I soon found out, I was ineligible because my blood counts were too high for the baseline required by the trial. To become eligible, I would have had to turn the clock back five years.
Undeterred, I approached a well-known professor of oncology in Australia and gave him all the information I had gathered. I then asked him to help to import the drug from the USA for me. Although interferon had saved my life, my blood counts were still not ideal. In 2-CDA I saw a chance of a complete recovery.
‘I'll do what I can,' he said. ‘But government red-tape is bound to get in the way.' I did not feel confident when I left his office.
Two days later, at 1 o'clock in the morning, he called to tell me to say that the National Cancer Institute in Washington had agreed to include me in their trial and were sending 2-CDA by express mail. I don't know who was more excited - the professor or me.
Ten days later we started the treatment. For seven days I received a continuous infusion of the new drug. There were no side effects, except from the champagne we drank to celebrate. I was confident about the outcome. Within a few months, my blood counts had stabilised. It seemed we had won not only one more battle, but the war.
With a sense of having gained a more secure lease on life, I devoted all my working time to writing and counselling. I married a second time. I watched my other two sons graduate, the middle in science and commerce, the youngest also as a doctor. It was a wonderful time of easy optimism. Then, in the summer of 1996, my childhood nightmare returned. For a few weeks I had been swimming in an attempt to regain my fitness. No matter how hard I tried, I could not increase the number of laps I was swimming. I felt as if I was paddling in slow-motion through a vat of treacle. I persisted for a while, butthere was no improvement. I contacted my cardiologist who suggested I undergo an angiogram to check my heart. A week later, as I lay waiting for this procedure, Fate intervened. I was advised that my physician had injured his back and that I should make another appointment for a time when he had recovered. My physician's assistant asked me when I had last had an x-ray of my chest.
‘Why?' I asked. I knew that a chest x-ray was not part of an angiogram routine. ‘Your liver is slightly enlarged. I think we should check you out.'
The following day I was x-rayed and diagnosed with non-small cell lung cancer-a type that rarely responds to either chemotherapy or radiotherapy and for which early diagnosis and surgery were the only hope of long-term survival.
In my first encounter with cancer, the symptoms of the disease had been worse than the treatment; this time it was the other way around. Tiredness apart, I had experienced no other symptoms prior to surgery; but after an operation to remove the middle lobe of my right lung. I now found myself in the most unbearable pain. The surgeons had cut not only the nerves and lining of my lung, but also one rib under my shoulder-blade. While retracting my rib cage, another rib broke. Every time I breathed, I felt as if someone was scraping the inside of my lung with broken glass. I meditated, visualised, and prayed for relief from my pain. Morphine would have provided blessed relief, but due to my heart condition, it would also have killed me. I gritted my teeth. Thirteen days after the operation, I left the hospital. I had a book to finish.
So what have I learned from two encounters with cancer?
Both experiences have taught me that while you can't always change the situations in which you find yourself, you can change your response to them; you can see them as a profound experience of living rather than a nightmare over which you have no control. My cancers compelled me to rearrange my priorities, learn new coping skills, re-examine my relationships with people - and with God. Surviving cancer has been the most spiritually rewarding time of my life. My prospects of recovery improved from the moment I realised that my physical state was inextricably linked to my psychological and spiritual recovery. The chances of survival were multiplied from the moment I took an active role in bringing these elements together. Both experiences also taught me the value of true friends. Most people don't know much about cancer until they have to, when they are faced with the diagnosis for themselves or for a loved one. Faced with conflicting advice and the pressures of relating to all those affected by your illness, you need a guide to help you up the mountain (and cancer is a mountain)-and down the other side. I hope that this book can be that guide.
Publisher's Notes Most people don't know about cancer until they have to, when they are faced with the diagnosis for themselves or for a loved one. Emphasizing how to cope psychologically with the experience of cancer, this book goes beyond diagnosis and treatment options to explore subjects rarely discussed by doctors-feelings and values, legal matters, intimate relations, children, stress, and facing death. Written from the patient's point of view, it will be of interest to cancer patients, their families, loved ones, and doctors and will guide them through the physical and emotional ordeal of cancer.
These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA). Products are intended to support general well being and are not intended to treat, diagnose, mitigate, prevent, or cure any condition or disease. If conditions persist, please seek advice from your medical doctor. The essence of the current American rule on Traditional Uses is, as stated by FTC, "Claims based on historical or traditional use should be substantiated by confirming scientific evidence, or should be presented in such a way that consumers understand that the sole basis for the claim is a history of use of the product for a particular purpose."
