Discover 4

April 2018^ DISCOVER^61

LEFT: GEORGE PETERS/GETTY IMAGES. RIGHT: FARMER DODDS/SHUTTERSTOCK

In February 2008, 53-year-old Carol

Vincent found a strange swelling on

her body. Having just recovered from

a bout of illness, she dismissed it as

the last flutterings of the flu. Her

fiancé persuaded her to consult her

doctor, which she did, almost breez-

ily, assuming he would tell her that

the enlarged knuckle-like node was

of no real concern.

Instead, as her doctor pressed

and palpated, a shadow passed

over his face, and fear took hold

in Vincent. The next thing she knew

she was being X-rayed and biopsied.

Later, dressed and seated in her physi-

cian’s office, Vincent was informed she

had lymphoma, a kind of cancer for which

there is no cure and no consistently effective

treatment, either. As days and weeks went

by, the strange swelling migrated and

multiplied, appearing in her armpit and

the cradle of her collarbone.

Vincent, a writer and an entrepre-

neur in British Columbia, had a full

life, a life she loved, a life that included

a home, a fiancé, a grown son and mean-

ingful work. As she waited to find out whether

the cancer would progress to the point where it

would require radiation and chemotherapy, she

decided to do everything in her power

to conquer her disease.

She gave up sugar, caffeine and

flour. She cleansed and juiced,

drinking pureed wheatgrass so

thick, it coated the sides of the cup

and left a mark above her mouth.

She logged on to the internet for hours

each day, searching for studies, experi-

ments and medications. Details gleaned

from Google informed Vincent that she

had seven years to live, 10 at the absolute

outer limit.

“Emotionally, it was very stressful,” she

says. “An anvil over my head. Every single

decision was tricky. Should I drink superclean

wheatgrass juice or just eat chocolate chip

cookies because life is short? Do I pay off my

mortgage or rack up my credit cards?” When

the strange swellings abated, Vincent began to

believe that her diet might be healing her. High

on hope, she was shattered when the hard nodes

returned, in new places on her body. A certain

paranoia, or heightened awareness, overtook

her. Was an outgrowth emerging on her ankle?

What was that bump behind her ear? Her body

became a bomb, detonating slowly over days, then

weeks, then months. Even though the end was

some unknown number of years away, Vincent

began to lose hope.

An ancient sacrament — psilocybin — could

help patients face their fear of death.

BY LAUREN SLATER