Thankfully, what happens in Vegas does stay in Vegas. However, I am not about to tell the tale of a weekend of wild mayhem. Rather, this is my rant about a weekend of toxic exposures that left me wondering how the heck do we even survive.

I have attended many a medical conference in casinos in Nevada over the years and I get it—they are cheap and can accommodate a LOT of people. However, they come with a greater price—our collective health.

The weekend made me think of others that live in such environments full time. I am always perplexed when someone from this type of environment who recently got a diagnosis of cancer or some other chronic illness questions why that happened to them. Inside my head, I secretly shout, “Seriously!? Have you taken a good look around you lately?”

Take a moment to get off the flame-retardant-treated couch and out of the toxic off-gassing house, get away from the golf course community and into nature, get away from exhaust fumes from busy road ways and smart meters that are frying the nervous system, and you will get a good sense of why disease is real for you.

Here are some “real” questions that anyone with a diagnosis should ask:

  • Could it be the plastic water bottles and food containers you ingest daily?
  • The Tylenol you use to treat your toxic headache that is destroying your liver?
  • The hormone replacement therapy you have been hypnotized to believe is your perpetual fountain of youth?
  • Or, what about that antibiotic you keep popping for a virus that has taken up residency in your body that’s riddled with too much sugar and too little vitamin D3?
  • And, what about that food you eat regularly? Oh boy! How about that nice GMO and glyphosate-drenched, processed, nutrient depleting, antibiotic-laced, hormone-pumped, inhumanely raised and thoughtlessly harvested plate of food? Is it that yummy?
  • And, what about the millions of tiny mouths that cover your skin sucking up all the petrochemicals, Parabens, and other endocrine-disrupting poisons that you slop on before you get out the door in the morning?
  • Or the Triclosan-moistened towelettes you wipe down your hands with before picking up your food?
  • Could it be the endless exposure to blue light from screen time that destroys your pineal and pituitary gland function?
    Could it be your 3 days of sugar dosing at breakfast each morning?
  • Or one of the pharmaceuticals you pop because the diabetic sports star on TV told you to do so?

And, those are just some of the preliminary questions that need to be asked.

Its painful to walk through a casino, as I did this past weekend, filled with 1st, 2nd and 3rd hand smoke, watching zombies push buttons and stare into lit machines while swilling cheap booze and soda. The sound of machines, music, drunken cat calls flooding your ears. The streets covered with dopamine-pressing images of porn, young, gaunt, soul-less faces lining the street trading sex for their next high to numb their pain.

Sirens, helicopters, racing cars down the boulevard with daily news stories of people crashing their vehicles into folks walking on the side walk or waving guns into the crowds, or, in our own case, a guy knocking holes in the wall of the room next to us and the hallway outside our door at 3:30 in the morning in a blind rage that was not tamed by his friends or even security that left us in a state of exhaustion and amped up adrenaline and cortisol.

Granted, we prepped the best we could—our Grayle personal water filters, EMF protection medallions, and Uber rides to and from the Whole Foods to stock our fridge. We even tracked down a few farm-to-table restaurants off the strip like Honey and Salt. We were psyched to find the Border Grill in Mandalay Bay that serves a lot of meals that are gluten-free, organic, clean meat and live veggies that were locally and seasonally sourced when possible. The outdoor patio was an oasis where we could take in some remnants of fresh air.

We exercised for relief, but that left us with a smoker’s cough and trapped in a gym that was drenched in Triclosan sterility. The irony was that we couldn’t wait to hop back into the germ tube of an airplane that depleted all hydration and antioxidants to return to the comfort and support of my mitochondria-friendly home.

Ah, home!!!

Needless to say, I am grateful for my knowledge, my health, and for the tools and awareness available to me to change such exposures and subsequent outcomes. And, I am so grateful to sleep in my own bed where the only thing I have to fear is my husband’s occasional snoring☺

I encourage you, next time you find yourself questioning, “how did I get here?”

Open your eyes to the world around you. Start with your own shopping cart, your own home, your own yard and work from there. Trust me. You’ll find answers.



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