Faith In Wild Places (eBook)

A Holistic Story of Healing, Faith and Life After Cancer

Ali Sabino (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
184 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3178-2173-9 (ISBN)

Infos

Faith in Wild Places is a true story of courage, surrender, and divine healing. When faced with a cancer diagnosis, Ali Sabino chose to walk away from conventional treatment and follow God's leading toward holistic healing-discovering along the way that faith, not fear, is the greatest medicine of all.

Ali Sabino never imagined she'd one day write a book about cancer, healing, and faith-but God had other plans. Diagnosed with Stage IIIb colon cancer in 2023, she chose a path of holistic healing, guided by prayer, Scripture, and trust in God's leading. Her story, however, is not only about healing from cancer-it is also about learning to cherish life after profound loss. In March of 2020, Ali's family lost her nephew, Nolan, a tragedy that reshaped her perspective on the fragility and beauty of each day. Walking through grief with her family prepared her heart in ways she couldn't have known at the time, and when cancer came, she understood more deeply the preciousness of time and the urgency of hope. Today, Ali lives cancer-free and embraces life on the road with her husband, Keith, their dog, Layla, and their cat, Brooklyn. Together, they travel the country in their RV, workamping, exploring wild places, and sharing the goodness of God wherever the road leads. Though writing books is not the path she envisions for herself long-term, Ali continues to share her journey and encouragement through her blog, TheLightWithinAli.org, and in the couple's Grateful Nomads Facebook group. Through her writing, Ali hopes to encourage others facing fear, uncertainty, or loss to lean into faith, find strength in unexpected places, and believe in the possibility of healing and renewal. Her journey is a reminder that even in the darkest valleys, God's light can lead us forward-toward peace, purpose, and a life lived fully in His grace.

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When faced with a colon cancer diagnosis, Ali Sabino made a decision that would change everything - she walked away from conventional treatment and chose to trust God completely. Faith in Wild Places is her deeply personal memoir of that journey - a story of courage, surrender, and the miraculous power of faith to heal both body and soul. What began as a terrifying diagnosis became a sacred invitation to live differently to slow down, listen, and follow divine guidance into a holistic path of healing through prayer, nutrition, rest, and radical trust. Alongside her husband, Keith, Ali stepped into a season of transformation that would test her strength, deepen her faith, and reveal God's goodness in ways she could have never imagined. Set against the awe-inspiring backdrop of nature and the simplicity of full-time RV life, Faith in Wild Places beautifully intertwines physical healing with spiritual awakening. Through moments of fear and breakthrough, grief and grace, Ali shares not only the challenges of stepping outside the world's expectations but also the peace and purpose she found in following God's lead. More than a story of surviving cancer, this is a story of learning to live wholly, freely, and faithfully. For anyone searching for hope, healing, or a reminder that miracles still happen, Faith in Wild Places is a testament to what's possible when you let go of control and place your trust in the One who heals all things.

Textauszug

Chapter Two:
No, I’m Not Doing Chemo

The Bold Decision to Walk Away from
Conventional Treatment

Our world has become so dependent on Western medicine and Big Pharma that when someone receives a cancer diagnosis, they typically follow their doctor’s instructions without hesitation. I did too—at first. So, as you can imagine, my decision to walk away from chemotherapy didn’t come lightly.

My first round of chemotherapy was on August 21st. I was nervous. Deep down, I had a gnawing feeling in my gut that I just couldn’t ignore. I didn’t want chemo. In fact, Keith and I had always said that if either of us ever got sick, we wouldn’t take their poisons. And yet, there I was. Fear had a hold on me—tight enough to drown out my intuition, at least for a little while.

Keith drove me to Optum Care Cancer Center for my 9 a.m. appointment. He wasn’t allowed to stay the whole time, but he could come back to the treatment room while the nurses got me set up. The cancer center was massive. I guess I never realized just how many people have cancer. This was just one location in the Las Vegas valley—and there were other oncology groups too. It was mind-blowing.

I got settled in for my first chemo session—three long hours of sitting and waiting. Thankfully, my niece, Sophie, called to keep me company. Her voice was a comforting distraction. My mom was flying in that day to help us again, and her flight landed just before my session ended. She took an Uber from the airport and made it to our house just in time to catch Keith before he left to come get me.

After the infusion at the cancer center, the process wasn’t over. I was sent home wearing a portable chemo pump that would continue delivering a drug called 5-FU—fluorouracil—into my system over the next forty-eight hours. The pump was small and discreet, carried in a little bag I wore over my shoulder, but its presence was constant. It quietly pushed the medication into my body, drip by drip, around the clock. It felt like a leash I couldn’t escape from—a reminder that the fight was far from over. I would have to return to the cancer center on Thursday at 11:00 a.m. to have the pump disconnected from my port catheter and to have my port flushed.

That night, we settled in. I went to bed early—I was wiped out, mostly from not sleeping the night before. I fell asleep fast, but around 11 p.m., I woke up. The expected—but still unwelcome—side effects were setting in. My head. The pain was unbearable! It was the worst headache I had ever experienced—absolutely brutal. My mouth was dry, I was nauseous, and I couldn’t stop shivering. The nausea hit hard and fast. The anti-nausea meds weren’t the quick-dissolve kind that work right away. I felt completely miserable.

This was just day one.

The following day was more of the same. The headache lingered like a fog I couldn’t escape. My body ached, my mouth was still dry and coated with that metallic taste they warn you about but you can’t fully understand until you experience it yourself. I was nauseous off and on all day, and the fatigue was unlike anything I’d ever known—bone-deep and heavy, like I was wearing a lead suit. Emotionally, I was unraveling. I tried to stay positive, to tell myself this was just part of the process, that I had to push through. But inside, something felt off. It was more than just physical side effects—I felt like I was betraying myself. I had always believed in the body’s ability to heal, in the power of food, mindset, and faith. So why was I here, letting poison drip into my veins?

The fear that had driven me to say yes to chemo was still hovering, but now it was competing with an even louder voice—one that kept whispering, This isn’t your path. I didn’t want to admit it yet, but deep down, I knew I wasn’t going to keep doing this. Something had to change.

Mom stayed with me while Keith went back to work. She kept busy while I slept off and on. I had no appetite, but she kept offering to feed me—hovering lovingly, suggesting toast, crackers, broth, anything she thought might stay down. She knew I probably wouldn’t eat it, but offering food was her love language, her way of fighting back against the helplessness we were all feeling.

I could tell she was trying to be strong for me, but I saw it in her eyes—the fear, the ache only a mother can carry when her child is suffering. She didn’t say much, but her presence was constant, steady. She read a lot, did some of our laundry, did some puzzles books and kept my dad, sister, and the rest of my family updated. The silence between us was filled with unspoken prayers.

The day dragged. I drifted in and out of sleep, my head pounding, my stomach churning, my body foreign. Everything felt off. I wasn’t just tired—I was hollow. Worn down in a way I didn’t recognize. Still, underneath it all, that same unsettled feeling kept stirring inside me. I kept thinking, This can’t be the only way. Something deep within me was rising, a quiet but persistent resistance. I didn’t have the answers yet, but I knew I was standing on the edge of a decision that would change everything.

The following day, I still felt the same—worn out and nauseous—but I was hopeful that getting the pump disconnected and stopping the continuous flow of chemo would bring some relief. Keith had to go to work, so my mom drove me to the cancer center for the pump removal. It was a quick process, and I was deeply thankful to have that chain broken. As soon as the nurse flushed my port and disconnected the line, I felt a wave of emotional relief, even though the physical symptoms were still lingering. It was symbolic—like reclaiming a small piece of myself after forty-eight hours of being tethered to that toxic drip. I remember looking down at the bandage covering my port and thinking, One step down. One step closer to healing.

As hopeful as I tried to remain, the side effects didn’t let up right away. The fatigue was bone-deep, and the nausea made even the smell of food unbearable. I spent most of that day in the recliner, trying to rest, trying to pray, trying to make sense of it all. This was just the beginning—and I knew I would have to dig deep for strength in the days ahead.

The next few days were a blur of sleep and bland foods. I was moving through the motions of life, but everything felt slightly out of sync—like I was watching myself from the outside. Keith did his best to keep things steady, and Mom stayed a few more nights, making sure I had everything I needed. She fussed over me in the way only a mom can, and though I was too exhausted to fully appreciate it at the time, I felt safe under her care.

Eventually, she headed home, and a strange kind of stillness settled over the house. It was just me and our dog and cat. For the first time since my diagnosis, I had a moment to sit in the quiet and try to process everything. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to feel—grateful to have finished round one? Angry that I had to go through this at all? Afraid of what the next round would bring?

Physically, I began to improve little by little. The nausea eased, and I could eat again—plain toast, bland food, and eventually real meals. The fatigue lingered, but I learned to pace myself. Taking a shower felt like a victory. Life started to resemble something close to normal, even if I knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

It was around this time that a relative on my mom’s side introduced me to Andrew Wommack Ministries. Their message was bold and different—centered on God’s desire and power to heal, not just spiritually, but physically too. Keith and I watched one of their annual “Healing Is Here” conferences online, and something about it stirred hope in me. I wasn’t sure I fully understood or believed it yet, but it lit a spark.

My relatives also recommended a book by one of the ministry’s teachers, Barry Bennett, titled, He Healed Them All. Barry had walked his own road through cancer and had once been given just two weeks to live. That was back in 2020—and he’s still here today. His testimony challenged everything I thought I knew about healing and faith. It gave me permission to believe that maybe, just maybe, my story didn’t have to follow the world’s script.

But still spiritually, I was raw. My prayers were short and honest—sometimes just a whispered, “Help me” or, “Be near.” I didn’t have the energy for fancy words or long devotions, but I trusted God could hear me anyway. He knew my heart, even when I didn’t have the strength to form full thoughts. I wasn’t sure yet what He was trying to teach me, but I had this deep sense that I wasn’t walking through it alone. This was only the beginning of a spiritual shift I couldn’t yet explain—but one I’ll share more about in the chapters ahead.

The days between chemo rounds passed slowly, but not in a bad way. Life was quiet and somewhat uneventful, which was exactly what I needed. After the chaos and shock of my diagnosis, and the intensity of that first treatment, I welcomed the stillness. Aside from a few oncology appointments and routine bloodwork to make sure my body was holding up, there wasn’t much on the calendar.

Keith went to work, I rested as much as I could, and we tried...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 1.12.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Biografien / Erfahrungsberichte
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3178-2173-9 / 9798317821739