Conversation – 31

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Marla Wynne here on HSN. 😎

OnThisDay on July 12, 2020, Kelly Preston died at the age of 57 at her home in Clearwater, Florida, two years after she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Her diagnosis was not widely publicized. Preston had been receiving treatment at the MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, and had also been treated at other medical centers. Travolta announced her death on his Instagram account

Kelly Kamalelehua Smith (October 13, 1962 – July 12, 2020), known professionally as Kelly Preston appeared in more than 60 television and film productions, including Mischief (1985), Twins (1988), Jerry Maguire (1996), and For Love of the Game (1999). She married John Travolta in 1991, and collaborated with him on the comedy film The Experts (1989) and the biographical film Gotti (2018). She also starred in the films SpaceCamp (1986), The Cat in the Hat (2003), What a Girl Wants (2003), Sky High (2005), and Old Dogs (2009).

Cancer doesn’t punish. It devours—and while it destroys lives, an entire industry feeds on our fear and suffering.

Julian McMahon was 56—a striking figure whose looks never seemed to fade. On July 2, he quietly lost his battle with cancer. No headlines. No public updates. Just a sudden disappearance that stunned us all. We assume that celebrities have top‐tier doctors, beachfront hospitals, and Ivy League staff. But cancer doesn’t care who you are—whether you’re a Hollywood star or a school bus driver, it shows up uninvited and begins to eat you from the inside.

Behind every infusion and incision lies a billion‐dollar racket. A single round of chemotherapy in the U.S. can run \$10,000 to \$40,000. Surgery? Easily \$100,000 to \$200,000—if all goes smoothly. And once metastases appear, you might be scrambling to sell a kidney just to cover costs.

Like flies on a carcass, Big Pharma, private clinics, YouTube “gurus,” and shady supplement peddlers swarm in. They all promise a cure—for a price. Real breakthroughs don’t generate the same recurring revenue as “maintenance” treatments. Lifelong chemo or immunotherapy means a guaranteed stream of subscription‐style payments.
Meanwhile, in public hospitals, patients endure chemo hooked up to IV poles and plastic buckets by their beds. Six‐year‐olds beg their moms, “Not again, please!” and parents beg friends and family to fund a new, experimental German drug—because without it, there’s no hope.

In upscale clinics, doctors wear compassion masks—yet their eyes flash dollar signs. “Have you considered immunotherapy?” they ask. “It’s very promising—just \$15,000 per course.”
This isn’t healing; it’s a mercenary strip show, stripping away your dignity, your savings—and then your life. If you survive the disease, the system built on your suffering may finish you off.
Cancer is no longer the exception. It’s the backdrop of our lives—a massive purge that we pretend will one day end with a miracle cure. Meanwhile, patients die, and others profit from their silence.

Share this story. Make some noise. Because until we demand change, people will keep dying—and corporations will keep cashing checks.