A second chance: Lisa Williams-Manning and the power of hope
- wwsmith6410
- Apr 13
- 5 min read
(First appeared in The Baldwin Times for Gulf Coast Media, April 10, 2026)
By Wayne Smith
Gulf Shores Media Contributor
Sometimes, a story just finds you.
I met Lisa Williams-Manning in March through a friend at a restaurant in Orange Beach. We met again later, and I spent about an hour listening to her talk about something most of us hope we never have to face — being told you have a limited time left to live.
Not once.
But twice.
And yet, she’s still here.
Lisa’s story begins in 2020. The California native was living in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, where she owned a furniture store. She was 52.
Then came the diagnosis: breast cancer, with 12 months to live.
“I chose a different path,” she told me.
But not at first.
At first, she just wanted to enjoy the time she had left — no treatments, just living her life.
“I wasn’t sick or anything, but I had fallen, so I was on crutches,” she said. “And I felt something rubbing against the crutches, and they found a lump in my breast. It was May of 2020, during COVID, so they rushed me in.
“Within days, they diagnosed me with Stage 2B breast cancer. It was HER2-positive… and it spreads really fast. I told my doctor I wasn’t taking their poison.”
“I didn’t have any kids. I wasn’t married. My whole family was fine. I was just going to live out my life. They said I had 12 months.”
She sold everything — her business, her belongings — and bought a car, replacing her Mercedes with a $4,000 Lexus.
“I just started going, traveling. I went home to Northern California and had a birthday party with all my girlfriends. I went to Fresno, to North Carolina… I flew across the country, spending money, because I didn’t need it. I was dying.”
But through one of those friends, she connected with a man in Louisiana who introduced her to an herbal-based approach.
That’s when she chose a different path.
Within nine weeks, she said, her cancer was gone.
"I was at his house that Monday, and I got on the herbs. It took about nine weeks, and it was gone.”
Her reaction?
“Absolute shock… and relief.”
She stayed on that path for a year. Then life, as it does, moved forward. She relocated to Florida, began living again — and, by her own admission, got a little complacent.
Then came August 2025.
This time, the diagnosis was Stage 4. The metastatic cancer had spread to seven places in her body, including her liver. She was given six months to live.
Lisa didn’t wait.
She restarted her protocol the very next day, expanding it to include additional approaches.
Just over four months later, she said, she was cancer-free again.
“MY VANITY SAVED ME”
Now, this is an important part of her story.
When Lisa tells it, she doesn’t present it as a miracle cure or a one-size-fits-all answer.
She’s careful about that.
Instead, she talks about choices. About being open to options. About doing your own research and finding a path that feels right for you.
And maybe most of all — about not giving up.
There was another moment she shared with me that stuck.
She laughed as she said it, but you could tell it mattered.
“My vanity saved me,” said Lisa, who now lives near Pensacola with her husband, Steve.
She didn’t want to lose her hair. Didn’t want to look sick. Didn’t want cancer to define how she showed up in the world. Didn’t want to be a burden.
It may sound simple.
But sometimes it’s the simplest things that keep you fighting.
Listening to Lisa, I couldn’t help but think about my own journey.
About Dorinda.
About the questions that come afterward — the ones you can’t answer. The ones that stay with you.
What if we had known more?
What if we had explored other options?
There are no easy answers to those questions.
And yes, Dorinda did lose her hair.
She cut it short ahead of time, preparing for what was certain to come with chemotherapy. The doctors told her it would happen.
When it did, it hurt.
But then she put on her bravest face and told me she shouldn’t be such a wimp.
That hair was just vanity.
For the longest time, I had a mental block when searching for how Dorinda described it.
I remembered her talking about losing her hair. But I couldn’t remember the term she used.
Then Lisa said it.
Vanity.
That it saved her.
I shared that story with Lisa. And she told me about another Dorinda she once knew years ago — one who didn’t share the same kindness or outlook as my Bear.
We laughed about that.
About how different two people with the same name could be.
Likewise, not every path leads to the same outcome.
But stories like Lisa’s matter because they open a door.
They remind us that there are conversations to be had. That there are different approaches people may choose to explore. That hope can show up in unexpected places.
Today, Lisa is focused on helping others.
“Without God, we’re not here. That’s where I get my strength,” she said. “I think He knows my heart — that I’m here to help people. I don’t give up. I don’t give up on anybody.”
She’s created a group for people following similar paths — not to promise results, but to offer support, share information, and walk alongside those facing the same fears she once did. Contact her at lisa.pinnaclenutrition@gmail.com.
“Let’s help each other work through this difficult time,” she wrote, “and spread the hope, love and joy.”That may be the most important part of her story.
Not just that she survived.
But that she’s using that second chance to reach back and help someone else find theirs.
We don’t always get the outcomes we hope for.
I know that firsthand.
But every now and then, we hear a story that reminds us what’s possible.
And sometimes, that’s enough.
Wayne Smith has worked as a writer and editor at newspapers across Alabama, Florida and South Carolina. His weekly column focuses on navigating Gulf Shores alone after losing his wife to cancer, and the places he discovers and the people he meets. Read his previous columns at www.GulfCoastMedia.com. Contact him at wwsmith6410@gmail.com.
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