Category Archives: 2009


In the last seven days, I’ve achieved many ‘firsts’. Because my diagnosis requires me to make some big life changes, I’ve learnt some new tricks  – online, in the kitchen, in meditation, and emotionally speaking.

I bought some things off eBay for the first time. Nothing very exciting by most people’s standards, but I’m quite excited about these new toys. When they arrive, my Prill Beads will alkalise, energise, cluster and anti-oxidise my filtered water for a fraction of the cost of most water-alkalising units. We’re talking $60 verses $2000+. Because cancer thrives in an acidic environment, I want to alkalise my body as much as possible. And what better way than by drinking three litres of anti-cancer water each day!

I launched my own blog for the first time, namely this site. Although, I must admit, I didn’t actually do anything. My wonderfully kind and talented friend John organised it all, I just wrote the words. I don’t have a FaceBook page, or a mobile, so the chances of me figuring it out on my own were pretty slim. Now I can write to my heart’s content, keep you all updated on my progress, and avoid cluttering up your inboxes (and mine, with 101 email replies).

I sprouted mung beans for the first time. This was pretty cool to watch as, when the thin white roots started to grow, it looked like the beans had worms. Don’t worry, they tasted better than they looked – really fresh and super nutritious. Sure beats paying supermarket prices too.

I abandoned my vegan ways for the first time in 18 months. I’ve been protein deficient and 10 kg underweight for awhile now, but couldn’t figure out where I was going wrong. Then I saw an Ayervedic practitioner, who said I wasn’t digesting legumes well. That explains it. I was eating bucketloads of dahl, but to no avail. So I’m back on organic eggs, wild ocean catch fish (not farmed), organic goat cheese and sheep yoghurt, but only in very small amounts. My diet is still 70% raw foods, with most of my protein coming from plant foods.

I made cream for the first time. Not from dairy, but from raw nuts and seeds. According to Ayurvedic medicine, the human stomach can’t absorb the nutrients from whole nuts and seeds, but if you dry-grind them and rehydrate them, then add enzymes in the form of raw honey, yoghurt and tamarind paste, then they are much easier to digest. I tried some carob-sesame seed cream and it was unbelievably good. Felt like I was eating chocolate icing straight out of the mixing bowl.

I made congee for the first time. This ‘first’ wasn’t as successful as the eBay and sprouting ventures, as we didn’t have all the right ingredients and tried to make-do. Plus we made double the recipe, which meant it took twice as long to cook – 12 hours instead of six, on low heat! Definitely not worth the wait. It was pretty tasteless. But once you added flavouring, it was quite good. Technically, cancer patients shouldn’t eat any grains at all, unless they are very weak, which I am. So I’m allowed a rice congee dinner a couple of times a week, to help me put on weight.

I tried walking meditation for the first time. According to Ayurvedic medicine, this helps dispel rebel chi, or energy. It’s also good for the lymphatic system if you’re too tired to go for a walk around the block – which I often am. There’s quite a few mudras – hand postures – to go with it too. I keep getting mixed up between the Prana, Tiger, Sword and Dragon mudras, but hopefully I’ll get the hang of it soon.

I took my nose stud out for the first (and last) time. This was a bit hair-raising as it took an hour, with two pairs of jewellery pliers. One was to hold the backing inside the nostril, the other was to unscrew the silver ball on the outside. After an hour of unscrewing, we lost patience and snapped the silver ball off. But then the backing wouldn’t slide out. It seems my nostril wall had thickened over seven years of piercing-induced irritation. Could we pull it out without drawing blood from the severed point on top? Initially, no. Then, one final twist and turn, pulled the darn thing, complete with boogers on the end. Hooray! After that ordeal, I’m never, ever, piercing anything again.

I also tried an emotional-cleansing technique for the first time. They say that cancer patients often have a ‘cancer personality’. That is, they are nice and extremely likeable, because they bottle up their emotions without expressing them. Basically, the technique I’m doing is a form of psychotherapy. Considering I’ve never seen a counsellor once during my four years of cancer treatment, it was about time. By practicing this technique three times daily, I aim to be emo-free. Because if emotional issues are contributing to my cancer, I’m going to have to express my feelings in ways other than writing.

I dropped to 42 kg for the first time. This isn’t a first I’m actually proud of. Now I’m 13 kg underweight! That what happens when you try and self-diagnose, diet-wise. Thankfully my Ayurvedic specialist has written me a diet plan to give me more protein, build my blood, balance out my hormones and give me more energy.

As you can see, it’s been a steep learning curve for me over the last couple of weeks. But I know there’ll be many more ‘firsts’ over the ensuing months. I’m just trying to crack the water, diet and juicing thing first. (I’m getting a new juicer that makes raw fruit and vegie soups). Then I can focus on supplements. Then I can focus on treatments. They say change is stressful, and that it’s best to adapt slowly. With my low energy levels, about 35% capacity, I couldn’t go any faster if I tried! Yep, the next six months are going to be challenging. But if it results in me being the first person I know (personally) to cure themselves of cancer, then it’ll have definitely paid off.

Six Months

It’s not everyday you get told you have six months to live. I got the news a week ago. I was at the doctor’s to get the results of my latest CT scan. They weren’t good. The alternative cancer treatment I had been doing, just wasn’t working. The tumours in my liver, lungs and chest were still growing, and fast. If I did nothing, I might see the end of the year. If I did something that didn’t work, i.e. my current treatment, I’d still have six months. If I did something and it worked, I could “buy” some time – that is, slow down the growth of the tumours until my immune system got strong enough to fix the problem.

Strangely, I was quite happy when I first received the news. I hated the drip treatment I was on, as it made me feel like absolute crap. So now I had a good excuse to quit, and switch to something else.

Then fear set in. What if I couldn’t find anything else? Next stop: the internet. I decided to research my brains out to see what the alternatives were. But I had to make sure that what I was reading was impartial, from a credible source, offered a true Stage 4 cancer treatment (i.e. one that would work fast enough), and would also work for my specific kind of cancer – secondary breast cancer in the lymph, lungs and liver.

Luckily I found eight Stage 4 cancer treatments to choose from. Some were hard-core, with scary side effects like paralysis and cardiac arrest. Others involved weird diets and juice fasts. One involved drinking poisonous soup. Then there were machine options that generated frequencies to kill the cancer cells. From the initial list of eight, I made a shortlist of three viable treatment options. What they involved though, I was still yet to find out.

Three days into my research spree, a storm hit Perth, causing a 48 hour power blackout. Great. No heating. And no internet. Very frustrating as I felt I couldn’t afford to waste a single day of my six-month sentence. But it was actually a blessing in disguise. I hadn’t properly dealt with my diagnosis, instead burying myself in research as a coping mechanism. So, I let it sink in, and let the full gamut of emotions arise.

I felt overwhelmed. There was so much to read, with every website sending you to another link, telling you to read this book and that. I felt empowered, knowing I still had options. I felt frustrated, because neither my mum nor my brother wanted to give up work/their life to be my “full time carer”. I felt lucky, that I had a big extended family to spread the caring responsibilities over. I felt bad for my immediate family, knowing I was a burden on them. I felt sorry for all the people who would be mourning me, if indeed, I did have an early demise. I felt annoyed, that I hadn’t switched to another treatment sooner. I felt relieved, knowing that if I hadn’t switched to that alternative treatment, I’d be doing chemo right now and be in a much worse state. Lastly, I felt thankful. This was the kick up the arse I needed.

I’d only been putting in about 70%, always knowing at the back of mind, I could be doing more. And my latest CT scan showed that wasn’t quite cutting it. After working in advertising for 10 years, I’d turned into a deadline junkie. If the job was super-urgent, I was super productive. If it wasn’t due for ages, I’d procrastinate until the last minute. It seems I’d taken the same approach with my health. Primary cancer diagnosis, Stage 3? Ah, I’ll live. Secondary cancer, Stage 4, with three years to live? Ah, that’s ages away. First alternative treatment that comes long? Yeah, that’ll do. Treatment not working and now I’ve got six months to live? Yikes! Better act fast!

Cancer survivors like Ian Gawler were given weeks to live. Yet he outlived his diagnosis by over 30 years! Because he was given that ‘kick up the arse’, he didn’t dilly-dally like I’d been doing. He put 100% of his efforts into getting better. And it paid off.

So, I said goodbye to seven years of independence in Melbourne, moved back to Perth, and moved in with my mum. I got my gear, still in Melbourne, shipped across. I notified everyone, from friends to doctors to Centrelink, of my new address. And, once the power came back on, I continued researching.

I learned that diet is 70% of the cure. So I had to get much stricter, with freshness being the key. Freshly grown sprouts, freshly cracked nuts in shells, freshly ground seeds, freshly prepared meals etc. I also had to give up grains (again). I had to drink better quality water – filtered, alkalised, ionic, clustered, energised water. And I had to drink more freshly squeezed juices – with lots of dark leafy greens in them. You see, no matter which treatment I chose, it wouldn’t work unless my diet was pure. No point killing the cancer cells via treatment only to feed them again via a poor diet.

I also learned that the treatment I chose, would only be as good as the expert administering it. Luckily, I had two options – the Bill Henderson Protocol and the Cesium-Chloride DMSO Protocol – that came with 24 hour phone and email support, from experts in the U.S. After liasing with a doctor in Europe for the last 18 months, I had no qualms about the distance between me and these experts.

I also found a third option – the Frequency Generator known as the Rife Machine. It had neither an expert to go with it, nor was it specifically targeted to my type of cancer. But it was gentle, had no side effects, and could be done in conjunction with most other options. Plus my Perth doctor who’d been administering my last treatment, had just bought one from the US. And there were explicit instructions on the net for how to use that particular model.

I still haven’t chosen which treatment I’ll go with yet, as there is still so much more information to read. The Bill Henderson Protocol is a 234-page book. The Rife specifications are heavily documented. And I’ve got a 30-page individualised diet and lifestyle pack from an Ayervedic doctor to read. I’ve filled up one lever arch file with information already, and it looks like I’ll fill up another soon.

I’m getting a lot of advice from a lot of people, doctors and patients alike, being aware of the inherent bias from each. There’s a lot to digest, but my advertising background is helping me a lot. I know when people are trying to sell me stuff don’t need. After all, I used to be in their shoes not so long ago.

I know what I want; the best diet possible, the best support possible, the best treatment possible, and I want to work with the best people possible – world-class experts in their field, no less. Most of all, I want to get over this thing. Out of me and the cancer (or yeast infection, or virus, or bacteria, or whatever it is) one of us is going to have give up soon. And it sure as hell isn’t going to be me.