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.