Facing cancer, I explored both natural healing and medicine. This journey taught me balance, resilience, and what true wellness means.
Sitting in a stark hospital room in late 2013, I felt the walls closing in as my doctor delivered the news: “It’s a chronic blood cancer. You’ll need to be on medication for the rest of your life. We recommend a mild form of chemotherapy.”
I was in my early 30s with young kids at home and now faced a future ruled by medication. The weight of my diagnosis and sudden loss of control hit me like a Mack truck.
As I faced my diagnosis and treatment, Jess Ainscough and Belle Gibson were rising to stardom in some foreign wellness world. At the time, I had rarely eaten kale, let alone tried green juice. I’d never questioned a doctor’s orders — until a friend texted, “Hey babe, have you heard of Jess Ainscough? Google her.”
I did. And everything shifted. Jess claimed to be managing her cancer with alternative therapies and her story ignited something in me — not just hope, but a sense of control. After all, that’s what I truly craved — control over my fate, my body, my illness. Maybe, just maybe, this was my way out.
Beyond hope lay fear. Doubts crept in. Would natural healing work? What if I failed? What if I died? I faced a cruel choice: accept a life tethered to harsh medication or gamble everything on the uncertain promise of natural healing.
Still, going against my doctor’s orders to medicate, I plunged into natural healing with my stomach in knots. At first, it felt positive. I loved serving my kids green smoothies instead of the usual cheese and crackers. But the deeper I went, the more overwhelmed I became. Sugar, wheat, dairy, heavy metals … everywhere I turned, another carcinogenic lurked. Desperation took over. A crazed healing junkie was born.
Over the next year, fear drove me to try everything. Naturopathy, energy healing, chakra cleansing, reflexology, herbal medicine, reiki — you name it, I tried it. I filled our home with organic foods, practised yoga and qi gong and visualised a disease-free life. But despite my efforts, nothing worked. The cancer remained.
Then one morning, 14 months after my diagnosis, I opened an email that stopped me in my tracks. It was an announcement: Jess Ainscough had died. I stared at the screen in disbelief. She had rare cancer. I have rare cancer. She was trying to heal naturally. I am trying to heal naturally. Panic surged through me. Medicate. MEDICATE NOW. At 9am, with a lump in my throat, I was on the phone arranging the prescription.
I didn’t let go of what Jess had inspired in me. Medication stabilised my blood platelets but left me