25/05/2022
It’s 25 May 2022 and I’m sitting in a hospital bed. The same bed I’ve been in for over a week, the same bed I’ll end up being in for about 3 weeks and all I can think about is how broken our so called ‘Health’ system is.
This is not an opportunity to attack the Doctors and Nurses working tirelessly to bring me relief of physical discomfort and pain, nor is it a chance to have a political dig or criticise the very fibre that makes up our ‘Health’ system. It is simply how I’ve been observing my own experience as a Stage 4 cancer patient. (If you’ve read some of my pieces, you’ll know “Stage 4” is code for “You’re f**k@d”).
Over my 5 year tango with Cancer I’ve been very lucky to have had the opportunity to travel to some exceptional healing spaces and meet both incredibly inspiring and knowledgeable healers and patients alike.
I’ve wondered down frangipani scented stone paths shaded by palm fronds to find my Ayurvedic Doctor waiting patiently in his open air office over looking a pond of lily pads and Koi. His wisdom of ancient healing being passed down through the generations of his family.
I’ve enjoyed the crisp morning sunrise of an Australian Hinterland retreat where the days are filled with blissful meditations, deeply healing, nourishing foods and the human touch of a professional masseuse, breath worker, energy healer or a kind ear to listen me.
I’ve read the books, I’ve done the courses, I’ve tried my best to tame this tango and I can tell you, the way we are doing it is all wrong. No one is here to cure me. They tell you that up front! They actually tell you they are going to give you drugs and treatments which will make you very sick and may or may not prolong your life. Umm…wow. Any chance I can get a refund?
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