Vampire Health: The Cancer Diaries.

Sucking the Blood From Society One Cancer Patient At A Time.

Vampire Health: The Cancer Diaries.

By: Brett Redmayne-Titley

It has been nye on a year since I, like millions of other victims first heard those four deadly, terminal words- well, three if you count the contraction- those words that provided only one dramatic denouement before my curtain closes.

I’m gonna die.

I had been sitting, relaxing and patiently sitting on the bed in one of the white-on-white with stainless steel accents hospital rooms at my local Urgent Care facility due to some strange symptoms over the past few days and not eating. “You’ve got cancer,” chimed in the attending physician just as soon as he entered the room, taking one cursory up-and-down glance at me. I had been expecting an examination.

“You’re yellow,” he continued as he moved closer, looking me directly in the eyes a bit too seriously for comfort. I didn’t like him, so far. “Yes. Yes. It’s in your eyes as well.” I began to protest. Thirty seconds before, I was a patient. He hadn’t touched me. Now I was, was, was…

One year ago today, my world turned upside down. From that moment, there was only one priority: Living.

But living would be an emotional roller coaster as I refused to accept the defeatist mentality of my doctors while all the time struggling on with a search for accurate information outside this singular mendacious mindset. Hours searching for a trail and not knowing what the clues all meant as I strung them together nightly.

And, yes, I am still very much alive. That quest to live is my story. I hope this becomes a story for you or someone you love. Living in the face of cancer can become your story, too. But it's a story your doctor won't tell you because you're not supposed to live. For long.

Readers of my work over the past thirteen years and some 235 published articles know well my passion for reporting live-on-scene from important current events in many strange locales around the world. Although my CV is replete with interviews, in-depth research articles, book reviews and keyboard jockey international foreign policy analysis, it has been my on-scene reporting that has been my passion and produced my best work.

Self-preservation being a strong motivation, likely second only to motherhood, that day one year ago as the hospital room spun about me while the words I needed desperately to parse together failed me utterly, only to be next cast out into the hospital parking lot on a brilliant cloudless San Diego day with a prescription only to “get to the emergency room quickly,” I was of course not, then, thinking of being the star in my next live-action report.

Oh, I had indeed again entered a new strange land: The machine of Western Health Care. Like other initial cloudless mornings in Beirut and another in Winnsboro, Texas or the ones in Istanbul or Charlotte NC, etc, a new reality had just burst around me, and unwillingly this time, I was thrust into the centre of a news story for which I was now obligated to provide accurate reporting. Because, as it was with the very first minutes on the very first morning in those other unfamiliar surroundings, I was this morning suddenly thrust into a new saga for a reason. There was a story here, I would begin to feel it, far beyond the goosebumps of terror recurring every few minutes as reality again bit, and I drove to the local hospital, still not knowing what the hell to say when I got there. But as the story got deeper daily, as I delved into the bigger picture of American oncology and why I am prescribed to die, slowly, without recourse, an odour I was all too familiar with previously slowly began to waft on the winds right under my nose.

The more I researched how to save my life, the more it was revealed that I needed, first, to extricate my body and my mind for this Western Health Care obligation.

Or, I would die.

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This was not easy. Hours, hundreds of hours, spent hunting for something I knew was there, but it was hidden. Hidden, from me. Hidden, from you. Because it had to be. For this was the Achilles' heal, the Kryptonite, the termites in the woodwork that would cripple this financial house of cards.

Take, if you will, an introductory example of financial difference. Within the many medical protocols I have so far suffered, I have been riddled with the side effects of fourteen (14) individual chemotherapy treatments. Each treatment and its resultant week of torture was $12,500.00.

Yes. I have excellent insurance. But I see the bills.

However, when, as you will read, I finally, in the wee hours of a bloodshot morning, met the first and most important informational tangent that led to my current treatment, I knew I had discovered the path. As the reader would not be surprised to learn, search engines buried, if not removed, this information from my discovery. I go through this a lot with my regular work, but again, here, I was forced to follow individual tributaries towards the source. Alternative medicine, Integrative Medicine and discussions thereof were just not there in American press sources.

So, my search first began in China. It ended, so far, in Switzerland.

I have Pancreatic cancer. It’s considered one of the most aggressive. As I knock on wood as I write this, I know what works against my cancer, my cancer markers are below so-called "normal," and I know what my cancer is, it is being treated, and I am, for the moment in "Stable Remission.” None of this was provided by the “science” of Western medicine.

Why?

I recall, with dismay, just as my chemo regimen was finished after six months of physical brutality. I was shocked to learn from my oncologist that, at this point, there was nothing they could do but monitor the cancer for an eventual arbitrary return as a tumour in some unforeseen organ of my body. For me, prayer was the only option...I was told.

“Brett!” said my oncologist of the past eight months, Dr.O. “ 95% of my patients accept what I tell them.” Sure. But what he was, by translation, saying most clearly was, “You’re done. It’s a matter of time.”

But as I write this now, I never accepted this fatalist medical view. Yes, I have my fingers crossed, but alternate science, my science, may have me on this earth for many years to come. Only time will tell, but the punchline to this short parable of comparison is that my so far optimistic treatment has financially trumped the Western model of “Hope and Prayer” significantly. My insurance bill to date exceeds $300,000.00. And I am supposed to die.

My science suggests I may live. Total price tag to date: A few bucks short of $6,000.00.Not a penny of it is covered by insurance.

Not to die, however. To live.

And no side effects!

A dirty, little secret. One that this hour alone killed sixty-eight people by hiding one fundamental truth. The lie that promotes and takes advantage of the post-2019 explosion in cancer diagnosis.

Cancer is treatable. Cancer is preventable. Cancer, when detected early, is potentially curable. But you won’t fuckin hear that from your doctor when he first serves you up with those fatal four words.

American cancer, unfortunately for the patient, exhibits one all-important terminal malignancy upon the patient: Cancer is very, very, very profitable.

Particularly, if you die. Slowly.

Cancer diagnoses are predicted to hit 2 million in the USA alone in 2025. They have risen every year since 2019. Coincidence?

Last year, 2024, 602,000 Americans died of cancer.1649 per day.68 per hour.

It's a safe bet that damn- near none of them knew what I know now. Since they couldn't, they did as they were told. They died.

*

To this moment, I don't remember the drive to the Emergency Room. Not in the slightest as I could not tell my wife where I parked the car when I called her with those four words.

As I sat in the waiting room brandishing a new white plastic wristband on my left wrist, my admission into the system, the first of scores of them to come, I starred at the wall, head in both hands, and tears leaking in between my shaking fingers I considered those two other words, just two feeble words, those two uttered again and again, murmured, stuttered by every other cancer victim, while also staring blankly at a similar blank white hospital wall feet away and mere minutes after a death sentence had been pronounced so summarily. So recklessly. So cruelly.

Two words.

My head snapped up, shaking involuntarily. Trying, to shake the reality away. I wanted to scream them out, those words, but melodrama was best served now by melancholy. So I just slowly placed my head back on its perch and closed my eyes hard shut, crying those muffled two words into my whetted palms…again… and again...and again...

“Why... me?”

*

The End: Part One.

Please look out for Part Two of “Vampire Health: The Cancer

Diaries.” Please share this story far and wide.

It...Is...Time!

Author’s Note: What you have just read is an introduction to what will in the next many weeks, become a multi-part series based on my aforementioned quest for knowledge that can save my life, but, by extension, the lives of others so afflicted.

No. I am not looking for sympathy. Had not my own saga not been germane to this worldwide horror story, this first-person journal and its indictment of Western Healthcare would not be offered to help those incorrectly being told that cancer and death is a fait a complit.

I do, however, ask for readers to weigh in and contact me using the comments section here, or at watchingromeburn.uk or by email. With the epidemic in cancer cases, your stories, your family's stories, your own research and success stories, I hope will be sent to me for consideration.

This is a big story.

What you will be reading is an ongoing chapter-by-chapter treatment for a potential book which I hope to obtain sponsorship for and that will expose the Healthcare industry reality and provide real hope for cancer patients who discover they can extricate themselves from the “Vampire Health” system and live.

I do not wish this series to be an advertisement or endorsement for any of the alternative medical treatments I will refer to from my personal research. As such, I will not be naming names, but indeed from my descriptions, the savvy reader may deduce the answers.

However, I recognize that readers may have a personal interest in cutting to the chase and knowing what can be done to address their own cancer as soon as possible. As such all readers are welcome to contact me privately. I cannot and will not provide medical advice. I can and will tell the reader what I have done, the relevant information I have gleaned, how I found that information and its effectiveness so far.

Part by part, as my story is slowly told, I will weave within my usual on-scene style the facts that show that the American healthcare industry cares not whether you live.

You are far more profitable...when you die!

Please look for, and reply to, “Vampire Health. The Cancer Diaries.”

And share this story.

Before it’s too late!

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About the Author: Brett Redmayne-Titley has spent the last twelve years travelling to and documenting the “Sorrows of Empire.” He has authored over 200 articles all of which have been published and often republished and translated by news agencies worldwide. An archive of his published work can be found at watchingromeburn. Uk. He can be contacted for interviews or comments at live-on-scene ((@)) gmx.com.

The author’s recent book, “THERE!” is out. 18 chapters of the best in old-style on-scene reporting from hot spots around the world. Please support my work by purchasing a copy from Amazon Books.