About Moi

In 2012 I had been faced with a series of health anomalies that left me at one point to fight for my life. It took a lot of patience to churn through the bain of pain, medical misdiagnosis. Everyone defaulted to blaming my gall bladder and wanted to remove it. I refused the surgery and continued my search for the actual root cause. In the end, a naturopath helped solve the mystery. I had picked up a fluke during one of my many overseas escapades. The parasite (Eurytrema pancreaticum) had set up house in my pancreas. This little fellow subjected me to re-occurring bouts of pancreatitis and, at one point, thrust my body into multi-organ failure. Anyone who has experienced pancreatitis can attest to the all-consuming pain that emanates from this rather vital organ.

I vividly recall staring out the hospital window, wincing in pain while contemplating the staff’s news of my potentially untimely calling to dust. Drowning out the peripheral noise, I focussed on the clouds drifting by as I asked myself a question. “If I am to die, do I have any regrets?” Much to my surprise, the response was a resounding, “Yes.”

Images of myself as a child flashed before my eyes. Laying beside my horses in open fields, staring up at the skies to indulge in some recreational daydreaming, writing stories on my rusty old second-hand typewriter with an overused ribbon that created character to what I typed with its varying degrees of fade. I recalled the countless books filled with drawings, poems, and lyrics to songs. For much of my adult life, I had sacrificed the things I genuinely loved to do in place of taking the responsible path of working in exchange for money. It is not an unfamiliar choice for most of us. There was a distinct shift in my paradigm that day. I made myself a promise that if I survived this, I would ensure moving forward that I would live my truth.

Knowing that I had work to do, I unhooked myself from the drips, got dressed, and snuck out of the hospital. I detoured to a herbal shop on my way back to my place. Every single immunity supporting, parasite-killing herb or concoction was placed in my shopping cart. By the time I reached my house, the hospital was calling to track me down. Against their recommendation, I confirmed that I acknowledged the risks and was discharging myself. I knew I was playing a game of Russian roulette and would need to be careful of the combination and form in which I took the herbs. It was a punt I was willing to accept and indeed did.

I stayed true to my word during my recovery and began writing my first novel called Wantin. Smiling as the sound of my keys on my Apple MAC clacked, I was grateful for rediscovering the simplistic joy of creativity. I was finally on my path of no regrets and have stayed true to it ever since.