Cancer Mentality: The Cure for Cancer Is in the Mind – Heal Your Attitudes and Beliefs

By Paul Brodrick

Paul Brodrick found himself reassessing his life after having a bowel tumor removed five years ago.

In this book, he shares what it was like to be diagnosed with cancer, how he dealt with the fear of defective genes, and how he learned to choose his own prognosis for a cancer-free future. He also weaves in simple explanations of cutting-edge science and metaphysical ideas, explaining how they played a role in his recovery and wellness. Get answers to questions such as:

• What role does stress play in overall health?
• How can you look at wellness differently, to reclaim control of your health?
• What are the pros and cons of chemotherapy?
• Why is it so important to have a peaceful mind, to understand beliefs, to practice gratitude and have positive thoughts?

He also shares his firm belief that healing depends on the attitude you bring to whatever you’re experiencing. It’s absolutely critical to see that there is a mentality, an attitude behind everything we think and do, and that these attitudes can be changed.

Join the author as he reveals the missteps he took during his dance with cancer, how he found the path to wellness, and how he changed his perspective on how to live a long, happy life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Feb 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9781982296728

Paul Brodrick

Paul Brodrick went from being a regular suburban son to cult acolyte before becoming a single father, serial house renovator, business owner, and then a penniless vagabond. When he was diagnosed with cancer, he changed his perspective on what is healthy and how to live a good, long life. He lives in beautiful Western Australia, in a gypsy caravan on an organic farm.

Book preview

PART I

MY HEALTH EXPERIENCE

CHAPTER 1

AS A YOUNG FATHER

The first time I recall seriously thinking about my health was at age thirty-three, when I found myself covered in bruises one Sunday afternoon although I didn’t normally bruise at all. My Monday-to-Friday job was in an office, but on the weekends, I would renovate our home and enjoy the outdoors with walks, swims, gardening, and building. My wife and I discussed what could have bruised me, and it seemed the only activity that could have possibly done this was climbing around in the fronds of our coconut tree to cut down nuts (so they wouldn’t fall onto our car!). I felt fine and hadn’t actually bumped myself, but because this bruising was so unusual, I finished cleaning up the coconut tree and took myself to the hospital’s emergency room for a diagnosis. My young wife and one-year-old son Joel were leaving our home in Darwin that afternoon for several weeks in Perth to spend time with her family while I kept working at my job. I said goodbye to them and went to hospital alone, thinking the doctors would probably give me some advice or even medication for my unusual bruising issue, and that would be the extent of it.

It’s worth saying here that my marriage wasn’t fantastic at this time. I recall being surprised at my wife’s blasé attitude about her leaving town for some weeks, let alone about me heading to hospital by myself. Neither of us expected it to be a big deal, though. Normally, we did everything we could together, and she seemed unconcerned, even aloof about my condition. This probably shows where our marriage was. Looking back, I can see it was a marker of our moving apart from each other. This means there was emotional turmoil going on, at least within me, but probably within her as well. I now know this type of emotional experience to be stressful, and no doubt it added to my overloaded system, contributing to the health outcome I found myself with.

Hours later, the tests brought such concern to the medical staff they wouldn’t let me go home—I was to remain in hospital for investigative treatment for at least a few days. I insisted I was fine, just had a few bruises, was still dirty from my sweaty coconut-harvesting task, and had work to go to the next day. My work couldn’t do without me, as I was the only full-time staff member, working as the executive officer in a busy office with only a half-time assistant. I needed to shower and get toiletries and pyjamas if I were to stay even one night. But the staff insisted even more strongly, saying my condition was such that if I accidentally cut myself, I could easily bleed to death! This much they did know of my condition, and they had my attention.

So, I showered at the hospital and felt pensive thanks to the heavy diagnosis; the strong words used to convince me I was safer in hospital; the lack of clarity around my symptoms; and knowing I was alone for the next few weeks while my wife, my son, and my in-utero daughter were away in Perth. I phoned around to friends, family, and work associates (volunteer members of the professional body I worked for) to explain my absence for the next few days. I had no familiar company initially but found reassurance and friendship in those lovely nurses and doctors. Once my few days in hospital turned into a week, the familiar people who did visit me were a blessing; I was so grateful for their company and support.

It transpired that I had contracted a disease condition called idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura. It is usually referred to by the acronym ITP because the name is so tongue-twisting (it took me days to memorize it). This is a rare autoimmune disorder in which a person’s blood doesn’t clot properly because the blood-clotting platelet cells are dying off. The medical language used is the immune system destroys the platelet cells. That makes it sound to me like a self-destruction condition, and I certainly couldn’t understand why my body would do that to itself. At the time of admission to hospital, my platelet cell count was dangerously low, well under the minimum mark of the recommended normal range, and it was this that made the medical staff protect me from any cuts or scrapes that may have caused unstoppable bleeding.

During the first day or so of my two-week hospitalization, I quickly gave in to the experience and started to totally relax. I had a reasonable trust in God and was able to expect that somehow this would be OK, despite the fear of having a strange and rare condition that required the medical people to do research at each turn. Everything they did for me was new to them. They asked for my permission to have medical students study my condition, and despite my ongoing requests for more help to understand the cause for this rare affliction, there was never any response deeper than that a virus was suspected of causing it. At the time of writing in 2022, this is still the presumed cause of new cases of ITP, over twenty years later.

Although I didn’t have the language for it at the time, I knew that the cause of my ITP issue was unlikely to have been simply a virus. I had many in-depth discussions with doctors, even with the specialist who decided on the course of strong steroids to treat my condition, exploring possible causes for my disease, but the only options offered were virus or stress. I didn’t think the virus idea was valid, as I’d had no other symptoms for many weeks prior to this, yet when stress was mentioned vaguely as a possible contributor, I couldn’t relate either. My belief system was not allowing me to see that stress could have been high in my life (no, not me!). I didn’t think I was a worrier, either, but looking back, I see that was probably wrong too.

In my two weeks of rest and reflection in hospital, I did come to see I was actually living permanently under the influence of stress-induced adrenaline. This was caused by fears and worry about what might happen in life (most of which was unfounded, of course, but I took a while to see this). There were multiple stressors at that time. For a start, my job as executive officer was a busy one with many aspects to it, from menial administration tasks to intense meetings at policy and political levels, and I was the representative of the organization at every level.

My conscientious approach to doing the job to my very best only added to my stress, as I was working extra hard to justify the trust my employers had placed in me, seeing abilities in me that my résumé didn’t spell out through prior experience or education. This was self-imposed pressure, but a stressor just the same. My failing marriage was certainly another stressor. I had committed to stay married and to raise kids with my wife, and it was looking less and less certain that this was going to continue happily, so that was hard.

Added to this was another self-imposed pressure to be an exemplary human being and to win the favour not only of other people but also of God. No small task there. When I say self-imposed here, I mean I tended to take to heart the teachings of our spiritual group, so again my conscientiousness was working against me as well as for me. When the teachings said to do things a certain way, I would, and it was this stoicism and obedience that got me the role of group leader, running the meeting place we all used to practice and to study in. I gained a lot from my job, my marriage, and the spiritual group, but I was starting to see the negatives working against me from having too much going on.

The doctors’ agreeance that stress looked to be the major contributor to my ills added fuel to my drive for change, so I diligently took the steroid pills while I worked out the rest. Thankfully, I could see ways out of this worry and fear, and I started to make the required lifestyle changes, watching as the weeks rolled along and my life improved in parallel to the reducing of my steroid dosage. I changed my yes-to-everything attitude at work and actually became more professional in my dealings. I reassessed my place in the spiritual group. And I reviewed my priorities within my marriage to reduce my stress levels. From there, it looked like stress down, steroids dose down.

Six months later my ITP markers (healthy range platelet cell levels) were normal and stable, my life was free of most stuff outside of work, and my attitudes at home and at work were both happier and freer. My wife and I enjoyed a better relationship, although this wasn’t to last. At least we were able to more clearly see and work on our issues without the stress of being overly busy and without me being too tired.

Part of my outside work hours busyness, as mentioned earlier, was being group leader for the spiritual group. I found I was working long and hard trying to keep the local branch of the organization alive, getting little spiritual or physical reward. And because of my recent awakening about my health and marriage, I decided to quit my membership. This was a shock to many, as I had been involved for over ten years and was considered one of those devoted people who loves and lives the teachings. I stopped putting everyone else (especially strangers and God) first and start looking after myself and my family first. It took another two decades of practicing that self-care to get better at it, but I did improve.

Maybe that character trait of putting others before myself added to my health burden. This is one of those areas of life I started to review, looking at the metaphysical causes for illness, meaning how our emotions and personality traits influence our experiences in many ways. I could also see how being so conscientious was working against me. Yet it was an integral part of my character; I had grown to look for recognition and to seek approval from others, and my people-pleaser character traits were becoming obvious.

CHAPTER 2

SINGLE PARENTING

Around a year later, we were doing better as a little family, and our daughter, Megan, was born later that year. We were working on understanding what made each of us happy and unhappy, changing what we could for the betterment of the family. My wife went back to her beloved job that she had missed, and I resigned from my job to stay at home and look after the two kids. While this involved a steep learning curve, I was already an involved dad so was up for the challenge. We still had major house renovations to do so we could get ahead financially, which we saw as a source of pride and fulfilment (this was probably more important to me than to my wife), and I hoped I could work on these renovations while the kids played.

These few years married to an increasingly more depressed woman were reminiscent of living with my father’s short temper when I was a child. I had to live as if walking on eggshells, trying not to upset the temperamental one—again. My father isn’t like that now, but at the time, he was immersed in a hectic career at the top of his game, and all that came with that made him tightly wound. Similarly, my wife was tightly wound, trying to be a good mother while preserving her own sense of self and sanity amid her depression.

A few months passed, and this new arrangement hadn’t worked well enough. We weren’t arguing or fighting any more, but the dynamic had become morose, mostly sad. We barely spoke, and when we did, it was only on basic matters to do with schedules or food. My wife announced through tears that she couldn’t stay. Her depression was such that she was unable to find anything but difficulty in our family situation. So, a few challenging conversations later, I agreed that splitting up was best. I had tried hard to make this work for the years prior, and if she wanted out for her mental health, then that was going to spare us both the ongoing drama of not getting along and would be best for all of us in the long run.

For the next fifteen years, I was actively the single father. And for most of those years, the kids saw their mother for weekend or school holiday visits when she was able to cope with having them around. Unfortunately, her depression was to continue for many years, perhaps not surprisingly, as it was very hard for a mother who loved her children to not be with them for the majority of the time. The kids got plenty of exposure to things in life that I would have preferred they didn’t see, yet that has made them both protective of their mother and wise in the ways of the world, so it’s not all bad. Both kids live close to my ex-wife and see her often, reporting to me that she is doing fine.

I feel privileged to have had the role of single dad and wouldn’t have wanted it to be any other way, as I have so many wonderful memories of my time with the kids. We shared our lives as a loving unit, and overall, I think we enjoyed our time together. My ex-wife and I have managed to get along well over the years, and we’re both proud to have wonderful young adults as the outcome.

In a similar way to me being conscientious with my work and in the spiritual group, I was determined to do my best in my parenting, so I brought my beliefs and expectations to this role also. This meant I saw situations as stressful at times and surely could have made life easier for myself (and for the kids) if I relaxed more. I certainly felt I deserved more love than I was receiving, which I now see as a sign of my own lack of self-love. This longing for love was at the root of some inner stress (frustration) I felt, as well as being the reason for some silly relationship choices over the years.

CHAPTER 3

THE START OF PATTERNS: A FAMILY MEMBER’S SCARE

Some five or six years after my divorce, I had moved interstate to be close to my family. One of my family members had to spend time in hospital for what was initially a mystery illness. After some days of being nauseous and physically sick, it turned out that this mystery illness required the surgical removal of a tumour in the bowel to get them feeling right again and able to eat normally. I was just forty years of age, and this relative was of a similar age, too young for this to be considered normal, so our birth genes were suspected as making us all possibly susceptible to cancer. Regular colonoscopies were prescribed, even for those who showed no signs of dis-ease. Obviously, these were initiated to find issues before they become a big challenge.

One of my siblings’ reactions to the need for colonoscopies (bowel scans) was, Yeah, yeah, I know, cruel to be kind and all that, but no one’s gonna stick anything up my bum! No doubt this sentiment would have been different if it were a dire situation and not a routine check, but it was funny.

A decade or so later, a relative by marriage who is a specialist medical doctor finally convinced my sibling to have that first colonoscopy, which thankfully showed no problems. Each time a new issue has arisen in the family over the years, this related doctor nodded knowingly in confirmation of the mainstream reading of the statistics around dis-ease such as this. I think, however, that he was coming from his training and, therefore, from his truth. But there are other ways to view these statistics. I’ll explain what I mean later in the book.

These GP-initiated colonoscopies and regular check-ups of us siblings were partly to ensure that we remain healthy and partly to allow the medical system to learn from our lives and the symptoms and conditions that may arise in us over the years (adding to their store of statistics). It quickly became clear that it looked to the medicos as though our family had some predisposition to cancer. At times they would come right out and say so, suggesting genetic testing to confirm that we fit into this or that syndrome or category.

I never had the genetic testing, but I did have confirmation of genetic markers through the pathology results of growths removed from my skin by our GP. As a result of these genetic markers, we were labelled as having Lynch syndrome, as well as being part of the Muir-Torre syndrome. Lynch syndrome is defined by Wikipedia as an inherited condition that increases your risk of colon cancer and other cancers. Lynch syndrome has historically been known as hereditary nonpolyposis colorectal cancer (HNPCC). Muir-Torre syndrome is described by Wikipedia as a rare hereditary, autosomal dominant cancer syndrome that is thought to be a subtype of HNPCC. Individuals are prone to develop cancers of the colon, genitourinary tract, and skin lesions, such as keratoacanthomas and sebaceous tumors. The genes affected are MLH1, MSH2, and more recently, MSH6.

Lynch syndrome is, I believe, named after someone who noticed patterns in statistics that showed links between cancers in the colon and on the skin, especially the face. Muir-Torre syndrome groups those patients with mismatched repair genes / proteins. I’ll discuss this grouping later in the book.

Looking back on those times, I can see how these various labels and the way they were explained made me feel tainted. I felt that my future was predestined and was to be feared. I felt like an Australian aboriginal person who had been in trouble in their traditional lore system, and an elder had pointed the bone at them (something like casting a spell), meaning the subject would surely fall ill or die as instructed by the bone pointer, as punishment for the misdemeanour. Because their lore is taught from a young age, these people have such a belief in this system of punishment that they follow the directive and become sick or die; the mind (they might say the spirit) is that powerful.

I felt fear of these predestined consequences (that were described so often by medical staff) creeping in on my life despite my efforts to counter them. It was scenarios like this that stuck with me as examples of what we allow ourselves to believe. Some messages really get in.

My skin has been of interest to doctors all of my adult life, as I have many moles and similar bumps and marks, especially on my back. Now that I think of it, this interest in my skin over the years must have added to my own awareness of my skin. Being told I had damaged cells from too much time in the sun made me fearful of more exposure and made me hyper-aware of blemishes and such. Strangely, I couldn’t make the logic add up because our cells are always renewing, constantly. So, why wouldn’t the blueprint for making Paul’s skin renew healthily after any sun damage? Further, being told that my skin was of a type that mutates into skin cancers made me hypervigilant and fearful of this strange affliction called mutation. I think that, without this intrigue from GPs, I would have barely noticed my skin. And I now think it has coloured my attitudes to health, even influencing my self-esteem to this day. Being a curious guy, I found such issues prompting me to learn more about the emerging science of the placebo and nocebo effects and epigenetics, which has taught me so much. More on those topics to come.

During these many years, my feelings about the medical/genetic statistics moved through various stages. Initially, I was grateful the Australian public health system was doing its best to take care of our family’s health by having us checked and probed often enough to catch potential problems before they could become big problems. I recall later being annoyed about the intrusion of all the appointments, the reminders, the probing, and the forecasting of doom in the constant prognoses that arose from doctors and nurses who meant well.

The feeling was growing that instead of having such faith in the mainstream medical view of my life, I should trust the new information that I was learning about from outside sources, such as books, documentaries, word of mouth, podcasts, and more. This new material was proving the power of our minds—for positive or for negative—and was detailing the ways that the placebo/nocebo effects play out in our everyday lives. I was coming to know well that my eyes had been blinkered by the limited view of the mainstream but that, outside of that bell curve shown on statistical graphs (representing the majority), miraculous advances were being made.

Of the new material I was learning about, I was especially appreciative of the work of some who were humbly questioning the mainstream view of health care—those who had been criticized until their ideas took hold and the previously held truth disproven. Once upon a time, the world was known to be flat.

Looking back, I can see that this period began to instil in me a set of fears. While I maintained a positive view of life and was known as an easy-going person, this early exposure to major health issues in the family was setting up a fear-based mentality in me and possibly in other members of the family. This unwanted mentality lingers in me today, but I’m grateful to have seen other ways to look at life and keep striving to reprogram myself.

Many would assert that the medicos would have been bang on about our family having genetics that produce regular colon cancer issues. I should say that there are family members who have no hint of any bowel or other cancer concerns, so it is certainly not playing out as a blanket curse on us all. From what I have learnt, though, there is more to this than what normally meets the eye, especially the eyes of traditional medical doctors or statisticians. Again, there will be much more discussion on this topic later in the book.

CHAPTER 4

A LESSON FROM MY SON

When my son, Joel, was roughly eight or nine years of age and usually in great health,