The Treatment

Prologue

December 21, 2012 was a cold and gloomy winter's day. Helicopters were hovering overhead in the sombre sky, people with notepads and cameras were pressing in and surrounding me as I stepped out of the taxi outside the Royal Courts of Justice on the Strand in Westminster, London. The sound of cameras clicking echoed through the air despite the chopping noise of the helicopter blades circling above.I walked towards the flashbulbs that created a wall of brightlight. Photographers scrambled all over each other, eager to get the best pictures and journalists were doing whatever they could for their sought-after soundbites. 'Sally.'' Over here, Sally. Look this way.' I was front-page news and being painted as a monster who  was denying her son life-saving cancer treatment. In reality, I was seeking the best post-surgical treatment for a medulloblastoma brain tumour. The conventional treatment was an umbrella approach: life-threatening, overprescribed and outdated. There were better ways to treat Neon, but these other techniques were not yet available in England. My son's brain tumour had been successfully removed. However, the post-surgery protocol prescribed a course of whole brain and spine radiation and a year's course of chemotherapy as a precautionary measure to destroy the possibility of a floating rogue cancer cell. The physicians caring for Neon warned me about the devastating side effects of the treatment. With the medical team unable to show me any credible statistics or studies proving radiation was necessary, all while making it difficult for me to obtain a second opinion, knowing there were more advanced treatments elsewhere I could not agree to allow the radiation to proceed. With the strict time restrictions, the medical industry(backed by the legal establishment) had used their full force against me. Up against the time constraints of the protocol and needing more time to decide on the safest and most effective treatment, I disappeared with Neon. The NHS informed the High Court that my son was "gravely ill" and would die if brain and spine radiation treatment did not start immediately, triggering a huge police hunt and media frenzy. We were tracked down like criminals and Neon was taken away from me by social services. Neon's words, "Mummy, am I ever going to see you again?" will haunt me forever. My little boy was traumatised by a system set up to protect the nation's health and I was severely criticised for not accepting the bog-standard treatment. I was obliged to attend court whilst Neon was in the hospital when I should have been with him. Instead, I was the centre of controversy and at my most vulnerable, crucified by the press.