From Brain Tumor to Brain‑Tech:  

Wearing the cap means shaving your head indefinitely, lugging a battery pack everywhere, swapping adhesive arrays twice a day to avoid scalp burns, and trying to sleep while tethered to cables. For many young patients it’s a 24‑hour billboard announcing “I’m sick,” which can amplify anxiety and social isolation. The pivotal trials quote a median survival bump of only 3–5 months and enrol mostly older patients; robust data for people in their 20s or 30s simply don’t exist. Conversations with several long‑term survivors who skipped Optune left me asking whether the device extends life or mainly extends treatment revenue.
For me the choice was clear—I declined. A device that offers no cure and keeps my mind tethered to the identity of being sick never fit my path.

Because I was young, the doctors ran Next-Generation Sequencing (NGS) on my tumour—a super-detailed DNA/RNA scan that looks for mutations a drug could attack. We all hoped the report would say, “Here’s the switch we can flip.”The result? Zero targets.
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No broken genes, no  mutation, nothing a pill or antibody could latch onto. 16 pages of data boiled down to one line: “No actionable alterations detected. ”That hit hard. If the cancer wasn’t hiding in my genetics, then what was driving it? For me the answer pointed inward: long-term stress, unprocessed trauma, and the way my mind had been wired since childhood. That realisation sent me deeper into meditation and mindset work—because if no drug could switch the tumour off, maybe I could.

Hearing from long‑term survivors like James, Megan (“The Brainy Blonde”), and Susan Hilburger (14 years clear) convinced me that healing is possible without devices such as Optune. Their experiences pushed me deeper into the science of brain–heart coherence, reinforcing the idea that disciplined inner work can shift biology down to the mitochondrial level. And that change and transformation is creating healing.

The tumour pressed on my speech centre—fitting, because I’d spent years holding words back. Shock one: my father left. Shock two: my step‑dad died when I was 18. Those blows hardened into a constant, heavy depression. A next‑generation sequencing test showed no genetic trigger, so I asked myself: Did years of silent stress give the tumour space to grow?

Meditation became my workshop. Bit by bit the fog cleared, my pounding heartbeat settled, and I felt what a calm mind really is. Realizing those inner traumas was a major turning point for me — they had been hidden for so long that I didn’t even know they existed.

MRI and quantitative EEG studies show that depression traps the brain in a tight frontal loop: the medial prefrontal cortex and anterior cingulate (our rumination hubs) are stuck on over‑drive while large swaths of the cortex stay under‑connected. Long‑term meditators display the opposite—balanced, whole‑brain coherence, stronger links between the so‑called default‑mode and task‑positive networks, and a calmer autonomic profile (higher vagal tone, steadier heart‑rate variability). Those before‑and‑after brain maps made the mind‑body link impossible to ignore and kept me committed to the practice.

After meeting more than twenty specialists, I finally connected with a neuro‑oncologist who offered a novel path: a personalised peptide vaccine that trains my immune system to hunt down any residual tumour cells. The therapy is compassionate‑use and still unproven, but early case reports hint at longer disease‑free intervals. I receive an injection every few weeks and track progress through standard blood panels and MRI.

But From my own experience, I believe the shot is only half the battle; if I don’t resolve the depression and stress patterns that I see as the tumour’s root, I risk inviting it back. I kept only the tumour‑removal surgery and a brief course of radiation; everything else—meditation, nutrition, and this immune‑boosting vaccine—now forms my self‑directed care plan.

Before cancer I designed augmented-reality worlds for global brands—campaigns where 3-D objects cars or virtual products hovered in your living-room. During treatment a different idea clicked: What if the scene reacted to my inner state instead of my fingertips? I’m now prototyping a platform that pairs non-invasive biosensors — EEG headbands, optical heart-rate-variability straps — with Unity-based XR environments. When your heart rhythm slips into coherence the virtual world brightens, geometry aligns, and music resolves into rich overtones. When stress spikes, colours desaturate, clouds roll in, and gentle breath-work cues appear.Think of it as bio-feedback meets interactive art—a way to see gratitude, calm, or focus in real time and train those states the same way we train muscles.

No one should have to stare at an 18‑month stopwatch without a map. My mission is to keep learning every day and turn everything I discover—medical, technological, and deeply human—into open, shareable systems of hope and empowerment:

As you read this, I am tumour‑free on every scan. I’m still inside the 18‑month prognosis window doctors gave me, yet the shifts in how I think, feel, and live make me certain I’ve already stepped off that statistical curve. If any part of this journey resonates—whether you’re a patient, a researcher, or a creator exploring the mind‑body frontier—let’s connect.