25th May 2026

Newsletter Monday

Hello Reader,

A local newspaper story caught my eye this morning.

A young man who had previously survived cancer reportedly died after taking part in a detox ritual involving a substance derived from an Amazonian tree frog.

The details are tragic and still unclear, so I’m not going to sensationalise them further.

His mum has spoken to the journalist hoping to raise awareness about this, though exact cause of death is still unconfirmed.

But the story landed with me because, honestly, the frog poison almost doesn’t matter.

If it hadn’t been frog venom, it could have been any number of things:

What doesn't make the headline is what is really going on underneath stories like this.

Surviving a serious illness often doesn’t restore a sense of safety.

Often, it does the opposite.

As a GP, I’ve seen this repeatedly over the years.

Somebody survives cancer, a heart attack, major surgery, burnout, a frightening diagnosis.

Proper medicine gets them through the acute crisis.

Surgeons operate.

Chemotherapy works.

ICU saves them.

Medication stabilises them.

Then it's a case of; off you go and live now, bye.

So what happens emotionally?

People are often left with a lingering sense that their body betrayed them and that it could happen again at any moment.

That’s an incredibly vulnerable psychological state to be in.

And into that vulnerability steps an enormous wellness industry offering certainty, control and explanations.

“You need to detox.”

“You need to heal the root cause.”

“You need to purge toxins.”

“You need to optimise your immune system.”

“You can do so much more.”

Humans are meaning-seeking creatures.

After frightening experiences, we naturally search for reassurance, certainty and some sense that we can influence what happens next.

And I wonder sometimes if what many people are really searching for after illness is not “detoxification” or “optimisation” at all.

It’s safety.

It’s the feeling that their body is no longer a ticking time bomb.

It’s the reassurance that there are still things they can do that meaningfully matter.

The problem is that modern life is not always very good at helping people find that feeling.

Years ago, more support often came from communities, extended families, neighbours, religious groups, local clubs and repeated face-to-face contact.

Not perfectly, obviously, but people were often held more visibly within a network after illness, bereavement or crisis.

Now many people recover alone with Google, TikTok and Facebook communities.

And while some online spaces are genuinely supportive, others are filled with people who are very skilled at identifying fear and selling certainty back to vulnerable people.

That’s why I think this matters far beyond one tragic newspaper story involving a frog.

Because if we don’t help people find safety, connection and meaning in grounded places, they will keep searching for it elsewhere.

And perhaps we also need to speak more clearly about the things that really do meaningfully matter after illness:
-rebuilding strength,
-eating reasonably well,
-sleeping properly,
-moving your body again,
-finding supportive people,
-talking openly about fear,
-connecting with others who have been through similar experiences,
-and gradually learning to trust your body again.

Those things are not flashy.

Nobody can package them into a glamorous detox retreat.

But they are often the foundations of genuine recovery.

Not because they are exciting.

Because they help people feel human again.