'I'd never thought twice about donating to a GoFundMe. Until my friends wanted to start one for me.'

On a chilly night in March, my husband and I went back to his hometown Adelaide for a friend's 30th.

It was the first time we had seen anyone since my Stage 4 breast cancer diagnosis in December — news we had sparsely shared due to it being, for lack of a better word, terrifying.

Two of his best friends, Charlie and Tiddas, pulled us aside for a chat. They wanted to raise some money for us and, together with the boys, had been brainstorming a few ideas.

It warmed our hearts enormously. And yet, I felt some trepidation about it. A GoFundMe? I was mortified.

By this point, my husband had been researching for months, and we had decided we would go to Germany to see an oncologist who administers both treatment and cancer "vaccines" — with much success.

We had also sent an $8,000 blood test to India, the UK and Germany to test what repurposed drugs would kill my cancer cells, started a very expensive regime with a naturopath, bought a red light therapy panel — the list goes on.

Not to mention the conventional medical expenses. A $500 an hour rheumatologist to treat an autoimmune condition that arose off the back of my original treatment. $100 pharmacy hauls.

It is all worth its weight in gold — but cancer ain't cheap — especially when neither of you are working. So, what was holding me back?

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It's not as though I've ever judged anyone who has started a GoFundMe. I've had friends have a GoFundMe started for them when going through cancer treatment, and I've only ever been in awe of them.

I've donated to countless people without a second thought. So why did I have different standards for myself? Why was I so embarrassed?

After many months, Henry and I acquiesced. The boys were determined to help, so they got the ball rolling. But first, I needed to go public with my diagnosis — something I had been avoiding for the best part of a year.

I carefully drafted an Instagram post to share what I had been shouting about in my private circles since December: there is never no hope and there are never no more options.

I had two followers reach out for more information on Germany — for themselves and a loved one. That alone made the excruciating vulnerability hangover worth it.

And then, the GoFundMe dropped. Our beautiful friends Ed, Charlie and Nick ran the operation like their lives depended on it (or perhaps, mine) and quickly the donations flooded in.

Old friends I hadn't spoken to in a decade, close friends who were already in the trenches and going above and beyond, complete strangers.

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For about 24 hours, I winced — I'm not being dramatic — I felt sick to my stomach (compounded by the chemotherapy, of course). But after the initial nauseating, dizzying first day passed, I felt, to my surprise, relief. My perspective shifted.

Every $50 donated was shouting a round of pre-chemo drugs at the pharmacy. Every $120 donated was a post-chemo acupuncture session to ease my nausea or another life-affirming session with my energy healer.

Every $500 was a specialist appointment — and the rest would pay for the very expensive overseas treatments we are determined to access: the flights, the accomodation, the time off work, and the treatment itself.

I could join a gym — something I'd been putting off since moving house, for fear of committing to an extra expense every week.

A few days on, and all I feel now is immense gratitude. Not just to the people that donated, but those who reached out with messages of love and support — or with stories of hope.

After months of living a secret life of wigs and chemotherapy sessions, I have stepped out with a diagnosis that doesn't feel as scary as it did a few days ago.

I have written before about the importance of community, and it has never felt so true. I am reminded of the good in people, how much people care, and feel buoyed by the love and support I have received.

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In her book Radical Remission, Kelly A Turner writes about the importance of community as a factor that facilitates healing against all odds.

As my friend Chloe said following a diagnosis of her own — if love could cure cancer, consider me HEALED.

P.S. Ed, Tiddas and Wiggins — you are all incredible friends. Thank you for organising the GoFundMe and empowering me to be public with my diagnosis.

Holly, Jen and Katie — I see your fingerprints all over it, too. Not to mention the broader community who have been hard at work — brainstorming over wines at the pub. Thank you.

P.P.S. You can find the GoFundMe (deep breath) here.

This article was originally published in Ali's Substack A Little Bit Better and has been republished here with permission. You can also read Ali's updates on Instagram at @ali.ttlebitbetter.

Feature image: Instagram @alimoore_.