'I have brain cancer in a post-Belle Gibson world. Here's what I want you to know.'

What were you doing on February 7, 2022?

I walked my daughter, Imogen, to her first day of school. I was 48, a proud solo mum, feeling blessed that I had my miracle child. It felt like all my life had culminated into that special day for Imi and that I'd really "made it".

Before she was born, I had worked for the NSW state government in their environmental branch and now, I was strolling through my hometown of Erskineville, past the community garden I helped cultivate, and through the community I was raising my daughter in — absolutely walking on clouds.

Fast-forward to May 22, 2022. I was in my GP's office, confirming what Google had told me the night before, when I found my nipple had collapsed inwards.

I had breast cancer.

Kristi with her mum Vicki, and newborn Imogen. Image: Supplied.

A week later it was confirmed to be Stage 3 — "treatable".

And this is when the rollercoaster began. Because only days later, this was upgraded to Stage 4 — "life-limiting".

And then they found tumours in my bones, as well.

I told my village because I needed immediate support but I didn't ask for any financial support even though the doctors urged me to seek it.

And then the bills hit. The wonder drug Perjeta alone would be $6000. As a solo mum, I prided myself on managing my bills, providing us with reasonable luxuries and setting an example of modest thriftiness.

But this rocked me. Suddenly, I had enormous bills I had not planned for and went from an active mum to lethargic as I battled cancer and the usual witching hours of motherhood. The sleep deprivation was beyond the lethargy of my newborn days because those daytimes had been fuelled by dopamine and baby cuddles.

I spent nights agonising:

Why me?

Why hadn't I seen the doctor sooner?

What if I'd noticed it early?

What if I died?

How could I leave my daughter without a parent, at only five years old?

The thoughts consumed me. Unrelated health conditions I had previously managed now require medication. I couldn't think. Or stop thinking.

And I had to keep paying the bills.

Watch: Chanelle McAuliffe on what Belle Gibson has been doing since her scam was discovered. Post continues after video.

For five years, I have lived a wonderful life as a solo mum by choice, raising my daughter in a peaceful, loving and stable home. I'd prided myself on being able to attend school assemblies and be a class parent, manage a home and raise my daughter to be responsible and kind.

And then, in my pit of despair, I realised I would need assistance — for everything. From cleaning, to raising my daughter and paying the bills.

Yet, in a post-Belle Gibson world, I felt like I couldn't ask for financial help. What if anyone questioned me — could I handle the scrutiny? The judgement?

But I swallowed my pride and accepted my sister's offer to start a GoFundMe as I battled chemotherapy, radiotherapy, a double mastectomy, the loss of my hair, my fingerprints and my energy… for over a year.

Kristi with her dad Rhett after her last chemotherapy session. Image: Supplied.

The rollercoaster wasn't over when I rang the bell at the end of chemo, though. Then came the tests, the discovery that the treatments had affected my lungs, that I'd need ongoing medication for over a decade – steroids, hormone blockers, Ritalin, antidepressants, sleeping tablets… and most surprisingly, medication for narcolepsy due to my extreme fatigue. My body, at 51, was exhausted.

And yet, around me was a bubbly, bouncing and thriving seven-year-old. So I rallied. My village rallied. And I vowed to pull it all together, rejoin the living and thriving and…

Then, this year, February 22, a routine check found that I had four tumours in my brain.

It was surreal. It is still surreal, only days later.

When my sister reinvigorated the GoFundMe — the one titled "Kristi has Breast Cancer"… I cringed, feeling an overwhelming fear that I would not be believed, given it came just a week after Apple, Cider, Vinegar was released — a TV series documenting Belle Gibson's fraudulent claims to be suffering numerous cancers and overcoming them through holistic dieting and wellbeing practices.

But now, just as in 2022 — I have no choice but to ask for help. Without it, I cannot raise my daughter. I cannot juggle the bills, juggle the extra expenses — the taxis, the medication, the childcare, meal services, cleaners — without an injection of financial support from the kindness of my village.

Belle Gibson, and those like her, didn't just commit fraud. Their legacy continues to impact women just like me who feel guilt and shame for asking for help not just because it's challenging to do so, but because, deep down, there is a fear that somewhere, someone is wondering… what if this is a scam?

I wish it was a scam. Because then, I wouldn't have cancer. I would feel assured that I'll be here for my daughter's next birthday.

My greatest fear is not dying. My greatest fear is leaving my darling Imi without a mother.

Kristi with her daughter, Imogen, 2 weeks before learning about her first diagnosis. Image: Supplied.

And this is why I, like so many other women in my shoes, ask for financial help from our communities, even in the wake of Belle Gibson and fraudsters like her.

Because as a mother, I will do whatever it takes to maximise the chances that my daughter will have a mother when she turns nine this October, then 18, 21 and… when she is celebrating her 40^th with me while I potter around my garden in the Erskineville community plot, in many years to come.

One last thing, especially for the boob owners: go get them checked. It's free for all Australian women from age 40, but you won't receive an automatic invitation until you turn 50.

I'm 51.

If you would like to help Kristi, donate at her GoFundMe here.

Feature image: Supplied.