Four years ago, I was a 124kg alcoholic lawyer with two days to live.

I didn’t realise how close I was to dying. I honestly didn’t. I thought I was just tired. Just under pressure. Just busy — like everyone else. But my liver was failing. Silently. Steadily. It was shutting down.

There were signs. I just didn’t listen. Brain fog. Skin issues. Emotional distance. Waking up exhausted. I brushed it off. Told myself it was just part of the deal. I had responsibilities. People were relying on me. I thought I was strong — but I wasn’t.

I was silently breaking down.

And it nearly cost me everything.

The diagnosis hit hard: liver failure. Not years down the track — now. My body had been whispering for a long time. I’d ignored every signal. And suddenly, the whisper was a scream.

I was told I might not survive - a transplant might be the only option - and that I might not even qualify.

But I didn’t accept that. Something inside me shifted. I took full ownership. I wasn’t going to outsource my life to hope. I had to rebuild it myself.

When I made the decision to fight for my life, I didn’t leap straight into some extreme protocol.

I started where most people do — with what we’ve been told is “healthy.”

I tried the textbook approach—lean meats, grains, fibre, and even went plant-based (much to the shock of friends and family). But despite the effort, my energy stayed low and inflammation lingered.

So I kept digging.

Cutting sugar and processed foods helped, but for me, carnivore changed everything—clarity, stable energy, no bloat.