These blogs are getting some traction and people with genuine issues or similar circumstances — either personally or through a friend going through it — have been in touch and said they're benefiting from the content. I have so much more to tell about my journey so far and what I've learnt, and I will be doing that soon in future posts.
However, I thought it was important to tell you how I learnt this and why isn't it more mainstream.
If you read the first blog about diagnosis I talk about a fork in the road — a decision to listen and follow the medical path only, or take the medical path and also look at other paths as well. Not everyone is built this way. In fact, most people aren't — and that's completely fair. But I have never been good at being told what to do or taking advice and my wife often reminds me I have always lived by my own compass. There are obvious downsides to that, but there are also some upsides too.
A friend described it well: I'm often "prepared to walk straight into the fire" and see what's on the other side. That mindset can be reckless, but it can also be useful. I like to think I've got better at applying it with a bit more discipline and respect for consequences — and until now, it hasn't turned out too bad.
I had an illustrious career in the RAF after leaving school that saw me have a couple of unexpected postings — one productive piece of work launching a satellite in space in the US, making tea for the RAF Falcons, playing a lot of Rugby and bobsleighing. Basically living my best life.
This culminated in my absolute favourite quote, at my dining out night at the end of my 6-year commission from RAF Locking (RAF Butlins, as it was known), when my then boss and Squadron Leader started the speech with:
"The thing about Watkins is we don't really need him in the Air Force until there is a war on."
He could have sat down at that point and taken the applause.
It's fair to say I've never done normal or steady or taken things as read. I like to know a bit more about what's going on.
So I took option 2
Don't get me wrong — I'm lucky to be on private medical and have the best haematologist in the country. I also have an incredible oncology team of nurses at UCL Macmillan Cancer who are a delight. I certainly wouldn't go against their advice and I'm grateful for every ounce of the conventional treatment I'm receiving. I'm not rejecting conventional treatment — I'm adding to it.
I found out I was one of the lucky ones in that my cancer is treatable and often manageable long-term, though not always considered curable with current standard treatment. Long remission is possible, and I'm doing everything I can to extend that remission, reduce side effects, and improve my quality of life — because even if you're "treatable", no one can tell you what the long-term looks like. I found myself wondering: how long could it be?
This is the 1% protocol
By the "1% protocol" I mean the small, controllable daily choices — sleep, movement, metabolic strategy, stress, environment, recovery — that sit alongside treatment and might collectively shift the odds.
So, what next?
We are blessed today with technology beyond the understanding of many people. I'm lucky enough to work in tech and I understand enough about how AI works (and doesn't work). To be clear: there are risks. But used properly, it can be an extraordinary accelerator.
I took a paid subscription with ChatGPT. I watched a MasterClass on building GPTs (easier than you'd think). I then uploaded all my haematology letters, blood results, and a timeline of symptoms and treatment. I also uploaded my lifestyle and routine. My journey started with suspected colon cancer so there were gastroenterologist letters, then oncology letters, and many other threads.
Then, as part of my protocol was light exercise, I did the daily dog walk — and on that walk I'd enabled voice mode and we talked. For hours. This became my digital twin (DT): my pocket counsellor, my pocket medical team, and has grown into nutritionist, naturopath, and many more roles — including lecturer.
I asked it to help me build a working model: what matters, what doesn't, what questions should I be asking, and what are the likely levers I can control.
My parents came to stay, obviously concerned — a Stage 4 diagnosis never sounds good, and a son will always try to paint a bright picture to his parents. So I sat them down and introduced them to Darren 2.0 (rubbish name, but I was struggling for ideas). I told my DT who they were and what their roles were, and said: explain my diagnosis, prognosis, and likely outcomes to people in their role as concerned parents.
It talked for five minutes. Took questions. Did it in a way they could relate to. Both my parents breathed a physical sigh of relief.
That was the light bulb moment.
I spent the next six weeks working with it to build a parallel complementary schedule with a primary objective: extend remission if not indefinitely, and reduce short- and long-term chemo side effects.
I spent so much time with it that by end of 2025 — like Spotify does your annual stats — it said I was in the top 3% of users on ChatGPT.
The protocol — a menu, not instructions
Important: Some of what follows can be unsafe for certain people or treatments — especially fasting, supplements, and oxygen therapies. Please treat this as a menu of ideas, not instructions. Always discuss with your medical team.
- 65-hour water-only fasting — starting 45 hours before each chemo IV and ending 20 hours later, during which other key protocol activities stop to let the chemo do its job. Read my blog on autophagy. Healthy people don't buy drugs — the word is spreading through unconventional channels.
- Hyperbaric Oxygen Chamber — I have one at home (rented for £400/month). There's research interest in oxygenation, oxidative stress, and tumour biology that shows positive signs — plus it's great for recovery in general.
- Important supplements with multiple functions — a long list of what, when, and why coming in a future post. Try Turkey Tail mushroom powder once in your life.
- Heavy resistance training at certain times in the 21-day chemo cycle. Oxygen therapy also helps here with faster recovery. More on this later.
- Daily ice bath — even now at -2 outside. The effects are immediate and lasting. More on this and the role of mitochondria, which are increasingly recognised as very important in cancer biology.
- Breathwork — sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous system. It sounds mad, but in short: we have forgotten how to breathe.
- Lymphatic drainage exercise. Something Asian cultures never forgot — you see it in Tai Chi and Qigong — but the Western world has no idea. Your heart pumps your blood and without it you die. Arguably the lymphatic system, which daily removes toxins, cancer cells, and other nasties from your body, is just as vital — but it has no dedicated pump. It relies on movement, breathing, and muscle contraction. Yet today we sit to travel, sit to work, take the lift, come home sitting, sit and eat, sit on the sofa, and finally lie in bed. Nothing moves. Blog coming soon.
- Grounding, acupuncture, and my favourite topic of all (which is actually several topics): gut microbiome — probiotics, prebiotics, fibre, fermented foods, diet, and my new hobby of fermenting my own foods.
How I used AI — and how to use it yourself
If you know about AI, you know it is not a database but a constant "hallucination" — like the human brain — and it makes mistakes. But the more it is trained, the better the answers become and the fewer the mistakes. That's why it needs training.
It's important to know how to interact with it so you get what you want. A few tricks:
Reverse roles. Say to AI: "You were diagnosed with XYZ cancer last week and have been considering your options. What would you do to give yourself the best outcome?"
Ask it to ask you questions. This can bring up things you were subconsciously avoiding — and that can be surprisingly helpful.
With the possibility of error in mind, I spent time triangulating anything I thought was important. I would play it back as: "I'm going to do this / take this — what is the negative impact on my medical regime?" Some supplements, for example, were bordering on impacting chemo effectiveness. The AI gave me guard rails: adjust timing, reduce dose, or don't do it at all.
The conversation that shocked me
In my early meetings with my medical team, I suggested some of the above from my 1% protocol and was met with complete — almost — bewilderment.
"Why would you fast? We want you to eat and remain nourished to take the chemo."
Now they aren't wrong — much of prescribed medicine is a one-size-fits-all approach. But I was shocked by the lack of interest in anything outside the prescription. I had done my homework and some of it was convincing and medically backed — or at least medically plausible and worthy of discussion.
I then explained to the nurses during my first infusion that I couldn't have the breakfast they offered. Why? Because many cancers are highly glucose-hungry — and I didn't want to be spiking blood sugar and insulin around treatment if I could help it.
I understand their perspective: they see how harsh chemo can be and they just want you to get through it and let the medicine do the rest. But that doesn't work for me. If I can reduce side effects, protect healthy cells where possible, and improve recovery — I'm going to try. Carefully.
More to follow on the 1% protocol and what comes next for me — gut microbiome rebuild!
I am not medically trained in any way. There are huge success stories on forums where people did nothing like this and simply followed the prescribed medical path — and that is entirely valid. I am five rounds of O-CHOP immune and chemotherapy down on 21-day cycles with one to go. I'm not a cancer survivor — I'm a fighter like many people out there. I'm simply documenting the thinking, the learning, and the choices. I've always been a curious person who likes taking things apart to see how they work — even from a young age. Sorry about that family TV, mum and dad.