It’s taken me a few days to sit down and write this. I didn’t really know what to say… or where to even start. Losing my mum has been the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. She wasn’t just my mum… She was my purpose, my everything, and the reason this community exists. Some of you have been here from the beginning… and you know how much she meant to all of this. Cancer Warriors was never just a group. It became something we were all going through together. Every protocol we explored… All the late nights researching… Everything I shared here… It started with her. Everything I was doing… everything I was learning — it was for her. And somewhere along the way, it became bigger than just us. It became about all of you — the messages, the shared experiences, the people fighting, the families searching for answers. It stopped being just our journey… and became something we were all a part of. I’m still processing everything… Some moments hit harder than others. There’s a lot of sadness… but also moments where things feel strangely clear. I’ll be honest — this hasn’t been easy. I’m still figuring out how to process everything, and some days I probably push myself more than I should. But having this mission gives me something to hold onto. I’ve been doing what I can to get through the days — some of it healthy, some of it just coping — and I’m still trying to find my balance. I don’t think there’s a “right way” to deal with something like this. But I do know this… Even though she’s gone… What we built together is still here. And the mission is still here. This isn’t the end. If anything, this has made things clearer for me. There are too many people going through this. Too many families looking for answers. Too many people being told there’s nothing more that can be done. I’ve seen things that made a difference. I’ve seen what can help. And I’ve seen how powerful it is when people come together and share what they know. So, moving forward… I’m not stopping.

Interesting, but not medical advise

To help everyone connect more easily with others on a similar journey, please comment below with: 1. Your Cancer Type (e.g., Cervical Adenocarcinoma, Triple-Negative Breast Cancer, Glioblastoma, etc.) 2. (Optional) Stage/Grade (e.g., Stage 3, Grade 2). Example: “My mum: Cervical Adenocarcinoma, Stage 4.” This way, members can find and connect with others who truly understand the specifics of their situation. Feel free to browse the comments and reach out to those you relate to!

I never imagined I would be writing this. My mum passed away, and I don’t yet have the words to describe the emptiness she’s left behind. She wasn’t just my mother — she was my best friend, my anchor, my reason for fighting, and the heart behind everything we built here. This community was created for her. She carried more than most people ever see. She lived with bipolar disorder. She carried childhood trauma. She endured a painful divorce, the loss of both her parents, a cancer diagnosis, the death of Pepper — our family boxer — and the loss of Albert, our family’s closest friend. All of this happened within the last seven years. And yet — she kept going. She walked at least 10,000 steps a day. She swam three times a week. She went to church every Sunday. She worked tirelessly on the house. She quit smoking after her diagnosis. She tried carnivore. She cut out sugar. And most importantly: She kept our family together. She fought. She cared. She loved. Even when depression weighed heavily on her will to live, she chose to fight — not because it was easy, but because she loved us. She fought for us when her mind told her to give up. That is courage. We were hopeful. So hopeful. She had just started the Astron Health protocol — only one week in — and we believed we had time. Previous scans had been relatively reassuring, showing stable, very slow-growing, localised disease in the peritoneum and a coeliac lymph node, with no organ spread. Her CRP was 4 — within the normal range. Then everything changed — fast. She developed sudden, severe gastrointestinal pain, vomiting, and diarrhoea. We rushed to the hospital. A CT scan showed ischemic colitis. A mouth swab also confirmed COVID. She was put on palliative care, given fluids and heparin. Her circulation improved. Lactate came down. Symptoms improved. Objectively, things were getting better. But the narrative never changed. Despite improving vitals, improving markers, and improving symptoms, they continued to insist on bowel necrosis — even when the evidence did not clearly support it. At the same time, her CRP (an inflammation marker) rose rapidly from 4 (normal) just weeks earlier, to 14 on admission, to 150 the following day, and eventually to 455 at its peak. She developed rising oxygen requirements, hypoxia, and what appeared to be a clear systemic inflammatory storm — yet COVID pneumonitis was repeatedly dismissed.