For my mum — and for this community

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.

We raised concerns. We asked for second opinions. We escalated. We researched relentlessly. We were told — by multiple oncologists — that this was simply the cancer, and that sepsis would inevitably follow.

We strongly disagreed. The partial clot had been addressed, and we believed we were simultaneously dealing with a secondary process: a severe systemic viral infection — COVID pneumonitis — rather than bacterial sepsis. Despite evidence that pointed in that direction, this possibility was not treated.

She was given antibiotics and IV fluids containing glucose (without informing us), but the viral inflammation and worsening hypoxia were not directly addressed. In my view, the combination of uncontrolled systemic inflammation, low oxygen, and glucose created the conditions for rapid deterioration.

Eventually, after days of pushing, the case was referred and a gastroenterology surgeon agreed to repeat the CT scan — 10 days later. He told us plainly: the two scans looked very different. The first did not show obstruction. The second did.

By then, it was too late.

Inflammation remained uncontrolled. The small bowel became obstructed. What may have started as partial became complete. Surgery was no longer an option.

They defended earlier decisions instead of reassessing as her condition evolved. The original prognosis they gave did not align with the improvements we were seeing.

By day 10, my mum’s symptoms, markers, and vital signs had improved. All organs remained intact. On day 11, following repeat imaging that showed complete obstruction, an NG tube was placed and fluids were stopped.

That evening, I did not speak with her again. Her pain increased, and doses of opioids and other medications were adjusted to ensure her comfort.

She died on the 15th of February at 21:29, holding my hand.

I write this because truth matters — and because my mum deserved better.

She deteriorated quickly. Shockingly quickly.

I was with her until her last breath.

Fourteen days sleeping in that hospital.

Holding her hand.

Watching her go.

Her final words to us were that she was proud — and that she wanted us to live. She told us to stick together.

And now… I feel lost.

I don’t know who I am without her. I don’t know how to carry this pain while continuing the mission we started together. Helping others was born out of love for her — and now every post reminds me of what I’ve lost.

But I also know this:

She would want this work to continue.

She would want people helped.

She would want her suffering to mean something.

This community is her legacy.

I may need time. I may be quieter for a while. But I will find my way back. For her. For everyone still fighting.

Mum — you were everything.

Amo-te muito. ❤️

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