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.

Hey, I've been in this community for several months - I was diagnosed with a brain cancer in 2024. I'm writing a book for cancer patients to help them deal with whatever their version of death is. I only know my relationship with death, which is that it makes me focused on the here and now. In order to finish the book, I need to know more about your experience. Would you be willing to have a 30 min conversation with me about the following things? - Life / Death / Survival / Thrive - Your approach - What makes you happy - What makes you angry - What makes you afraid - And other emotions... Book your 30 min slot here: https://cal.com/talk-with-death/your-cancer-experience I can give you a copy of the book when its finished. Many thanks, Benjamin

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.

During my wife's final weeks on Earth we had to call 911 and ride the ambulance to the emergency department several times. In one case she was experiencing a pain crisis but the emergency department was so understaffed it took over three hours of agony from the initial call before anyone gave her an IV with painkillers. Also she couldn't really sleep properly in the hospital room for a variety of reasons. Her cancer was so far progressed in her lungs, bones, and brain that there wasn't anything they could do except try to ease her suffering. But how could they do that in this stressful environment? Then we transitioned to home hospice for what turned out to be her final week. This was so much better. They sent powerful pain meds that I could administer as needed. There were nurse visits and a nurse on call round the clock. At home my younger daughter cooked what turned out to be her last meal and my older daughter held her hand when she slept in her own bed. We were advised that she didn't have much longer to live, and how to know it was the end. Then she died without pain surrounded by the people who love her.