Olivia M’s story in memory of partner Rory

On the 19th of June 2024, our world changed forever.

Rory – my partner – was told he had what looked like a metastatic cancerous tumour in his colon. He was just 34 years old. What followed was a late Stage 3 diagnosis of aggressive bowel cancer.

Rory didn’t look sick. He didn’t feel sick, at least not in the way we’re taught cancer is supposed to look.

The only symptoms he had were subtle. A drop in weight back in 2019, which he easily put back on and brushed off as nothing. A small amount of bright blood in the toilet after a night out drinking, which he attributed to a skin tag. Occasionally not being able to hold his stool. None of it screamed cancer.

We all have an image in our heads of what cancer looks like – someone visibly unwell. Bowel cancer is different. It’s internal. You can feel completely fine while something aggressive is growing inside you.

In May 2024, Rory ate a duck sandwich from a shop down the road. Shortly after, he became extremely unwell. He was ended up getting Campylobacter — a form of food poisoning — and was experiencing high fevers, severe cramping, and large amounts of blood and mucus in the toilet.

Rory went to the doctor and was sent home on bed rest, even with persistent high temperatures. We were told it would peak within a week and to return if things didn’t improve.

They didn’t improve. They got worse.

Rory was still experiencing constant cramping, high fevers, and the toilet bowl was consistently filled with blood and mucus. We went back to the doctor and pushed for a specialist referral. By this point, we had looked up his symptoms — and Rory had every single symptom of bowel cancer.

When we raised this concern, we were dismissed.

The gastroenterologist told Rory he was too young to have cancer. That he was fit, healthy, and active. She said it wasn’t cancer – most likely IBS – and handed him a diet sheet to follow for the next few weeks.

A colonoscopy, she said, would be a last resort.

We insisted.

What we would later learn is that Rory had one of the most aggressive forms of bowel cancer. Those moments – those delays, those dismissals – mattered more than anyone realised.

Even after this appointment, when Rory became so unwell that we went to emergency, the message was the same. Nurses told him he was too young. That he shouldn’t worry. We seemed to be the only ones concerned – despite him still passing blood and mucus and running high fevers two and a half weeks after being told it was food poisoning.

If Rory hadn’t advocated for himself – if he hadn’t pushed for scans he was told he didn’t need – he wouldn’t have found out that night that he had a metastatic 5cm tumour growing in his colon.

Unfortunately, we found it too late.

Rory passed away on the 10th of September 2025.

His battle was short, but he fought with extraordinary bravery. Even at the end, his concern wasn’t for himself – it was for the people he loved. He wanted to make sure we would be okay.

Rory was the most selfless human. He taught us to fight for what matters, to love fiercely, to stay loyal to those who show up for you, and to find joy in the smallest moments of life.

We are beyond devastated by his loss – and we will never stop pushing the message that you are never too young.

I’m Rory’s partner. I’m 28 years old. After losing him, I took up running as a way to survive the heaviness of grief. And now, I want to speak up in a world where patients are often silenced.

I want to raise money for Bowel Cancer Australia, who supported us with community, information, and guidance when everything felt overwhelming and uncertain.

In 2026, myself, along with Rory’s closest friends and family, will be running the Gold Coast Half Marathon in his honour. Most of us have never run before.

But we are doing it for Rory.

We love you, Rory.

And to everyone fighting this battle right now – you are not alone.

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My one piece of advice:

Trust your body and advocate for yourself relentlessly, even when professionals dismiss you.

If something feels wrong, it is wrong enough to be investigated. Age, fitness, and ‘looking healthy’ do not protect you from serious illness. If symptoms persist, worsen, or don’t make sense to you, keep pushing. Ask for scans. Ask for tests. Ask for second opinions. Be the ‘difficult’ patient if you have to – because being polite and quiet can cost precious time.