Kristy’s story in memory of her mum

My mum was 58 when our lives changed forever. In July 2014, while I was on holidays in Cape Hillsborough, Mum called to tell me she had a pain in her right side. Mum never liked going to the doctor, so when she asked if I could take her once I returned – and declined my brother taking her sooner – I knew the pain must have been significant.

When I got home, she said the pain had eased, but I took her anyway. That decision began a series of tests: bloodwork showing highly elevated liver function, followed by an ultrasound with a suspicious mass and then CT scan. I still remember the GP saying the words ‘metastatic disease.’ I didn’t know what it meant. For a moment I thought, ‘At least it isn’t cancer.’ Then she explained.

The pain Mum had felt was caused by a 10 × 13 cm tumour in her liver, along with multiple smaller tumours. A colonoscopy/PET scan soon found the primary – a 3 cm tumour in her sigmoid colon. My son, her eldest grandchild, was in Kindy. We were devastated, but Mum was determined to do whatever she could to stay with us. She was classified as palliative from the beginning and told she likely had 12-18 months.

Mum began chemotherapy within a month – little did she know that was the first of countless rounds over the next 11 years.

In January 2015, she became suddenly unwell with severe abdominal pain. It was initially thought to be her cancer progressing, and several days passed before further imaging was done. When a scan was finally performed – after we were told she might not survive the night – it revealed a gallstone that had eroded into her small intestine. She underwent emergency surgery that afternoon. The improvement afterwards was immediate, and it reminded us how easily new symptoms can be attributed to cancer.

Later that year, Mum had major liver surgery, removing over 60% of her liver, followed by bowel surgery, with chemotherapy in between. She also received targeted radiation after the liver resection because two of her arteries had been removed, and the remaining artery supplying her liver had cancer scraped from it.

By early 2016, we were feeling hopeful. Then we learned there were small spots on her lungs – tiny lesions that, upon reflection, had been present on her first scans but considered too small to be of any concern of being cancer at the time.

Still, Mum continued treatment with remarkable strength. She received chemotherapy and antibodies right through to 2025, taking breaks only when her blood tests required it or when her oncologist felt she needed rest. During those years, we made memories that will stay with us forever: family holidays to the Gold Coast, the USA, Coffs Harbour, the Sunshine Coast, Harrington, and countless day trips to her favourite places – zoos. She faced every round of treatment with dignity, supported every step of the way by my dad. He took her to the vast majority of blood tests, chemotherapy, disconnects, doctor’s appointments, scans etc over the years, giving up a lot to ensure Mum was supported.

In 2025, when chemotherapy stopped working, Mum began a clinical trial. She wanted to try anything possible and was actively looking for other options. Her amazing oncologist explained everything thoroughly. Mum hoped the trial might help her, but she also hoped it would help others in the future.

During the trial, Mum began experiencing mobility changes. Further testing revealed the cancer had spread to her brain. She underwent tumour resection surgery in October 2025, followed by rehabilitation and almost six weeks in hospital. She was home for just two and a half weeks and preparing for brain radiation – a treatment she was ready for, having tolerated everything else so well.

Before radiation could begin, she developed tremors and seizures related to the brain surgery and was admitted to hospital. These symptoms continued for several days before the cause was fully identified. Despite every effort, her condition continued to worsen, and we lost Mum on 22nd January 2026.

Mum never had changes to her bowel habits or any symptoms that suggested bowel cancer. We had never considered a colonoscopy or faecal screening test, despite a family history.

Because of her determination, her support network, and the exceptional care of her oncologist, Mum was able to watch her five grandchildren grow up and know her unconditional love. She has been able to watch their personalities form, their interests, their friendships. Her eldest grandchild is now in Year 12 and was in kindergarten when diagnosed. She was his confidant, his friend, his person.

She was an enigma- diagnosed at 58, and with us until 69, just shy of her 70th birthday.

We will forever miss her. Our hope is that anyone with a family history of bowel cancer completes a screening test. My brother and I have ensured we get regular testing. The advancements in treatment options since Mum’s diagnosis meant we were able to spend more time with her, but it is so important to be diagnosed early.

My one piece of advice:

Early detection saves lives. If you have a history of bowel cancer in your family, begin screening even if you don’t have any symptoms.