Deborah James’ Cancer Warrior writes the final column of The Sun

Deborah James, who has built a huge following during a five-year battle with a rare cancer, has written a heartbreaking goodbye.

It’s his last goodbye.

Deborah James, a beloved UK radio host and columnist known to fans as BowelBabe, has written a touching goodbye to readers because her body “can no longer continue” after a five-year bout with stage four bowel cancer.

“The message I never wanted to write. We’ve tried everything, but my body just isn’t playing football, “the 40-year-old Londoner announced to more than 479,000 Instagram followers.

“My active care has stopped and I am now moved to a home hospice, with my incredible family around me and the goal is to make sure I don’t suffer and spend time with them,” added the mother of two. .

James was diagnosed with his rare form of cancer, the B-RAF mutation, a few days before Christmas 2016, at the age of 34. After receiving the devastating news, she has become a warrior cancer.

James bravely recounted his heartbreaking journey to health with humor and grace in his regular column on The Sun, as he raised awareness and money for various cancer charities.

In his final column, released Tuesday, he expressed gratitude to his supporters and family and urged others to “have a rebellious hope.”

Deborah James’ Last Heartbreaking Column

This is the column I never wanted to write. My last.

In over five years of writing about what I thought my last Christmas would be like, how I wouldn’t see my 40th birthday or my kids going to high school, I never imagined writing what I’d actually say hello to.

I think it was the rebellious hope in me.

The little glimpses of distant options and possibilities that I’ve always believed in. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be the one who will be the outlier and live forever!

I suppose the reality is that I am still the anomaly, so my story is not one of sadness, it is one of the extra years I have gained thanks to research and the knowledge that, thanks to my case studies, future Deborahs with the same rare bowel cancer, B-RAF mutation, could continue to live longer lives.

When I was first diagnosed in 2016, it was beyond understandable for me to probe the idea of ​​having more chances of dying in the first year than I had of living.

I wanted so badly to live and have beaten the odds ever since, until now.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that my last six months have been pretty hellish from a health point of view.

After a medical emergency in January where I suffered internal bleeding, it is difficult for me to understand how I survived.

Then there are the countless operations to try and stent my bile duct to stop my liver failure.

The last six months have been arguably the hardest of my entire cancer journey – the sheer and unrelenting medicalization of my body has been excruciating to feel, and the moments of being out of the hospital and pain free have become increasingly rare and fleeting.

I have essentially lived in the hospital since Jan.6, with only a limited company – and while I am eternally grateful for all the doctors and nurses who went out of their way to help me, we have all decided there is a point where our efforts have become unsuccessful.

It’s not about lack of access to the latest fictional drugs – it’s not about feeling distressed for not being able to get a life-saving operation – it’s simply that I have extremely difficult cancer in an extremely difficult area of ​​my body that even today’s cutting-edge technology and techniques cannot cure.

So I sadly find myself in the place I never wanted to be: the next crossroads.

My body is so emaciated that I have no choice but to surrender to the inevitable.

Four consecutive sepsis bouts left me with zero reserves and zero chance of rebound.

Unfortunately the last week has seen a rapid decline in my physical abilities, which means that my husband and all the members of my beautiful extended family have had to carry me around, from sitting, to bed, to bathroom – I don’t have the ability to use my multiple legs or arms.

I’ve never known such fatigue, yet I struggle every day to stay awake enough to complete a to-do list that I want to check before I die.

How much time do I have left?

I guess that’s a question I keep asking myself: it’s been the last five days very moving.

I had to leave the warm isolation of the Royal Marsden, where daily monitoring of my little ones or my blood is just the norm.

Now I have entered an end of life hospice at home, where there is no monitoring and we take everything day by day: it is just about managing the symptoms and trying to get comfortable and fulfill my wishes to try to have the best quality death that I can.

You can of course imagine these conversations to be both heartbreaking and reassuring, but emotionally knowing that it will actually happen is the hardest thing to understand.

I can’t help but wonder if there isn’t a deal to be made with the devil to stop and reverse this at the last minute.

I’ve done what I’ve always wanted to do, which is to go to my parents’ house and be surrounded by my incredible family and watch in amazement as they somehow manage to smile despite the heartbreak.

And it reassures me to know that even though I may not be here soon, things will turn out well because together they can overcome this most difficult of adversity.

I went into mental overdrive and with the help of my husband, Seb, we made sure the kids had boxes of keepsakes – we bought them gifts for some important future birthdays.

The end of the job is fixed.

I don’t want to die – I can’t get my head off the idea that I won’t see my children’s weddings or see them grow up – that I will no longer be a part of the life I love so much.

I’m not brave – I’m not dignified going to my death – I’m just a scared girl doing something she has no choice for, but I know I’m grateful for the life I’ve had.

It was a crazy whirlwind, but I’ve done things I never thought I could or want to do in my life.

Hopefully throughout the election campaign I may also have saved other people’s lives and, more importantly, enjoyed doing my best to try and learn how to live with cancer.

We all know it’s very hard to do, yet when I look back over the past five years, I have some of my best memories between vomiting and tears.

I suppose it would be strange to leave my column without saying a few final things: to find a life worth enjoying; take risks; love deeply; Have no regrets; and always, always have a rebellious hope.

And finally, check your poop – it could save your life.

This article was originally published by The sun and reproduced with permission

Originally published as The brave warrior says goodbye: “I’m just a frightened girl about to die”