My mother Irene speaks for me and is fighting my case because I cannot do it myself. I was born on St Patrick’s day at St Thomas’ hospital weighing in at 4 lbs 11 ozs, and was put in an incubator for a few hours before I was placed in my mum’s arms.

I suffered with stomach problems from the age of 16 and by the age of twenty I was in serious pain, was bleeding and drastically losing weight. The GP first diagnosed me with IBS, then a fissure to explain the increasing bleeding and then anorexia (although he did not tell me that) and instead referred me to a counsellor. I was finally diagnosed in November 2005 with bowel cancer at the age of 23. It was then that I was told that had I not been diagnosed I would not have lived beyond Christmas 2005. When I heard the word ‘Cancer’ my world imploded, but only for a few minutes, and then ridiculous as it may sound an incredible sense of relief wrapped itself around me. I actually started to laugh, I was momentarily happy. The doctors had to accept that I had been, and was now not only seriously ill but that I was terminal. They could no longer imply that it was all in my head.

This is me at 15 years of age looking forward to a bright future shortly before my stomach problems started .

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Mum, dad and me (chief bridesmaid) at my cousin Judy's wedding three months before I was diagnosed. It was a happy day in spite of the rain.

Following surgery to remove two tumours I spent the next five and a half years as an inpatient in St Thomas’ Hospital not because of the cancer but because of further complications and misdiagnoses. This was five and a half years of not just fighting the cancer, but fighting a system that will not allow a patient to decide for themselves. Condemned to a hospital room that became my prison cell with my mother by my side because I needed one-to-one care 24/7. In 2009 I had managed to recover enough to go home for long weekends and I was getting stronger. That same year, my mother finally got in touch with a top bowel surgeon in the States who agreed to carry out the surgery I needed, surgery that was repeatedly denied me by my UK hospital surgeon. The US surgeon requested a simple dye test to be carried out before flying out to the States. However, following that test I came out of the operating theatre in so much pain that I could no longer go home for the weekends let alone get to the States.  It was then that I knew that I would not leave that hospital until I died. My life was ended on 12 July 2011 in the Intensive Care Unit. My mother had held me in her arms whilst lying by my side and my dad on the other side of my bed held my hand. I was 29 years old.

This is me in the High Dependency Unit June 2006 after having spent two and a half months in Intensive Care. I am holding my cousin Amand's little boy                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

March 2008 mum organised a birthday party for me to enjoy a few hours with my wonderful supportive friends and family. I was in pain and unable to eat very much but I was so happy to be free and be able to breath fresh air.

2009 we managed to get back to the same restaurant to celebrate my 27th birthday. I was looking forward to having a minute steak and chips, couldn't eat anything, in pain and feeling faint. I was told that I needed a blood transfusion when I got back to the hospital.It was great to see so many of my brilliant friends and family, so happy for a few hours.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

2010 three of my best friends at my last birthday gathering. Everything has been taken from me but with so much love and support from my family and friends I am the richest person in the world.I love them all so much.                                                                  

This is the last selfi I took of myself before I became seriously ill having contracted a hospital induced urine infection and was transferred to the ICU where I contracted a second infection which developed into septicemia. 

What we are fighting for 

My mother has been fighting for the past 7 years to get my medical records (both paper and electronic). The hospital have failed to produce significant records, most notably my two oncology paper files, my chemotherapy records and my electronic chemotherapy pharmacy records covering five and a half years. This is unacceptable, given that I was admitted for cancer surgery and received cancer treatment throughout that period. My mum complained to the Parliamentary and Health Services Ombudsman (PHSO) who initially refused to investigate. My mum challenged that refusal in the High Court and lost because she did not use precisely the right words on the form, but the PHSO  agreed to undertake a further investigation anyway. My mum and the PHSO investigation team agreed how the investigation would be conducted and the Trust agreed. Despite then investigating for over two and a half years and finding maladministration, the PHSO was unable to obtain and/or the Trust refused to provide any credible explanation as to what had happened to my missing notes, give a plausible explanation why the electronic records cannot be retrieved, nor produce relevant document retention policies.

Why is this important?

This is not just about me. Inadequate record-keeping and maladministration will have affected those before me and will affect those who have come after me. Policy and procedures cannot be improved unless the reasons for past failures are properly understood. It is seven years since I died but nothing has changed and patients continue to be put at risk. A private apology is not enough. The Hospital need to be publically accountable for its failures, identify the reasons for them and to make a public apology.

It is important to say that neither I nor my mother blame the NHS in spite of what happened to me. I and my mother will continue to support this incredible public service. However, where there are wrongs they must be put right for the sake of the patients and the staff who dedicate their lives to helping others.

Why is my mum is doing this?

My mum is challenging the PHSO investigation through judicial review proceedings. She wants to have the hospital and the PHSO recognise how serious this type of maladministration is, to accept responsibility and to be accountable for that maladministration, to put it right and to publicly apologise to the patients and their families who have been adversely affected.

Despite the PHSO’s and the Trust’s objections, the Court has recognised that the case is arguable and worthy of a full hearing, granting permission for my judicial review application to proceed.

My mum and I need your support: please contribute and share this page now! Many thanks.

Why we need your support

Whilst my mum has every confidence in winning this case it is impossible to predict what the outcome will be .In bringing this matter before the Court, my mum faces significant financial risk. She not only has to pay her own lawyers, but if she is unsuccessful she could be required to pay the costs of the PHSO. She has already used her own savings and pension pot to fund the first judicial review. She is therefore raising money in order to meet any costs award against her and, if possible, to meet the costs of her own lawyers. The costs of the PHSO alone could be in excess of £50,000 we are initially looking to raise £5K to £10K