There’s a version of our story which allows my husband, Patrick, and I to grow old together. To watch our children take on the world around them, and to make decades worth of memories.
When we got married in 2018, that was the future we hoped for.
We met in September 2017 and have two little boys who were born just 13 months apart. I stayed home with them for the first few years, while Patrick was in law enforcement.
Our little family was the most important thing in the world and Patrick was a very involved father. I never had to make him a check list before leaving the house, or check in on him to ensure he’d done certain tasks. He knew it all and was very much an equal partner.
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We lived a very active lifestyle, and Patrick was very invested in his health. He prioritized physical fitness and nutrition more than most. We regularly worked out together, he took the kids on bike rides, and we spent a lot of time enjoying homemade meals as a family.
Nothing mattered to Patrick more than me and the boys.
‘His Doctor Said There Was Nothing to Worry About’
While we did not know why until August 2024, when I look back, it’s clear that Patrick’s problems started about five years earlier.
Blood tests back then showed that he was anemic, leading four oncologists to tell us that he should have had a colonoscopy and endoscopy to figure out why he was losing blood. Instead, his doctor simply told Patrick to “take some iron.”
By 2023, Patrick started feeling cold all the time and could never get warm. He also had hormone imbalances because his testosterone was abysmally low. But again, his doctor said there was nothing to worry about.
At that point, we switched providers and got a second opinion. The next doctor went into high gear trying to figure out the cause, but as the months went on and we still didn’t know the answer, Patrick’s symptoms worsened.
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He continued to struggle with fatigue and eventually, nausea. At first, he only felt tired and nauseous in the mornings, but within weeks, he could barely get out of bed because he was so exhausted. He would sleep for 14 hours sometimes and still wake up unable to function.
His bowel movements were irregular, constantly oscillating between constipation and diarrhea. By mid-2024, just before his diagnosis, he developed a metallic taste in his mouth and bloody stool.
A lot of the providers chalked Patrick’s symptoms up to him working night shifts or having just had kids. And who could forget the classic "you're just stressed" excuse that doctors also used.
Around January 2024, Patrick was placed on testosterone replacement therapy (TRT) in an attempt to counter the hormone imbalance. Initially, it seemed like a miracle drug, but it suddenly stopped working. We tried decreasing the dosage and administering more frequently, which helped a little, but it still became ineffective very quickly. Even when his doctor gave him a higher dose, the same thing happened.
So, after a second increase, the doctor wanted Patrick to get a colonoscopy and endoscopy because he suspected something was wrong with his gut and that the TRT wasn’t working due to something bigger.
When Patrick’s colonoscopy was confirmed, it was scheduled for December 20, 2024—several months away. His primary care physician refused to accept that and ensured his colonoscopy was eventually rescheduled for August 28.
Unfortunately, Patrick’s health took a drastic turn that week and we ended up in the emergency department on August 26. Insisting that something really bad was going on, Patrick explained his symptoms (from the fatigue, nausea and bloody stool) to the emergency department doctors, and they did a CT scan.
After what felt like a million hours, the doctor came in and said, “I'm so sorry, but you have innumerable masses in your liver."
Of course, they couldn’t formally diagnose him right then. He still had to wait a couple of days for the colonoscopy, and that was what led to the diagnosis of advanced metastatic colorectal adenocarcinoma.
At 30 years old, my husband, and the father of my children, was diagnosed with stage four colon cancer which had metastasized to his liver and lungs.
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‘Cruel Punishment of Watching Your Favorite Person Fade Away’
Upon hearing those words, I was in absolute disbelief.
I looked for every possible alternative explanation—and I mean every single one. I went into research hyperdrive.
The day we went to the hospital, we'd pretty much determined he either had colon cancer or severe ulcerative colitis (since the symptoms are nearly identical). Patrick told me he thought it was cancer because "something is very wrong with me."
I looked at him and said, "I cannot let my brain go there. You do not have cancer until someone tells us you do. Thirty year olds do not get colon cancer."
They do, in fact, get and die of colon cancer.
I knew Patrick was feeling unwell for some time, but I had no idea how long he had been trying to tough it out for. He was a very stubborn, hardheaded man, in the absolute best way.
But Patrick also reached out for help many times before he eventually stopped asking for help because he was met with dismissal every time.
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Following his diagnosis, Patrick underwent regular chemotherapy for almost two years. The first round was so successful that it cleared the tumors in his lungs and reduced the cancer in his liver by about 60 percent. Yet, no other treatment was discussed, even when I tried to question the oncology team.
There are not many treatment options for advanced colon cancer. It does not respond to immunotherapy, and it can become resistant to chemo. Nonetheless, I believed Patrick absolutely could have withstood radiation or surgery, but doctors refused.
After chemotherapy, Patrick’s body was covered in scars and terrible rashes. His face was puffy from steroids, he was exhausted, he could barely get through work and was in constant, excruciating pain. Despite it all, he worked full-time in a light duty capacity to provide for us.
In the moment, I knew he looked terrible and exhausted, but seeing the progression each day sort of makes you immune to how awful it actually is. Looking back on photos and seeing the visible evidence of how much he was suffering is devastating.
No one, except myself, knows how much suffering he endured behind closed doors. They have no idea what it took for him to just get out of bed in the morning. I can't think too much about it, or it brings me to my knees. No one deserves that, much less a soul as kind as his.
There are no words to describe the cruel punishment of watching your favorite person fade and wither away into a shell of themselves. I was devastated and completely helpless.
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Patrick fought for as long as he could, and he tried so hard to cling to the pieces of himself he had left. He desperately wanted to be here for our sons, but I watched his bright light gradually dim during those final months, until the final bit went out.
He passed away in our home, in my arms, surrounded by his closest friends at 11:30 p.m. on June 30, 2026. Although I firmly believe most of him was home with the Lord long before that day.
'He Had Already Been Handed a Death Sentence'
Through it all, Patrick somehow maintained a positive outlook. He never gave up, even on the worst days. He is, and always has been, my hero.
In the months since losing Patrick, my family and I have found peace. Because I love him as much as I do, I cannot be mad that he is free and at peace now. I could never wish any more pain on him to fulfill my own selfish desire to have more time together.
Patrick's death isn't considered line of duty connected, which denies me all his benefits from the state and the VA. But several kind people connected to police unions and the WA Fraternal Order of Police have put together a fundraiser in an attempt to pay off our mortgage because I may otherwise be forced to sell it.
The boys have hard days as they miss their dad so much, but they participate in kids’ grief support which seems to be helping. They worshipped the ground that man walked on, and most of my grief at this point stems from watching them and being unable to take their pain away.
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Patrick tried to tough out his symptoms for so long—he was in law enforcement, a father and seemingly healthy 30-year-old man. To any other men, please don’t wait until you have blood in your stool, a metallic taste in your mouth or feel so tired you can’t function.
Please don’t stay silent. Never stop advocating for yourself.
Patrick asked for help numerous times, but by the time he got a diagnosis, he had already been handed a death sentence.
Patrick was adamant that he wanted us to find joy and did not want us to get stuck in our grief. So, the best way to honor his life is to show up with excellence, just like he always did. I am determined to live a life that he can be proud of, because I am living for his soul and mine now.
To anyone else, live right now. Not tomorrow, next month or next year.
Those things you think only happen to others can knock on your door at any moment. Don't live in fear but live abundantly knowing that tomorrow isn't promised.
Lauren Morgan, 32, is a mother-of-two who resides in Washington state with her sons. Following Patrick’s death, she is using social media to educate others on colon cancer and the realities of grief.
Contact Newsweek editors on this story: Charlotte Nisbet and Emma Lee-Sang