ST.He Was Full of Mischief, Charm, and Light, Yet Diagnosed at Just Fourteen Months Old, Matthew’s Short Life Became His Mother’s Greatest Strength and a Heartbreaking Call for Better Answers to Neuroblastoma

Matthew was the kind of child who filled every space he entered with joy. He was mischievous, endlessly curious, and his smile had a way of lighting up entire rooms. Even on the days when he was at his sickest, he managed to charm everyone around him, including the nurses who cared for him.

With a grin and a look, he could convince them to bend the rules just a little, and it was impossible not to fall for him. Despite everything he faced in his short life, it was Matthew’s strength and spirit that carried his mother, Carolyn, through the darkest moments.

Matthew was Carolyn’s only child. In April 2021, when he was just fourteen months old, he was diagnosed with Stage 4 high-risk neuroblastoma. The diagnosis did not come easily or quickly. Carolyn had noticed changes that worried her deeply. Matthew became lethargic, lost interest in food, and was violently sick on several occasions.

He stopped engaging with his toys and grew so clingy that she could not even step into the bathroom without carrying him with her. Yet despite multiple trips to the doctor and even several visits to A&E, she was repeatedly reassured that everything was fine and sent home with antibiotics for presumed infections.

Each dismissal chipped away at Carolyn’s confidence, making her feel like an overprotective first-time mum rather than a parent who knew her child. It was not until their fourth visit to A&E, when she refused to leave and demanded a full examination, that everything changed.

A doctor examined Matthew’s abdomen, and within twenty minutes, they were in an ambulance on their way to a specialist children’s hospital. An X-ray revealed a mass in his tummy, and Carolyn was told an oncologist would come to speak with her. At that moment, she assumed there must have been a mistake. Cancer was not even a thought that crossed her mind.

Days later, after scans and blood and urine tests, the diagnosis was confirmed. Matthew had neuroblastoma, and it had already spread extensively to his bones, liver, kidney, and skull.

There was never a suggestion that the outlook was hopeful, only a promise from the medical team that they would do everything they could for him. Within a week, Matthew went from being a toddler with unexplained symptoms to starting chemotherapy. This all unfolded while COVID restrictions were still in place, adding isolation to an already overwhelming situation.

Matthew’s illness consumed Carolyn’s entire life. Hospital wards and isolation at home became the only two settings she knew. For the next eighteen months, Matthew underwent relentless treatment, including surgery that removed over half of his liver and his gallbladder, followed by more intensive chemotherapy, a stem cell transplant, and a month of radiotherapy.

 Only Carolyn and Matthew’s dad were allowed to be with him in hospital, while the rest of the family remained outside, waiting and hoping. Breaking the news to loved ones had to be done on pavements and in car parks, separated by hospital doors and rules that felt cruel but necessary.

In January 2022, Matthew began immunotherapy, finishing it in April. By August, the words “in remission” were spoken, and he was placed under regular monitoring. For others, it was a moment of celebration. For Carolyn, it was something she could not fully allow herself to believe.

 She knew the risk of relapse was high, and while she understood her parents’ need to feel joy after so much fear, she remained guarded. Matthew was still on medication and being fed through a tube, constant reminders that normal life was fragile and uncertain.

By October, Carolyn noticed the same worrying patterns returning. Matthew became lethargic again, sick frequently, stopped eating, and developed bruising around his eyes. His next scan was due within days, but she knew before then that something was wrong. When a nurse offered her the key to accommodation they had used during Matthew’s initial illness, she understood immediately that this was not routine.

When Matthew went for his scan, the hours stretched on far longer than usual. When the consultant finally came, the news was devastating. The cancer had spread to Matthew’s brain. It was not treatable. From that point on, care would focus on prolonging his life and keeping him comfortable.

Matthew was just two and a half years old. Seeing him sitting there, smiling, eating his favourite crisps, and watching television made the diagnosis feel surreal. Days later, surgery was planned to fit a Hickman line, but complications arose when Matthew struggled to wake from the anaesthetic.

Emergency alarms sounded, and an MRI revealed a bleed on his brain. He was rushed back into surgery to have a drain fitted. Carolyn could not think or speak. A nurse had to call her father to explain what was happening.

Matthew never truly recovered after that. He remained in intensive care, and on the one night Carolyn did not stay over, she received a call at 3 a.m. telling her he had suffered another brain bleed. He was taken into theatre again, but doctors realised there was nothing more they could do.

They wanted the family to have the chance to say goodbye. Matthew was moved back to the ward that had become their second home, surrounded by staff who felt like family. He was taken off his ventilator at 11 a.m. on Tuesday, November 8th, and passed away peacefully fourteen hours later in the early hours of November 9th, 2022.

In the days that followed, Carolyn moved through grief in a state of disbelief. She was allowed precious time with Matthew, bathing him, dressing him in new pyjamas, and later spending time with him in a quiet hospice room before his funeral.

 Without the machines and medications, the reality of his absence finally settled in. Reflecting on everything Matthew endured, Carolyn believes that no adult would have had the strength to face what he did. It was his courage that allowed her to survive the experience.

Today, Carolyn honours Matthew’s life by supporting Neuroblastoma UK, taking on the Glasgow Kiltwalk for the third year in a row to raise funds for vital research. She wants the world to know more about neuroblastoma, because better research means better treatments and fewer families living through the heartbreak she carries. Matthew’s life was short, but his impact is lasting, a reminder that love, courage, and the urgent need for progress can coexist in even the briefest of lives.

A Hero in the Headlights: How Marine Corps Corpsman Sammuel Goodwin Risked His Life on a Busy Highway to Save a Stranger from Death 1985

The highway stretched wide and unforgiving, four lanes of speeding cars humming with oblivious urgency. Most people would have paused, hesitated, perhaps called for help. But not Sammuel Goodwin. The hospital corpsman with the 1st Marine Regiment ran straight into the chaos, driven by instinct, training, and an unwavering commitment to preserve life. That day in San Diego, he became the difference between life and death for a woman named Melinda Gurrola.

Moments earlier, Melinda had been violently thrown from her motorcycle, along with Silverio, her companion in the ride. The crash left Melinda’s leg traumatically amputated and her blood flowing rapidly across the asphalt. Each heartbeat ticked closer to disaster, the arterial bleed stealing her life before help could arrive.

 Goodwin didn’t think. He didn’t pause. He moved. Across the four lanes of traffic, weaving between speeding vehicles, he retrieved tourniquets and his medical bag from his car, ready to do what he had trained for, but never imagined under such intense, immediate danger.

Time became both his enemy and ally. Every second mattered. As cars roared past, threatening to end both his and Melinda’s lives, Goodwin worked swiftly, his hands steady despite the chaos surrounding him. “The belt wasn’t stopping the arterial bleed,” he later recounted. “She was fading fast.”

Every movement was precise, deliberate. He applied one tourniquet, then a second, packed the wound with gauze, and wrapped the severed leg in hopes that it might be reattached. For twenty-two minutes, he battled against both the injury and the relentless rhythm of the highway, staying focused even as headlights illuminated the desperate scene.

Witnesses later described the moments with awe and disbelief. One trauma surgeon who would later operate on Melinda called Goodwin’s intervention “some of the best” emergency care he had ever seen in his career. His split-second decisions, executed under pressure, chaos, and mortal danger, gave Melinda the critical window she needed to survive until paramedics arrived. In a matter of minutes, what could have been a tragedy became a testament to human courage and selflessness.

Goodwin’s heroism did not end with the roadside. After ensuring paramedics took over, he visited Melinda in the hospital, continuing to offer reassurance and care. He did not see the moment as remarkable, but as duty — a reflection of the values instilled in him by the Marine Corps and reinforced through years of medical training. “By God’s grace, I was there — and didn’t get killed in the process,” he said humbly. Yet, in the shadows of his humility lies the undeniable truth: a stranger’s life was saved because he chose action over inaction.

For Melinda, Goodwin was more than a rescuer. He was a lifeline, a calm presence amidst chaos, a living reminder that courage often manifests when ordinary people face extraordinary situations. Her recovery, the potential for her leg to be saved, and her very survival all trace back to those critical twenty-two minutes of skill, nerve, and compassion. It is a story that echoes far beyond the pavement of a San Diego highway.

The significance of Goodwin’s actions reaches deeper than the technical precision of applying tourniquets. It is about the values we choose to embody when the world tests us. It is about running toward danger when most flee, holding steady when fear threatens to paralyze, and remembering that one life — even that of a complete stranger — carries infinite value. In a society often focused on self-preservation and caution, his story serves as a stark, inspiring reminder of the difference one courageous individual can make.

Goodwin himself credits faith and training for his resolve, but the effect ripples across the lives of everyone who witnessed or heard his story. For Melinda, her family, the paramedics, the trauma surgeons, and the witnesses, this was more than a rescue; it was an affirmation of hope, humanity, and the extraordinary capacity for selflessness. It challenges us to consider how we respond in our own moments of crisis, and to recognize the quiet heroes who risk everything without expectation of recognition.

That night, as Goodwin walked away from the chaos, he carried nothing tangible with him — no accolades, no headlines — only the knowledge that he had done what was necessary to preserve life. The true measure of his heroism is not in trophies or social media shares, but in the life still beating because he ran into danger while others froze. It is a story that will live in the hearts of those he saved and witnessed, a reminder that courage is as simple as stepping forward when it matters most.

Sammuel Goodwin, a Marine, a corpsman, and above all, a human being willing to act in the face of unimaginable peril, embodies the spirit of heroism. In uniform and in heart, he exemplifies what it means to place another’s life above one’s own, to act with love, precision, and bravery when no one else can. The San Diego highway was his stage, and in those headlights, he proved that ordinary people can perform extraordinary acts when called upon.