<div>Dylan’s Fight, Our Fight ❤️
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<div>In April 2026, at just 25 years old, my life changed in a way I could never have imagined. I was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive cancer called Desmoplastic Small Round Cell Tumour (DSRCT).
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<div>Just weeks before my diagnosis I had walked my mum down the aisle at her wedding, asked the woman I love to spend her life with me, and bought a home that I imagined would become the place where we would build our life together. We were making plans, dreaming about the future and taking those first steps towards the life we wanted. I was in love, surrounded by family and looking forward to everything that was still to come. Like most people my age, I never stopped to think about how quickly life could change. I never imagined that within weeks, my world would shrink from wedding plans, a new home and dreams for the future to hospital appointments, chemotherapy, procedures and simply trying to get through each day.
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<div>Since that diagnosis, I have been through intensive chemotherapy, countless hospital stays, scans, procedures and blood transfusions as my haemoglobin levels have fallen because of treatment. Cancer has caused fluid to build up in my abdomen, leaving me needing a drain to remove it. At its worst, around two litres of fluid was being drained from me every single day. I have had nephrostomy bags fitted into my kidneys because the cancer has been compressing my ureters, and more recently I have needed a catheter because my bladder is being compressed too. There have been moments of pain, exhaustion and fear that have pushed me further than I ever imagined I could go, yet somehow, every time, I have found a way to keep fighting.
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<div>Through every setback, every procedure and every difficult day, I have somehow found the strength to keep going. I know I haven't done that alone. My mum, my fiancée, my stepdad, my future in-laws, my grandparents and wider family have been beside me through every appointment, every setback, every difficult night and every small piece of good news, carrying me when I've needed it most.
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<div>And then we received news that gave us hope.
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<div>My initial treatment was working. The scans showed a significant reduction in the activity of the cancer, and for the first time since my diagnosis, my family and I could allow ourselves to believe that perhaps we were beginning to turn a corner. We knew there was still a long road ahead, but we had something to hold onto. We started allowing ourselves to think about the future again.
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<div>Then came the news we had been praying we wouldn't hear.
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<div>The cancer has become active again.
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<div>My treatment now needs to change, and once again we are facing a future none of us can predict. There is fear, of course. There is uncertainty. There are moments when it is difficult to comprehend how, at 25 years old, this has become my life.
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<div>But alongside that fear is something much stronger.
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<div>I am not ready to give up.
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<div>Neither is my family.
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<div>DSRCT is an incredibly rare cancer, and because so few people are diagnosed with it, specialist knowledge and experience are vital. We don't want to simply accept that the options available to us locally are the only options available to me. We don't want to reach a point in the future and ask ourselves whether there was something else we could have explored, someone else we could have spoken to, another treatment we could have tried or another door we could have opened.
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<div>We want to know that we did everything we possibly could.
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<div>That is why we are hoping to travel to America to seek expert opinions from specialist centres with experience in rare cancers such as mine. We don't know what those opinions will tell us. We don't know whether they will lead to another treatment, a clinical trial, a different approach or simply give us a better understanding of what comes next.
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<div>Because if there is another possibility out there, however small, we need to know we've found it.
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<div>Because when someone you love is fighting for their life, you don't want to look back and wonder whether you could have done more. You want to know that every possible avenue was explored, every question was asked and every opportunity was considered.
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<div>My mum has said something that has stayed with all of us throughout this journey: she just wants to know that we did absolutely everything we possibly could for me.
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<div>That is what this fundraiser is about.
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<div>It is about giving us the ability to explore those possibilities without the fear that financial circumstances could prevent us from pursuing an opportunity that might make a difference. The money raised will initially help us access specialist opinions and consultations, as well as the travel, accommodation and other costs of treatment involved in seeking specialist care away from home. If another door opens, we want to have the means to walk through it.
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<div>I know everyone has their own lives, their own families and their own challenges, which is why I don’t take for granted for a second that anyone has taken the time to visit this page, read my story and show me kindness and support during what has been an incredibly difficult journey.
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<div>But if you are reading this, I want you to know who you are helping.
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<div>I'm not just a diagnosis on a medical record.
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<div>I’m a son to an incredible mum, Charlene, a younger brother to Katie, a future son-in-law to Ric and Heather, a very proud dog dad to my Irish Setter, Rufus, and a fiancé to Jasmine — the woman I had just asked to marry me. I’m also a future brother-in-law, a grandson, a cousin, a nephew and a friend to so many people who mean the world to me.
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<div>This is my world. These are the people I love, the life I’ve built and the future I’m fighting so incredibly hard to hold on to.
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<div>There are still so many things I want to do. There are people I want to make memories with, places I want to see, a future I want to build and a life I am simply not ready to let go of.
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<div>I want the chance to live that life.
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<div>I want to be able to look back at this one day and know that cancer was a chapter in my story, not the end of it.
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<div>I know that nobody can promise me that outcome. I know there are no guarantees. But what I can promise is that I will keep fighting, and my family will keep fighting alongside me.
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<div>So I'm asking you to become part of that fight.
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<div>If you are able to donate, no matter how much, you will be helping me and my family reach for possibilities that may otherwise be out of reach. You will be helping us seek expertise thousands of miles from home, explore options we may not yet know about and, most importantly, give me every possible chance.
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<div>And if you aren't able to donate, please don't think that means you can't help. Sharing this page could be just as important. You never know who might see it, who might know someone, who might have information, expertise or a connection that could open a door for us.
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<div>Sometimes the person who can make a difference is only one share away.
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<div>I don't know what the next few months will bring. None of us do.
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<div>But I know this:
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<div>I have a life I still want to live, a future I still want to build and people I still want to grow old with.
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<div>And while there is another door to knock on, another specialist to speak to, another treatment to explore or another possibility to consider, I'm going to keep knocking.
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<div>My family will keep knocking with me.
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<div>And with your help, we hope we can keep opening doors, finding the people who can help us and exploring every possible avenue.
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<div>Thank you for reading my story, for caring about what happens to me, for sharing it, for donating if you can, and for standing beside me and my family through the fight ahead.
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<div>Much love ❤️
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<div>Dylan
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C Dix - Clare Gribben

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Dylan’s Fight, Our Fight — Together We Can Make a Difference

Dylan’s Fight, Our Fight — Together We Can Make a Difference

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