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Rebel Justice - changing the way you see justice
E. 74 Grace Colbourne’s Cancer Story That Should Never Have Happened
In Part One of this two-part episode, we hear the devastating testimony of Grace Colbourne — a 37-year-old Antiguan woman and former military officer, currently on remand at HMP Bronzefield. After discovering a lump in her breast, Grace began a months-long ordeal of medical delays, denial of choice, and dehumanising treatment while in custody.
Grace gave us her testimony from prison. Her words are voiced by actress Rianna Fay (@riannafay_ on Instagram).
What you're about to hear is a story of neglect, trauma, and survival — of what happens when prison, healthcare, and systemic racism collide.
Content warning: This episode contains descriptions of medical trauma, abuse, and institutional neglect.
Part Two will include another testimony, a response from the NHS, and expert commentary from Professor Rachael Hunter and Dr Jo Armes.
The appalling neglect Grace has suffered is a direct result of failures by the prison healthcare provider, CNWL NHS Foundation Trust—particularly Harriet Tizard and Dave Wilkinson, the so-called clinical leads. Despite having no oncological training, they are blocking cancer diets already endorsed by prison GPs. Their actions border on clinical negligence. CNWL NHS FT is currently under investigation by the Parliamentary and Health Service Ombudsman for the disastrous way it’s mishandling cancer care in prisons. If you're as outraged as we are, write to Bronzefield healthcare and tell them: bcp@nhs.net
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Welcome to Rebel Justice, a podcast by the View magazine platform by and for women in the justice system. Today's episode begins the story of Grace Colburn, a 37-year-old Antiguan woman, a former military officer and currently on remand at HMP Bronzefield, a private prison in West London. Grace is battling breast cancer, but instead of receiving care, she's under a delay, confusion and what can only be described as medical neglect, all while incarcerated. She gave her testimony over the phone from prison. What you're about to hear are her exact words, voiced by actress Rihanna Faye. This episode contains descriptions of medical trauma, neglect and abuse. Please listen with care.
Speaker 2:Hello, I'm Grace Carlburn, I'm Antiguan, I'm 37 and I have a military background. In September 2024, I was arrested for importation. So when I saw a lump in my breast at the end of last year, I'm athletic so I thought it was a muscle that I had strained or perhaps something that had come up because I work out a lot. It was then quite small, the size of a pea. I booked the prison GP in November but I didn't see him until late January. There isn't a prison GP on site at HMP Brunsfield, which is the private prison in West London where I've been remanded.
Speaker 2:I pleaded guilty straight away to impartation and finally I got to see Dr Saeed, who sent a request to me to see the breast clinic. He told me that immediately, but nothing happened. I kept checking in February and I kept saying yes, but time went on and I would get an appointment with the breast clinic. In early March I was taken to St Peter's Hospital. The consultation could seed the lump and he sent me to do a biopsy and have blood taken. The following week I was brought back to the breast clinic, but they were going around the bush. They said they were still working around the sample and they needed to draw blood again. They said they were still working around the sample and they needed to draw blood again. They said I was positive for cancer but I didn't know, and I still don't know, what type of cancer I had.
Speaker 1:Think about that. A cancer diagnosis without a name, no explanation, no choice and no clarity. Just a woman in prison told her life may be at risk and then silence. Grace's story continues and it only becomes more difficult to hear. But please keep listening.
Speaker 2:They said I needed to be removed urgently.
Speaker 2:There was a lot that was found under my nipple immediately Before I signed the consent form. They said that I didn't have a choice. I wanted to have both breasts removed but they refused. They said they couldn't do that and it needed a lot more planning. I didn't want just the nipple removed. They kept saying to me you don't have a choice. When finally I got into the surgery room before the operation, the surgeon who was doing the operation asked if I had made those choices freely. He told me that I had a choice. When I told him that I did that this was not my choice, that I wanted to have a double mastectomy, he wanted to wait and postpone it to do a full mastectomy, which was my choice. So he wanted to postpone the operation for a week but I just wanted to get it over with at that point.
Speaker 2:The day before the surgery, I went to another clinic to get a nuclear PET scan done, which is when they eradicate the glucose in your blood to see if there is more cancer and then they find out more cancer under my arm in my lymph nodes. I didn't know that I was going to have surgery the next day. So I wasn't told to stop eating the next day. So I wasn't told to stop eating. I wasn't told to use the special protective antibiotic, antiviral wash that the hospital had given me, and I was not prepared at all. At 6am an officer called Winter Barlow Gibbs came to see me and told me that I had a hospital appointment. I was simply not prepared. I hadn't used the wash, I hadn't even had a wash. I was handcuffed all the time in the taxi on the way to the hospital and they used the long closet chain in the hospital even when I put on a gown and take off my own clothes. There was a white British officer and an Indian officer I don't remember their names and the doctor asked me if this was the operation that I wanted and I said no, I wanted a double mastectomy. The surgeon was called Dr Johnson. I told him I didn't want it and I told the officers I didn't want it. I wanted them to give me a choice. They said I had to have the operation. I was handcuffed in the operating theatre and I was given general anaesthetic in the operating theatre. The next thing I remember I was in the recovery area and I was not chained. They wanted to see if I could walk straight away to the restroom. They had not given me anything to eat at all but they gave me some biscuits to see if I could swallow. There was a large drain on one side under my arm to collect the pus from the operation.
Speaker 2:I was returned to the prison the very same day with the drain still in me, still in pain and still woozy from the anaesthetics. I needed looser clothes. I had to put on some really tight clothes to come back to the prison and a really tight t-shirt. Right after surgery. I wasn't given a post-surgery bra. I wasn't given loose clothes. I was handcuffed right after the surgery and I had to walk out of the hospital with no wheelchair. I was in chains but I walked it out when we reached the prison in the taxi and there was no wheelchair available, so I had to walk to get inside reception. I had to sit for a while but then, when I got tired of sitting in the wheelchair with other people, I was not seen by a nurse in reception at all. I said I tolerated enough. Sitting in here, I'm in pain. But they kept saying they had no keys to take me back to the house block because it was Friday evening and they were waiting for keys.
Speaker 2:We got back to the prison on Friday after 5pm and I reached my cell after 6pm. There was no care plan and I hadn't been shown a discharge letter which I'd given to the officers who gave it to the nurse. I've never seen it. I still don't know what kind of cancer I have. In the cell I tried to take off the very tight t-shirt but I still had drains attached to me. I couldn't do it.
Speaker 2:At 7.30pm the nurse came and asked if I needed painkillers. I asked for an extra pillow to rest my arm. 30 minutes after I started bleeding everywhere. I managed to get to the cell bell and ring it, but I wasn't given a panic alarm which I should have been given. Two officers came and they were just staring at the blood through the window on the cell. It was everywhere on the duvet, on the sheet, on the clothes, on the pillow, on my underwear. They were shocked and they stood there. They unlocked the door for a minute and they locked me back in. The nurse came and said I don't know why they sent you back from the hospital. What am I supposed to do? She gave me toilet paper and stopped the blood.
Speaker 1:This is not fiction. It happened. A woman, after a major surgery, bleeding out alone in her cell, handed toilet paper by a nurse who asks what am I supposed to do? What kind of system allows this?
Speaker 2:And who is held accountable when it does. This is crazy. Why is there all this blood? She kept saying. She left after a long while, but there was too much blood everywhere. When I tried to get up a second time to find out what was going on, I blacked out and I hit the floor and I hit the back of my head. I couldn't move for more than 20 minutes. I was still in a lot of pain, but then I heard someone come in. I'm not all right. I feel like I'm dying, I said. A male officer came in and pushed me back from the door. He couldn't manage to push me back so he pulled the door forward. He lifted me up against the wall and I was bleeding profusely. The same nurse who had been at Bronzefield for 20 years came in and wiped the floor so all the blood was gone. I believe she was cleaning evidence.
Speaker 2:I was taken to hospital at 10am, laying in so much pain for ages. After they finally got an ambulance, I was left in this side hallway on a trolley bed and I wasn't seen till 2am. I started drawing blood and checking blood again. No one checked the area and I was bleeding out where there was swelling under my arm. The surgeon came and then things started moving very fast. There was a lot of blood clots in the drain, in the area under my arm and where the surgery was very, very swollen.
Speaker 2:The first time I was given painkillers in the hospital was at 4 or 5 am. I was moved to a ward. I couldn't move and I just couldn't walk. They wanted to weigh me and check my height but I couldn't walk All the time. No one asked if I wanted a sponge bath, if I wanted to wash my clothes or change my underwear or even brush my teeth. I hadn't had a wash since the operation. They put me in the bed and gave me more painkillers and on Saturday morning there was a shift change and the officer said that I was not able to eat anything. And the officer said that I was not able to eat anything. I was on a drip and I had to pick myself up to go to the bathroom, still closet changed, with no clean clothes. I had to try and sponge bath. With a drain in my arm and a drip, I needed to feel clean. My breasts still felt really swollen and I felt sick as hell. No one wanted to help me.
Speaker 2:The nurses and the orderlies gave me cardboard basins and disposable nappies. I was in an open ward with two police officers by my side and I was chained to one of them. I was given soap. I was given shampoo and plastic containers but I couldn't open it. I'm trying to improvise. I was trying to put water on me and to take off my shorts, to take off my boxed shorts off, and I finally washed my boxes. I put them back on. They were wet. I had to ask them for a new hospital gown because the other one they had given me was way too tight. I was told I couldn't eat anything as I was still on a drip.
Speaker 2:Then, around 5pm, dr Johnson came in and he said that he would drain the area again. He was concerned about all the fluids coming out. More surgery. He had to open me back up. I was feeling a lot in a lot of different areas. I was back in the operating theatre and I remember I was handcuffed to one of the beds going down and at 6am I had surgery. Two different officers were with me, but the handcuffs were removed outside the operating theatre. This time I had anaesthetic before I went into the operating theatre, so I was not aware of what was going on. The first time I could see the lights buzzing around me and I was really frightened. I woke up on the ward, closet chained to an officer. The drains were still fresh. The drains were still in, but there was a fresh drain. This was now Saturday evening.
Speaker 2:I sat in the hospital for one night again and there was no change of clothes and I was flooded with more morphine and codeine. On Sunday morning a surgical team came and they said there was not much blood in the drain. They said it was okay to eat, but they didn't bring me anything. The kitchen was informed that I couldn't eat so they hadn't ordered anything for me. Finally, they asked if I wanted a cheese sandwich. I'm a vegetarian and they kept on trying to give me meat lasagna Long after they brought me cereal, milk etc. And some more biscuits.
Speaker 2:In the afternoon I actually ticked off the hospital menu. What I wanted to eat, a vegan menu but they bought me a beef lasagna, only had an egg salad, which wasn't enough. I was hungry. Even the officer were really shocked. They said they told the orderly that I had picked the menu and I had not been given the food that I had ordered. Again, I just got a cheese sandwich. I just had to eat a lot of yogurt to stay alive. The kitchen refused to make me anything. They said there was no vegan or vegetarian food.
Speaker 2:Again, there was a shift change with the officers and I was still handcuffed. I wanted to go to the toilet but I had to hold it and hold it. Not one person came to ask me if I was all right or if I needed support to go to the toilet. I had to just lie there until I couldn't hold it anymore. The orderlies and the nurses were not helping me, but they were helping everyone else. On Sunday evening I refused morphine and she wouldn't give me any other painkiller. She said she had given me codeine, but she hadn't. The officer is concerned. She's not giving me any pain medication. I was in agony.
Speaker 2:On Monday in the early morning I had to go to the restroom again. The surgical nurses said they were going to take the drains out. No one came and no one even asked if I needed to use the toilet or if I wanted to change my clothes. I still had the draining and I was still on closet chin. I was going to the restroom again with no assistance and no one asked me if I could walk or if I wanted to wash. Nurses and elderly spoke and attended to every patient besides me. They told the officers I would be discharged in the morning, but I wasn't discharged till 5pm. Again, there were no vegan food. But they bought me a menu to tick off what I wanted and I tick off vegan food and they said there wasn't any. I still didn't get it. I ended up eating biscuits and sandwiches. I felt so unheard and neglected. I felt like a slave. How could I not even get a sponge, bath deodorant, a change of clothes? I didn't have anything. I just felt like a bum. Other patients were being given everything.
Speaker 1:Grace's words here are devastating. She wasn't just deprived of care, she was deprived of dignity. A sponge bath deodorant, a change of clothes, and still she's trying to understand what's happening inside her body, if her cancer has spread, if her pain is normal, if her life is at risk.
Speaker 2:Finally, the surgical nurses gave the officers scissors to remove the stitches back at the hospital and a discharge letter. I had never seen a care plan. On the 7th of April, on Monday evening, I was brought back to prison. Finally, they got me the wheelchair in reception. I was in so much pain I said I couldn't wait. They said I had to wait as no one had keys. I saw a nurse finally. She just asked if I was okay. I told her what happened in the hospital and they brought me back to the cell. But no one of the senior officers came for me in reception and she had to change the sheets because they were full of blood. No one had even cleaned the room while I was in hospital.
Speaker 2:Everything went to shit after that. Since then I've had antibiotics after antibiotics and they're just not working. I have a really horrible infection. It hurts. The last one didn't agree with me. I've developed lots of pain and swelling under my arm. I only went back to hospital once to get prescribed antibiotics. I've been requesting a special diet but nobody's given me anything. They kept saying they're talking to the nurses and the nurses are talking to the kitchen, but nothing has happened. I'm not getting painkillers on time and the new ones are not agreeing with me. I'm getting horrible stomach aches. I've stopped taking them. It's not manageable. I'm stressed and worried. Not manageable. I'm stressed and worried.
Speaker 2:To this day I still don't know what type of cancer I have. And it's the 27th of April. I don't know what the treatment going forward will be. I just want to know what's going on. I don't want to start any drama. They're saying I have to start chemotherapy and radiotherapy, but I have no information. On the 24th I went to Ashfield Hospital and saw Dr Johnson again. I told him I was in so much pain with how I was feeling, with the pain and the swelling, and he said you just have to wait it out. I've never seen a breast cancer nurse With the pain and the swelling and he said you just have to wait it out. I've never seen a breast cancer nurse. I don't know anything about breast cancer. My biggest concern is what's going on in my body. I felt another lump in swelling and I'm so scared. I have no family or friends here. It's a hard-knock life Without a special bra in clothes, even being sent to the hospital. I've never felt more neglected. I've made so many complaints with the prisoner.
Speaker 1:I want so many people to help, but nobody wants to help me. That was part one of Grace Colburn's story. In the next episode, we'll hear another devastating testimony and a response from the NHS. You'll also hear from two experts, professor Rachel Hunter and Dr Joe Arms, who specialize in health inequalities and cancer care in the UK. What happened to Grace isn't just a failure. It's a warning. It's a story that demands reflection and action. If you've been affected by anything in today's episode or you want to learn more about rights in prison healthcare, we've included resources in the show notes. If you'd like to support our work and receive four digital editions and one print issue a year, subscribe to the View for just 20 pounds a year. Make sure to follow us on our social media. We're on Instagram at the underscore view, underscore magazines, and you can also find us on LinkedIn X and TikTok. Thank you for listening and please share this story.