Patient & Family Narrative  ·  Personal Account

Catherine recounts how the Jehovah’s Witness blood policy shaped her fears when her daughter Ruby needed transfusions during treatment for childhood brain cancer. Her story explores religious pressure, medical compassion and the life they built afterward.

Personal account by Catherine · United Kingdom

A Childhood Shaped by the Blood Doctrine

I was born and raised as a third-generation Jehovah’s Witness. My religion shaped my understanding of morality, life and death. From childhood, I understood that accepting a blood transfusion violated God’s law, and that remaining faithful to Jehovah mattered more than preserving our present lives. Everlasting life in paradise was the ultimate reward.

I remember reading the May 22, 1994, Awake! magazine about young Witnesses who had faced serious illnesses and refused blood transfusions. They were presented as examples of extraordinary courage and faith. As a little girl, I promised myself that if I ever faced the same choice, I would be just as faithful.

The thought of needing blood terrified me. I worried that if I had an accident, doctors might transfuse me against my wishes. I became almost obsessive about carrying my blood refusal card and feared leaving home without it.

The organisation’s literature left me with the impression that medical professionals might pressure Witnesses to accept blood, and that such pressure could be part of Satan’s efforts to undermine our faith. I grew up believing that I should be prepared to refuse blood even if it cost me my life.

Even before I was old enough to understand the medical complexities of transfusion, I had formed a promise about what I should do if my life depended on one. I did not question whether a child could meaningfully understand that decision or its consequences.

I had no idea what those teachings would mean when I became a mother.

Ruby’s Brain Cancer Diagnosis

My daughter Ruby was born in August 2009. Around February 2012, when she was approximately two and a half, she was diagnosed with medulloblastoma, an aggressive childhood brain cancer.

Our lives changed almost overnight. Ruby underwent three major brain operations and intensive chemotherapy. Radiotherapy would later become part of her treatment. We were suddenly living with the possibility that our little girl might die. I had to absorb frightening medical information while trying to comfort a child who was too young to understand why so much was happening to her.

Her father and I were both practising Jehovah’s Witnesses, and the Hospital Liaison Committee (HLC) became involved in her medical care from the beginning. The HLC consists of Witness representatives who liaise with hospitals about treatment without blood products prohibited by the religion. Although presented as support, its involvement brought religious expectations directly into an already overwhelming medical situation.

Ruby’s doctors said they would explore bloodless options wherever possible. They also explained that chemotherapy would almost certainly make transfusions necessary. Remarkably, she underwent all three brain operations without requiring blood.

One conversation outside the operating theatre remains vivid. Ruby’s surgeons approached me and explained that if blood became necessary during surgery, they would need to give it. They looked concerned, but they were incredibly compassionate.

I thanked them and said that if blood was needed, they should use it. I would not create difficulties for them.

“Please, just do what you need to do.”

I was still a believing Jehovah’s Witness. But I was also the mother of a critically ill little girl. I wanted her to survive.

The Hospital Liaison Committee’s Proposed Challenge

The more Ruby’s chemotherapy progressed, the clearer it became that her blood counts would fall dangerously low. She would need red blood cells to help carry oxygen and platelets to help prevent bleeding.

The HLC understood that, in the United Kingdom, preventing a young child from receiving medically necessary blood would probably be unsuccessful if the matter went before a court. According to what was explained to me, they proposed another approach: challenging the hospital’s clinical thresholds for giving transfusions.

My understanding was that they wanted Ruby’s haemoglobin and platelet counts to fall considerably below the levels at which her doctors would ordinarily recommend treatment. In other words, they wanted her condition to become more critical before blood was administered.

To illustrate what I mean—not to give Ruby’s actual results—if her doctors considered transfusion necessary at a haemoglobin level of 80 g/L, the proposed approach might have been to wait until it fell much further, perhaps to 60 g/L. The same principle was discussed regarding platelets. Those numbers are hypothetical; what matters is the attempt, as I understood it, to alter the medical team’s judgment about when to intervene.

The HLC offered to pursue legal action concerning the timing of Ruby’s transfusions.

I was appalled. Her doctors knew her condition, the chemotherapy she was receiving and the risks she faced. Why should religious representatives try to influence those decisions?

I refused their offer.

I do not recall any written proposal, and I cannot say precisely what legal arguments the HLC would have used. This is my recollection of what I was told. But I remember clearly that I did not want a legal dispute to obstruct Ruby’s treatment.

Her Father, Our Marriage and the Hospital

Ruby’s father was also a practising Witness. His preference was for her to avoid blood if at all possible. He generally took a back seat in her care, while I dealt with consultants, treatment decisions, appointments and day-to-day responsibilities.

Her hospital had previously treated children from Witness families. Ruby’s consultant explained that preliminary legal enquiries had been made so the hospital could seek authorisation if parental refusal became a problem. To my knowledge, this was precautionary, not the result of a formal disagreement between her father and me. I assured the medical team that I would not obstruct treatment.

There was, however, considerable tension at home. I could not understand why Ruby’s father would not challenge the HLC’s position more forcefully. We argued, sometimes at night when we thought Ruby was asleep.

Years later, she told me that she remembered hearing me crying during those arguments. It breaks my heart that even at such a young age, and while enduring cancer treatment, she was aware of our distress.

The First Bag of Blood

Ruby received her first transfusion immediately after her first round of chemotherapy.

I remember the nurse entering with a bag of blood. To many people it might have looked like an ordinary medical procedure. To me, it was the very thing I had been taught to fear all my life.

I felt numb. Seeing the bag was so upsetting that I asked the nurse to cover it with a towel. She quietly did so.

And beneath the fear, I felt something else: gratitude. My daughter was receiving the treatment she needed.

Over the course of Ruby’s treatment she received many red-cell and platelet transfusions. Eventually, I no longer needed the towel. I learned about her blood counts and began asking nurses whether blood products were ready when her levels reached the thresholds at which doctors recommended transfusion.

Something that had represented my greatest religious fear became a familiar and essential part of caring for my daughter.

Yet I remained a practising Jehovah’s Witness, attending meetings and assemblies whenever Ruby was well enough. Sometimes she came with no hair or eyelashes, a feeding tube and an extremely frail body.

I remember the wife of our circuit overseer visiting while Ruby was receiving platelets. I immediately felt embarrassed and started apologising and explaining what was in the intravenous line.

Looking back, I find that reaction revealing. My daughter was receiving medically necessary treatment, but I felt compelled to justify it to someone associated with religious authority.

Nobody had to threaten me. The expectations had been so deeply ingrained that I was policing myself.

That is how religious pressure can work. It does not always take a direct order; sometimes fear of disapproval has already become part of you.

The Doctors I Had Been Taught to Fear

I want to make one thing absolutely clear: I cannot fault Ruby’s medical teams.

I never encountered the hostility from doctors that I had been taught to expect. They did not mock my beliefs, treat me aggressively or try to provoke a confrontation. Instead, they were patient, professional and compassionate.

The surgeons outside the operating theatre treated me with dignity. The nurses understood that I was both the mother of a critically ill child and someone whose religious upbringing had made transfusion frightening.

They helped me through it.

I had been taught to fear medical professionals who might want to administer blood. Instead, I found people whose overriding concern was saving my little girl’s life.

They were not my enemies.

Other Children, and Questions About My Faith

The children’s cancer hospital was full of suffering unlike anything I had seen before. I met parents living with the constant fear of losing their children, and I watched children endure terrible treatments. Some of those children died.

I also remember a young Jehovah’s Witness boy who needed blood. My recollection is that his condition had become extremely serious before he received red cells and that he then improved dramatically. I would not want to overstate what I can verify about his medical circumstances, but the experience added to the questions I was already beginning to ask.

One little boy undergoing a bone marrow transplant became close to our family. When I learned he was dying, I prayed that his final moments would be peaceful. I was not asking for a miracle, only that a suffering child be spared further pain. Later, his mother told me his death had not been peaceful.

I was devastated. How could a loving God allow this? I approached our circuit overseer and explained how badly my faith had been shaken. He did not know what to say. I felt left to wrestle with those questions alone.

I also remember the widely publicised case of Ashya King in 2014. He was five, had the same type of brain cancer as Ruby, and his parents were Jehovah’s Witnesses. They took him abroad seeking proton-beam therapy, leading to an international search, their detention in Spain and legal proceedings. The documented dispute concerned radiotherapy, not an established attempt to avoid blood transfusions.

The case nevertheless affected me. I understood the desperation of parents trying to protect a child, and I was becoming increasingly conscious of how beliefs and authority could complicate agonising medical decisions.

Relapse and Survival

After Ruby’s first treatment, she remained in remission for several months. Then, around February 2013, when she was approximately three and a half, the cancer returned.

We were given an extremely poor prognosis—around a five per cent chance of survival. Ruby faced more intensive treatment, including craniospinal radiotherapy. The HLC became involved again, and the question of transfusions returned.

By then, I had seen what red cells and platelets meant for her treatment and had experienced the compassion of her medical team. My priority was Ruby’s survival.

Against extraordinary odds, she survived. More than a decade later, the long-term consequences of her cancer and treatment remain part of our everyday lives. But she is here.

Ruby has reflected on these events herself. She once said that she felt her former religion would have preferred her to die rather than receive blood. That was her perception, and hearing it was deeply painful. She also expressed gratitude that I had allowed doctors to transfuse her without placing further obstacles in their way.

I explained to her that courts in the United Kingdom could have authorised necessary treatment even if we had refused. But I understood why the whole experience still mattered to her. These were not abstract arguments about doctrine; they concerned her own childhood and survival. The fact that a court might have protected her did not erase her awareness of the conflict around her care, or her feelings about what she had been taught.

Leaving the Religion

As Ruby recovered, I began volunteering with the NSPCC, the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. That work deepened my concerns about the Jehovah’s Witness organisation’s handling of child sexual abuse allegations. I learned about the Australian Royal Commission’s investigation of Witness practices, and its findings troubled me.

I approached congregation elders with questions about these issues and the blood doctrine. I wanted honest answers, not confrontation. Instead, I felt dismissed. People began distancing themselves from me, as though raising concerns had already made me bad association.

During this period, my husband left a Watchtower publication open on our kitchen table. It contained counsel about being a quiet, submissive wife. I understood the message as another reminder of what was expected of me rather than support for my questions.

Our marriage had already endured considerable strain. I eventually ended it and formally disassociated myself from the religion. Leaving was not impulsive. It followed years of experiences that had changed my understanding of conscience, authority and responsibility.

Later, after learning of the difficulties faced by women who had left the religion, I established a Facebook support group for former Jehovah’s Witness women. It grew to nearly 3,000 members and became a place to share experiences and rebuild lives. I ran it for several years before stepping back to focus on my children and the freedom to discover life beyond the organisation.

The 2026 Jehovah’s Witness Blood Policy Change

When I learned of the Governing Body’s September 2026 announcement, I was shocked. After decades of prohibiting transfusions of the four major blood components, the organisation now allowed individual Witnesses to decide for themselves whether to accept red cells, white cells, platelets and plasma. Whole blood remained prohibited.

I thought about the children in the Awake! magazine. My fear of leaving home without a refusal card. Ruby’s surgeons outside the operating theatre. The blood bag covered with a towel. The HLC’s proposed legal challenge.

I also learned something painful about my own family. My mother, who remains a Witness, told me that my grandfather had suffered a stroke and massive internal bleeding and, according to her, had refused blood. I was present when he died, but I had never known refusal was reportedly part of his final illness.

I cannot know whether a transfusion would have saved him. That would require reviewing his medical circumstances. But learning this after the policy change brought the issue painfully close to home again.

One of Ruby’s nurses also reflected on the announcement and wondered how the Witness families she had cared for must now feel. Her words moved me. Medical professionals, too, had navigated these difficult situations while trying to care for frightened children and parents.

The Life We Have Now

During Ruby’s childhood, our lives revolved around hospitals, treatment and uncertainty. Our religion also placed many ordinary celebrations off limits.

Today we celebrate Christmas and birthdays, enjoy Harry Potter and embrace pleasures I once thought were forbidden. I treasure photographs of our celebrations, including Ruby receiving a trophy at one of my bodybuilding competitions.

These may sound like ordinary moments. To us they represent survival, freedom and a chance to make memories outside the fear that shaped my childhood.

Ruby still lives with significant long-term consequences of her illness and treatment. I will never pretend otherwise. But she is here, she is loved, and we are making memories together. I will never take that for granted.

The Cost Beyond Mortality Statistics

What troubles me most is the authority a religious interpretation exercised over people’s lives. As a girl, I promised to refuse blood even if it killed me. As a mother, I found myself grateful for the blood that helped support my daughter through cancer treatment—and ashamed when someone from our religious community saw her receiving it.

I recognise that individual HLC members may sincerely believe they are supporting patients’ convictions. Nevertheless, the offer I recall receiving could have challenged decisions made by Ruby’s doctors about medically necessary transfusions. I refused. I still wonder how other parents might have responded if they had felt less able to say no.

I think about the little girl I once was, frightened of doctors and determined to prove her faith through refusal. I wish I could tell her that she did not need to put her life at risk to demonstrate her worth, and that medical treatment was not a moral failure.

My daughter survived, and I am profoundly grateful to the nurses and doctors who treated us so compassionately. But survival did not erase the fear, guilt, arguments or years of uncertainty.

There are families whose loved ones died under the former policy. There are also children who survived with lasting consequences, parents who carried enormous emotional burdens, and relationships fractured by decisions made under religious pressure. Some people continue to carry those experiences decades later.

The human cost cannot be measured solely in deaths.

For families who lost someone, a policy change cannot restore what is gone. For those of us who survived, it cannot simply undo what happened.

When I look back at those difficult years, I think of Ruby’s nurses patiently caring for her, the surgeons who reassured me, and the small moments of kindness that helped us endure what felt unbearable. Their commitment to her wellbeing challenged the fears I had carried since childhood.

I am sharing our story because these experiences deserve to be documented honestly and compassionately—and because I never want them to be forgotten.