My brother was 23 years old when he died. He was a Treloar’s student — one of the children this country was supposed to protect, and instead poisoned.
I was one of his main carers, and I was the first person he confided in when he was told he was HIV positive. He came to me because he knew what it meant. He knew it was a death sentence — and he chose to carry that moment with me by his side.
My family didn’t just lose him — we lost years of normal life, security and peace. We lived the fear, the hospitals, the caregiving, the trauma and the grief.
I didn’t just lose him on the day he died. I lost him slowly, holding his hand through every frightening turn, every moment he deserved better than what he got. That is a weight that never leaves you.
He was 23. He had a whole life ahead of him. He was my brother, my person — not a case number, not a statistic, not a footnote in an inquiry.
Yet under current intestacy rules, taxpayers’ compensation money can end up going to people who never even knew the infected person, while those of us who suffered alongside them for decades are bypassed completely.
The people who quietly carried that burden are still fighting to be recognised. This was never just about money — it’s about dignity, fairness, and making sure our loved ones are remembered as people, not case numbers.
If you can donate even a little to this legal battle, please do. Every little helps. Not just for him — for every family still carrying this in silence. ❤️🖤💛
@bloodinquiry @HaemoSocUK
#InfectedBloodScandal #Treloars
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