December 26th 2023.
Since the day he was born, our son Tommy had been like a mini nuclear reactor, always so full of energy. He was hardly ever ill, and if his brothers caught a cold, they'd be poorly for a couple of days, but Tommy would just lie down for an hour and be back to normal.
However, in April 2021, when Tommy was four, something didn't seem quite right. For his two-week Easter holidays, he was subdued, sitting indoors watching cartoons rather than running around outdoors. He was pale and had some bruises on his shins that weren't fading, as well as flecks of dried blood around his nose when he woke up, as if he'd been having little nose bleeds in his sleep.
We thought he was just run down, but when he returned to school even his teacher seemed concerned, calling my wife, Jo. We took him straight to the GP from school, and they sent us straight to the Princess Royal Hospital in Telford, where we spent most of the day.
It was during the pandemic, and only one parent could go in at a time, so I sat in the car park with a feeling of dread. It wasn't until about 8pm that Jo called, her voice shaking, asking me to come into the hospital. Going into the consultant’s room, Jo was in tears, with Tommy on her lap. The consultant then explained that he suspected Tommy had acute lymphoblastic leukaemia, a rare type of cancer that affects the blood and bone marrow.
I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. He was only four years old. We had to explain it to our other sons; George, who was then 13, could understand, but Henry who was 7, was too young.
The following days seemed to all merge together. Tommy was officially diagnosed with ALL and we were transferred to Birmingham Children's Hospital to start treatment. Doctors told us that the treatment would last for three years - it was devastating, nearly all of Tommy's life again.
Almost immediately, the medication started taking its toll. George asked, 'Could Tommy die?' Jo comforted him, telling him, ‘Don’t cry Mummy, I’m going to be fine.’ But we just didn't know...
Since the day he was born, our son Tommy was like a mini nuclear reactor, always so full of energy. He was hardly ever sick, and if his brothers caught a cold, they would be poorly for a couple of days while Tommy would just lie down for an hour then be back to normal.
Yet in April 2021, at four years old, something didn't seem quite right. During the two-week Easter holidays, Tommy stayed indoors, watching cartoons instead of running around outdoors. He was pale and had some bruises on his shins that weren't fading. His mother also noticed flecks of dried blood around his nose when he woke up, as if he had been having little nosebleeds in his sleep.
We took Tommy straight to the GP from school and they sent us straight to the Princess Royal Hospital in Telford. It was during the pandemic, so only one parent could go in at a time, and so I sat in the car park, feeling sick. I was hoping it was a virus but I had a bad feeling.
It wasn't until 8pm that my wife Jo called, her voice shaky. She asked me to come into the hospital, and when I went into the consultant's room, Jo was in tears, with Tommy on her lap. The consultant explained that they suspected Tommy had acute lymphoblastic leukaemia. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. Our son was only four years old.
We had to explain it to our other sons. At seven, Henry was too young to understand, but our eldest, George, was thirteen. He asked if Tommy could die, and it was a difficult moment.
Tommy started his treatment immediately. It was going to last for three years, and the medication started taking its toll almost immediately. Despite all this, Tommy comforted his mother, telling her not to cry and that he was going to be fine.
After a couple of months, Tommy went back to school. It was an incredibly difficult time, but Tommy was determined to get through it and he was brave. He just wanted to be a normal four year old again.
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