My 4 year old was quieter than usual. Then his doctor spoke the words I feared

Since he was born, our son Tommy was like a mini nuclear reactor, always full of energy.

As soon as he could crawl, he tried to keep up with his two older brothers, George and Henry.

When he went to school he almost knocked us over when he came running towards us in the garden.

Tommy was almost never sick. When his brothers caught a cold, they were sick for a few days. But Tommy just lay there for an hour and then he was fine again.

But in April 2021, when Tommy was four years old, something didn’t seem quite right.

During his two-week Easter holiday, he was subdued, sitting inside watching cartoons instead of running around outside.

He was pale and had some bruises on his shins that wouldn’t fade. When he woke up, I also noticed dried blood spots around his nose, as if he had had a minor nosebleed while sleeping.

We thought he had just been attacked. But when he went back to school, even his teacher seemed concerned and called my wife Jo. “He’s just not his normal self,” they said.

Becoming increasingly concerned, Jo started searching the internet and came across acute lymphocytic leukemia (ALL), a rare form of cancer that affects the blood and bone marrow. The symptoms were similar to Tommy’s. “That can’t be true,” I said, shaking my head.

But at the end of the week Tommy was still calm, so we took him straight from school to the doctor. 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 parking lot. I feel sick. I hoped it was a virus, but I had a bad feeling.

It wasn’t until around 8 p.m. that Jo called with a shaking voice and asked me to come to the hospital.

When Jo entered the counselor’s room, she was in tears with Tommy on her lap.

“We don’t know for sure, but we suspect Tommy has leukemia,” the counselor explained

It felt like I had been punched in the stomach. He was only four years old. He couldn’t have leukemia…

As Jo sobbed again, Tommy patted her hand. “Don’t cry, Mom, I’m fine,” he told her comfortingly.

But we just didn’t know…

Over the next few days, everything seemed to melt together. Tommy was officially diagnosed with ALL and we were taken to Birmingham Children’s Hospital to begin treatment.

“It will take three years,” the doctors told us. It was devastating, almost reliving Tommy’s entire life.

We had to explain it to our other sons. At seven, Henry was too young to understand, but George, then thirteen, could.

“Can Tommy die?” he asked.

“We don’t know all the information yet,” I explained carefully. “But we will do everything we can to make sure he gets better.”

He burst into tears at my words and my heart felt like it was going to break again.

It was an incredibly difficult time. Tommy was in hospital for the first month and due to the Corona restrictions we couldn’t all be together.

He was given steroids, which were placed through a central line — a long, thin tube inserted into a patient’s chest and into a vein to draw blood and administer medications — and then given intravenous chemotherapy.

Almost immediately, the medications began to take their toll.

The steroids caused him to gain a lot of weight; he couldn’t walk properly and his back hurt.

Some of the little things were the hardest. Tommy refused to take his oral medicine because it made him feel so bad and it took us two to three hours every morning and evening to convince him.

He didn’t like thumb pricks or cannulas in his hand. And I couldn’t blame him.

Even when we were allowed to go home, we were afraid of contamination and who would come home. It took some time to get used to giving him his medicine.

After a few months he went back to school.

But we had monthly visits for chemotherapy at Telford Hospital, then quarterly lumbar punctures and multiple chemotherapy treatments at Birmingham Children’s Hospital.

Jo and I were exhausted and afraid of the worst, but still tried to stay strong for Tommy and keep life going for George and Henry.

The thought of having to do this for three years was overwhelming.

“We have to take it step by step, even in one day,” we finally agreed. “We’ll get through this.” After all, what choice did we have?

Six months after the treatment, Tommy lost all his hair, which was very difficult for him. So George, Henry and I shaved our heads too. “You look better as a bald man,” he chuckled cheekily as I entered.

That seemed impossible at the time, but Tommy responded well to his chemotherapy and will complete treatment in July 2024.