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Blood that's magic!

My boys share a very special bond...


Published by: Jean Jollands and Alex McGowen
Published on: 28th June 2010

My son’s forehead scrunched with concentration as he stared at the alphabet chart pinned to his bedroom wall. ‘That’s a K,’ beamed William, pointing at the colourful kite-shaped letter.
‘Well done,’ I cheered. Aged five, he was getting to grips with his spellings. But watching him, my stomach tightened because there was something else he was going to have to get to grips with soon.
Me and my husband Nick had found out William had leukaemia. So how the hell were we going to tell him?
‘Honey, Mummy needs to tell you something,’ I smiled. ‘Everyone’s blood is made up of good and bad soldiers… and at the moment, yours has too many bad ones. It’s making you ill.’
His A, B, Cs were fine – but how could he understand this?
‘I’ll get better soon,’ he promised, innocently.
‘I know,’ I whispered. I hugged him tight, nestling my face into his blond hair.
Even though 85 per cent of his body’s cells were cancerous, doctors said he had a 90 per cent chance of recovery.
And at least he had something to keep his mind off the gruelling chemo. His little brother Edward had arrived seven weeks ago.
‘We have to stay strong, for both our boys,’ Nick had told me.
Easier said than done. While I watched Edward grow big and strong, William grew pale, and his blue eyes drawn.
Worst of all, six weeks later, I was combing his hair, when huge clumps started falling out.
Biting back tears, I scooped up the fluffy piles. ‘Before long, Edward’s going to have more hair than him,’ I sobbed to Nick.
‘I’ll take William to the barber’s, have it cut short,’ he suggested.
When they got back, I forced a smile, tried to stay positive. ‘Don’t you look handsome,’ I grinned.
As the months wore on, Edward took his first steps. But even these special milestones were overshadowed by William’s progress. By now he was having tough chemotherapy sessions at home and was in and out of hospital. But he never complained.
‘I love my port,’ he’d smile, after a tube to feed drugs into his blood was inserted under his ribs. ‘Now I don’t have to have any injections.’
Then in January last year, three years after his diagnosis, we were told William, by now eight, was free of cancer. Those next few months were blissful.
‘Let’s make up for the time he’s lost,’ I told Nick.
‘We could go camping, cycling,
go-karting…’ he beamed.
‘All of that,’ I vowed, smiling.
Finally, William was able to bond with his three-year-old brother, too. Before, he’d always been in hospital or too tired to play with Edward.
Our happiness felt too good to be true. It was. A biopsy revealed the cancer had returned. ‘Life can’t be that cruel,’ I cried.
Neither me nor Nick could face breaking the news to him – the consultant had to do it. But as we walked on to his ward… ‘You lied to me!’ he shouted.
‘We didn’t,’ I urged. ‘We can still make you better.’
‘What’s the point? It didn’t work last time, it won’t work now!’ William cried.
‘We’ve no choice,’ I hushed. ‘We’ve got to make you better.’
Edward took it badly, too. He’d got used to having his brother back – and me and Nick.
As the familiar round of hospital trips began again, there was a change in him. He seemed to resent the attention his big brother was getting.
Things came to a head while we were sat eating lunch one day.
‘Come on, Edward, eat your mince,’ I encouraged. ‘Otherwise William will gobble it up – it’s his favourite, keeps his strength up.’
My little boy chucked his fork down. ‘All you care about is William!’ he shouted. ‘He’s special and I’m not!’
‘You know we love you,’ I soothed. ‘But your brother’s poorly. We have to do everything we can to help him.’
I felt like I was failing both my sons, though. When it came to William, I felt so helpless. And now I was pushing Edward away because I was so busy worrying about his brother.
Doctors came up with a new idea, though. They insisted William’s only chance of survival was a bone marrow transplant. ‘A sibling is going to be the best match,’ we were told. ‘But there’s only a 25 per cent chance of finding a sibling whose bone marrow is a perfect match.’
‘Do you mean…?’ I started.
‘Edward,’ said Nick.
‘But he’s only three,’ I gasped.
‘We have no choice,’ urged Nick.
Now we faced the daunting task of explaining to a toddler he held the key to his brother’s future – a brother he was growing to resent. ‘We need to borrow some of your blood to help William,’ Nick explained to him, gently. ‘You see, it’s magic.’
Edward’s little face lit up.
‘I’ll help William,’ he said. ‘My blood’s made of magic!’
He was right, too. Edward was a perfect match – the operation could go ahead.
Now it was his turn to feel special as we decorated his hospital bed with the cartoon character Ben 10 balloons for his fourth birthday.
‘I made this for you,’ William announced when he came to visit his little brother. He’d made a card decorated with a castle and knights, Edward’s favourite.
Thank-you… I’m so proud of you, it read.
‘It’s brilliant!’ giggled Edward. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make you better.’
It was soon time for him to get ready for the operating theatre – and for William to have his final dose of radiotherapy.
‘Come on, love, your treatment’s booked,’ I said.
William shook his head, refused to leave Edward’s side. ‘He needs me,’ he protested.
Finally, his little brother’s anaesthetic took effect. As his eyes drooped, then finally closed, William gave him a kiss and went off to have his own treatment.
They were both so strong – I was so proud.
Within hours of Edward coming out of theatre, he was scooting around the ward on his trike!
‘I’ve got magic blood!’ he’d tell all the nurses. ‘I’m helping my brother to get better.’
The following day – two days before William’s 9th birthday – we held a joint party on the ward. Watching them tucking into cake, you’d never have realised what they’d been through.
The next day was William’s transplant. Laying in his hospital bed, he listened to his favourite song, Guns n’ Roses Sweet Child O’ Mine, while doctors injected the bone marrow into his body.
His transplant was a success but, to avoid him catching infection, he was placed in isolation.
For 27 days, me and Nick had to wash in a special capsule and wear scrubs to visit. But poor Edward wasn’t allowed in, so we invested in walkie-talkies!
‘I’m so bored, Mum,’ William moaned. But his face lit up when he spotted Edward waving at him.
‘Can’t wait to come out and play,’ he told his brother.
’Hurry up!’ ordered Edward.
He came home a month later.
My boys have an unshakable bond now. It’s lovely to see them curled up on the sofa if William gets tired. They still argue, but often I let them get on with it. It’s nice to see them being normal.
William knows what his brother did for him, and I know he’ll never forget.
Mandy Pearce, 35, Heathfield, East Sussex