Stories

Stories >> Stories home >> Smiling through the pain

Smiling through the pain

Even as his life was hanging in the balance, my boy was never dpwn....


Published by: Kirsty English & Jean Jollands
Published on: 18th July 2011

My poor children were dropping like flies. But isn’t that always the way – one kid gets a cold, and the rest catch it.
Sitting on the sofa, surrounded by crumpled tissues, were my brood of four, all coughing.
Ruben, six, Dylan, four, Daisy, two, and even four-month-old Mylo were all suffering. Luckily, me and my hubby Brian, 36, a carpenter, had escaped it.
‘There, there little man,’ I soothed, scooping Mylo into my arms and rubbing his back after another bout of coughing. ‘Mummy will make it better.’
Quick as a flash, big blue eyes shining, he shot me a gummy smile. They were his trademark. We’d even nicknamed him Smilo Mylo. Young as he was, he never stopped beaming.
‘It’ll take more than a pesky cold to get you down,’ I grinned.
Later, I checked the kids again before getting ready to go to my job as a fitness instructor. But when I picked up Mylo, his skin felt hot and clammy. Anxious, I checked his temperature.
‘It’s 40 degrees – that’s sky high!’ I fretted to Brian. ‘Can’t be right…’
I checked again. Suddenly, Mylo’s head lolled, his eyes rolling back. ‘I’m getting him to the doctors,’ I panicked, grabbing my car keys.
The doctor took one look at Mylo and ordered me to get him to hospital. As I raced to William Harvey Hospital nearby, I prayed it was just a precaution.
‘He’s got bronchilitis,’ the doctor confirmed. ‘It’s a common chest infection, the ward’s full of kids with it at the moment.’
‘At least it’s nothing more serious,’ I sighed on the phone to Brian. Doctors were going to keep an eye on Mylo anyway, said they’d keep him in for five days to check on him. It was a weight off my mind, knowing he was being looked after so well.
I stayed by Mylo’s bedside. Each day he grew stronger, flashing that gummy smile every time he saw us.
He just couldn’t seem to shake that nasty, rattling cough, though. The day before he was due to come home, doctors decided to do a chest x-ray.
When the results came back, the doctor ushered us aside. ‘There’s a mass on Mylo’s left lung,’ he began. ‘It could be mucus but, for safety’s sake, we’re transferring him to Great Ormond Street Hospital in London for a scan.’
The doctor had told us not to worry, but… a mass? What was wrong with our Smilo Mylo?
In the ambulance, me and Brian were too numb to talk.
Then I caught myself. Come on, if there was anything really wrong, our little boy wouldn’t be grinning the way he did. The fact he was such a smiler showed he was fine.
We were led into the ward where Mylo would stay. A little boy ran past – a little boy with a bald head and needle attached to his arm. Fear shot through me again.
‘What ward is this? ‘ I asked a nurse anxiously.
‘Oncology,’ she replied softly. ‘The leukaemia and cancer ward.’
‘What?’ I gasped. ‘There must be some mistake, Mylo…’
‘The doctor will explain.’
‘Explain what?’ worried Brian. ‘What’s wrong with our baby?’
It wasn’t long before we found out. ‘Mylo has a tumour,’ the doctor started. ‘It’s on the nerve-endings of his spine. We don’t know if it’s cancerous or not.’
I tried to take it in as she went on about biopsies, scans, tests, but all I could think about was my beaming little boy. Would I get to see those chubby little cheeks dimple into a smile again?
Finally, the results were back. ‘Mylo has a neuroblastoma mass,’ the doctor explained.
‘Is it cancer?’ I pushed.
As she nodded, my world fell apart. Why? Why my boy? He was only four-months-old.
‘Is he going to die?’ I blurted.
‘Because it was caught early, he’s got the best chance possible.’
The bronchilitis had just been a coincidence – but, because I’d taken Mylo to hospital, luckily, they’d discovered the cancer.
‘Mylo will need surgery and, possibly, chemotherapy,’ the consultant continued.
Like zombies, me and Brian went back to our baby’s bedside, the thought of cancer growing inside him almost too much to bear. I looked at his little face and… it lit up with a great big smile, despite everything.
Over the next few days, that grin never left his face, as he gurgled happily away.
‘He’s a cheerful little soul,’ a nurse commented to me.‘We call him Smilo Mylo,’ I replied.
Soon everyone was calling him it and, though me and Brian were crumbling inside, if Mylo was still smiling, then we had to be brave as well.
When we could, we dashed home to spend some time with our other children. All two-year-old Daisy understood was that her little playmate was missing. ‘She blows Mylo a kiss every night and asks if he catches it,’ my mum told us.
All of them were too young to understand what was going on, and we didn’t talk about it in front of them. Then one day our eldest, Ruben, asked a question. ‘Has Mylo got that thing that eats people’s insides?’ he asked sadly.
My heart lurched – he must have overheard Brian and me talking.
’Your little brother has something called cancer,’ I said gently. ‘But there’s lots of different ones, and your brother’s going to be fine.’
I had to believe that.
Three months after falling ill, Mylo was finally strong enough to have his operation.
That evening, we were allowed to see our brave little boy. It broke my heart to see him wired up to tubes, but the operation had been a success.
‘The tumour came out like a nut from a shell,’ announced the surgeon. ‘It was a decent size for a little lad, though – the size of a small orange.’
There was more…
‘We found two more tumours on his lymph nodes,’ he continued. ‘One of them was cancerous, but we’ve removed them, too.’
Mylo would have to be watched closely over the next few years, but the prognosis was looking good.
Poor mite had been really battered about, though. His eyes were so sad and, no matter how often I played peek-a-boo with him, his mouth refused to turn up at the corners.
On the third day, I was pulling funny faces when…
‘He smiled!’ I laughed. ‘Look, Brian!’ There was our boy’s gappy grin, as he chortled merrily. ‘Smilo Mylo’s back!’ beamed Brian.
Just six days after the op, he came home to his brothers and sister. Daisy serenaded him with Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and that smile graced his face once more.
Mylo has got a two-inch scar from the surgery and will need scans every three months for the next year or so. But he’s meeting all his milestones.
And we’re meeting ours, having raised £22,000 for Great Ormond Street. This November, I’m doing the Inca Trail in Peru. When I’m out there and the going gets tough, I know what will make me smile – picturing my healthy, happy Smilo Mylo.
• To sponsor Sally visit www.justgiving.com/sally-mellor

Sally Mellor, 32, Ashford, Ken