A little boy with an upset stomach.

What is so strange about that?

But the jack in the box did not bounce back.

No school today.

A concerned man at the pharmacy says “ It could be meningitis – maybe get it checked out?”

A doctor proked and prodded. Looked over his glasses. Said  “if I give you a letter will you take him to the hospital and get his bloods checked?”

I said “I will”.

But a doctor in the hospital with a  beard with no moustache just looked at him, got him to walk up and down, and said “he doesn’t have meningitis”.

So home we went.

But no better the next day.

Then he went to the ploughing championships with his big sisters and dad. The rule was you could go when you were in third class. He struggled all day and vomited.

Home again the next day. “Good job we went when we did” – the big wind came and there was no ploughing the next day.

Still no better the day after. Early morning vomiting. “That’s it we have to go back to the hospital”. He was walking with a limp now – maybe it was appendicitis?

Got the letter from the doc. Got a sandwich in the shop. In we went.

We were there at 1.30. Sat in the quiet waiting room all afternoon. Waiting for the surgeon.. He did say he was getting a headache. I told the triage nurse. She said “She’s busy with the adults”.

Eventually called in to the Surgeon at 6pm. She felt the tummy, ordered bloods. Never saw her again.

An hour later, we see six polished shoes outside the cubicle. Three tall men in no rush. To give bad news. But I knew they were coming in.

They came in, ask me to repeat the story again.

“You were in this hospital? On Monday? What doctor was it?” “The man with a beard but no moustache.”

Then one doctor says something about white cells. Probably said “600 white cells per ml”. I knew that was bad. Then the consultant says – He has “leukaemia”. My little 10 year old boy does not know what this is.

The Consultant and I adjourn to another room. “It is a long road but there is every chance of success. We are getting him a bed in Crumlin. We are organising an ambulance to bring him this evening. We are working with Crumlin to get him ready to travel. I was called by the laboratory to say there is a little boy with 600 white cells per ML. “

And just like that you go from just another person in the waiting room to the emergency of the day.

Dad and big sister were already on the way in. Pulled them in one at a time and told them the news. There was no “relative’s room” – we were lucky to find a spare cubicle.

It was all so surreal, x-rays ordered, a cloud in the lungs. A cannula inserted – the Doctor said “His treatment is starting”. Little did we know when it would end.

Trying to tell the rest of the family. Middle child was gone to scouts. She needed to be collected. But her aunt did not know where to meet her. So she got the news over the phone just like that. A neighbour came in to A&E with their child. A friend of my child’s. But we were not in the mood for chatting just now.

My sister in law came in and took home our car. You can be so practical sometimes in a crisis.

No time to cry. Have to be brave. Not show him how scared we all are.

I looked at this little boy. Still tanned after the summer but now we can see he is pale around the eyes.  He had been his daddy’s boy, playing hurling, going off in the tractor, always smiling, but I had not spent much time by myself with him, since he became too heavy to carry. I was always busy with the girls, going to music, hockey and dancing. We had done the Beavers, I had been a leader in that ok. But had not spent hours on end with him since he was a baby.

A trolley was ready to take him to the ambulance. “No sorry you are not going now. His potassium levels are too high, he could have a heart attack”. So we have to stay until the morning. He is rolled down on a trolley, I am following him. The first of many such walks.

Into a small room in the paediatric ward. A nurse and a doctor looked after him all night. Gave regular injections to improve the potassium. A blessing from the doctor in the morning “ God speed you and bless you”.

I found out afterwards that my husband and the girls went to his sister’s house on their way home, had tea and chatted until the early hours, trying to make sense of the news. But I was there in the middle of it, just me, my son, the nurse and the doctor, all night.

In the morning, a friendly face, a nurse is a neighbour. She knows all about childhood cancer. She says “You will be fine, but you will have to go to Dublin a lot. You will know every bend in the road. You will be in St John’s ward. “

You will come back to us in time.

A bag packed, ambulance ready to go. The driver asks me what is wrong. I say “Leukaemia”. He doesn’t say anything.

And off we go. Our first time in an ambulance. But not the last.