I’ve been thinking for a long time if I should post this. Well, here it is.
Where do I even start?
It’s been a devastating few weeks.
My darling Alistair has been diagnosed with leukaemia.
It’s so hard to even write that sentence. It still feels wrong. It still feels like I’m in a horrible nightmare that I need to wake up from. Right this moment.
About a month ago, I started noticing some symptoms. Alistair was looking a bit pale. Gone were his trademark rosy cheeks. He also seemed to have less stamina than usual. When we went to the park, he would complain of being tired and couldn’t walk and wanted us to carry.
At first, we thought that was due to lockdown. Perhaps he was used to staying home all day watching TV, and has become lazier.
We tried to push him to play more, to run more, to exercise more. We even made him play Frisbee and cycle at the park. (Now when I think of that, I cringe. My poor boy was already sick at that time.)
Sometimes, he would tell me his legs hurt and his tummy hurt.
He also had mouth sores.
Then there were the bruises.
He was always full of bruises, as this boy was always active and moving about. But something in me felt that the bruises were more than usual.
And when tiny pinpoint red dots started appearing on his body, dim alarm bells started ringing in my head.
This can’t be normal. Something is not right.
So on 10 September 2021, I took him for a blood test. And the foundation below my feet was snatched away. Our lives fell apart that Friday.
Oh my heart. Oh my child.
It was so hard to believe. Up till when we were driving him to the emergency department, he was still so happy and cheerful and cheeky. It would have been so easy to shrug off the symptoms.
I shudder to think what would have happened if we did.
When we arrived at the hospital, they did another blood test to confirm the results. His red blood cells and platelets were dangerously low, while his white blood cells were off the roof.
I still shake when I think about that.
Thank God we brought him to the hospital when he did. My mind cannot imagine what would have happened if we didn’t. I cannot.
Since then, Alistair has started his treatment and chemotherapy. He’s been such a strong and amazing boy. Cheerful and positive and cheeky when he can. But also tired and weak due to the treatment.
It’s so hard to see him go through this. All the needles, all the procedures, all the medication.
At the start of his treatment, he had diarrhoea. After many accidents and soiled pants, we got him to wear nappies. He was so upset. “Why am I wearing nappies? I’m not a baby! I’m not a baby!” he cried. Oh my heart.
I also prepared him for hair loss. “But people will laugh at me,” he murmured sadly. I assured him that his hair will grow back once his treatment is over, and suggested that we get him nice caps and hats. He was okay. We choose a Paw Patrol hat together.
He’s so brave. And so strong.
I’m not so brave. I’m not so strong.
I’ve cried so much, my heart was physically aching. It hurts. So much.
Some days are slightly better. But I still feel like I’m perpetually on the verge of tears.
Taking one step at a time. One day at a time.
Believing God for Him to come through and heal my little boy completely. May He strengthen Alistair and restore him to perfect health. I pray that Alistair responds well to treatment, and experiences minimal side effects. No complications. Let him have an astounding recovery. Let him be completely cured.
Oh God, protect my little one. Let Your favour and grace be upon him. Let Your divine protection and supernatural healing come upon him.
I lift up my eyes to the mountains – where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.