How many of you have taken your first born to the doctors for their first jab? You know it's for their own good, prevention is better than cure...but still your stomach churns..this little being that trusts you completely....who has only felt love and hugs since they were born is now going to have a sharp needle prick in their leg. Whilst you hold them. It's possibly the hardest moment since you first held them in your arms, and made a silent heartfelt promise that you would never let any harm come to them.

Racked with guilt, tears welling up in your eyes you turn away as the nurse jabs them. Your baby may shriek, cry out a little or just give you that questioning look of why? ...

Whatever your experiences I'm sure it never got easier with the future jabs and subsequent children.

Willies chemotherapy was possibly the hardest task I ever had to assist with. Looking back it's no
wonder Zoe found it so painful to witness. During the operations he had reservoirs implanted just beneath the skull strategically placed into the cysts that had formed. These were to be used to drain the fluid from the cysts and administer bleomycin a chemotherapy drug.

Willie had to go up to The Radcliffe Infirmary once a week to have chemo. It took about 2-3 minutes to inject the bleomycin into each of the two reservoirs so the doctors took the decision to not put him under a general but just get it over with quickly. The trauma and risk of a general anasthetic would have been almost as bad. Willie hated the gas to put him out and the cannula they had to insert into his hand every time and afterwards the recovery time would have been even longer.

I am sure the doctors considered all things when deciding the best way forward but I guess it didn't make it any easier for them when they had to administer the treatment. It was imperative that Willie did not move a millimetre whist they inserted the needle. It was a precision procedure. I admire the dedication and skill of these incredible men. They also have feelings and it must be a two edged sword knowing you are doing your best to beat the tumour yet witnessing a young child in utmost distress. Their bedside manner remained a constant. Professional yet tender, efficient yet empathetic.

So we have a squirming 3 year old and a doctor insisting he does not move - at all. It could be a matter of life and death if the needle went in the wrong place. The first time Willie had no idea what was coming...and went into the treatment room like a lamb to the slaughter. I think he got suspicious when I tucked his little arm under mine and pulled him tight towards me then as directed by the medical team, I put my other arm across his sweet face and held his head in my hand pressing it into my shoulder.

He got suspicious and started to wriggle just as the nurse firmly grasped his legs ....he tried to move but was in a such a tight hold he could only scream out in fear and frustration. I felt for the nurses to, I guess they never really 'got used to' seeing young children in distress. They kept a smile on their faces in quiet empathy.

Doctor MacCauley carefully injected the chemotherapy into the reservoirs. He screamed incessantly, it sounded like he was in excruciating pain (Willie not the doctor).  He must have felt the needle and bleomycin going into the cyst. Poor Willie, this definitely was a traumatic time for him and for his mum witnessing it all from a chair. Sadly as always Zoe was unable to hold him due to her bad spine, so had to watch helpless from the sideline.

Zoe insisted he laid down on a bed in the ward once it was over.. He was tearful for an hour or so. After a few hours we took him home. I wasn't sure who was the most traumatised - Willie for the agony or Zoe breaking her heart watching him suffer. As usual I found food a real comfort, and enjoyed a good canteen cooked lunch. At times such as these I have always wondered why I don't smoke..it is far more expected to puff on a cigarette than gulp down some huge meal, more expected and probably more accepted.

The following week Zoe asked if they could be ready 'to go' the minute we walked through the door as she knew Willie would remember. He certainly did and started screaming "noooo' as we headed towards the treatment room. Another few minutes of horrendous screaming...I felt so guilty holding him so tight knowing how much he hated it, but in true Willie fashion he never held it against me, not even for a minute. He trusted me and the doctors and nurses..even at three years old he understood somehow it was for his good.

The third visit I suggested Zoe stayed at home, she wasn't keen as she felt she should be there for him
when undergoing  something so important and serious. I convinced her he would be ok, and I trundled off to Oxford - Willie loved his mum best of all without a doubt but like all children made less fuss and coped better when mum wasn't around. It also gave Zoe a 'recharge her batteries' time. (As I'm writing this I realise I was indeed very bossy and controlling..oops..sorry Zoe x)

The half hour journey was a mix of listening to Cat Stevens..'father,son', spotting roadworks, electric generators, combine harvesters, transporter lorrys...(bonus if carrying a tractor)..and general silly chit chat. This time we also made up a little rhyme to sing whilst David administered the drug. Willie seemed quite happy with my efforts and was giggling at the thought of singing it to his doctor.

Willie remained stoic and brave as we waited in the ward playroom. Distracted by toys, the toy kitchen was another favourite as we could invent disgusting dinners to take into the treatment room
for the doctor to enjoy! Hamburger with bogey sauce, an all time favourite. It all changed when the nurse came and nodded her head...Willie knew instantly what was coming and decided even singing our new song wasn't enough to see him through.

Picking him up whilst he struggled and squirmed wasn't easy and I tried to console him and reassure him as I carried the reluctant patient into the room where Dr MacCauley was waiting.

I raised my voice above the tears reminding Willie we had a surprise for  the doctor. He momentarily went quiet as I began...."David is my doctor short and fat, he trumps like this and he trumps like that..' The disgruntled look on the doc's face made me realise the choice of words were probably far too disrespectful...even if Willie did start to giggle...which I hadn't thought to clearly about. He was meant to be very still - oops. The doctor waited patiently for the giggles to stop, looked as though he wanted to stick the needle into me instead...and then got on with it. I know it wasn't politically correct, but as I'm short and fat I thought I had license to sing those words..( Dr David actually was not that short and definitely not fat)

 More screaming for the duration of  the treatment...but as we left he actually said goodbye to the doctor and nurse with a smile and we returned to the playroom . We had to wait for a. Minimum of 30 minutes to ensure there were no adverse effects before we could leave the hospital.

Willie bounced back quickly and singing our little ditty (out of earshot of the staff) we trotted off down the corridor and back home to his anxious mum. I cannot remember exactly how many
treatments he received but I know it did reduce the cysts and thus delayed the radiotherapy option.

They were holding off as long as they could for this as it would destroy brain cells for future learning. Whatever Willie knew and understood at the time of treatment - he would remain like that forever. So the more he learnt and knew before radiotherapy began the better chance he had of 'growing up'.

Sadly the chemotherapy only did a temporary job and the time came when an unenviable decision had to be made by Willie's parents in conjunction with the surgical team's expertise. Although the tumour had probably more influence than either of these two parties - as it definitely had a mind of its own and continued to grow in complication and stature.  The time to start radiotherapy came sooner than anticipated and Willie was admitted to have a general anaesthetic to make a hard plastic mask to cover his whole face. This would protect the areas unaffected by the tumour whilst the penetrating rays destroyed the growing and deadly cysts, sadly along with good brain cells.

Willie was now 4 years old...it was the start of a long few weeks.