Before Cancer After Diagnosis

Corisande Albert’s world shuddered to a halt when her five year old son was diagnosed with medulloblastoma. 

I separate last year into BC (before cancer) and AD (after diagnosis). I remember walking out of Birmingham Children’s Hospital and into the August heat. I waswearing my Crocs – still smelling faintly of chlorine – and could hear the distant shouts of children on their summer holidays. The sky above the red brick building looked just as clear as it had the day before, but I had just been shown a cross section of my son’s brain and my world had shuddered to a halt.

Two weeks later, on the 21st August 2009, three days short of his fifth birthday, Tom was diagnosed with Medulloblastoma, a malignant brain tumour. He would need six weeks of radiotherapy followed by a 48 week course of chemotherapy. In all his treatment would last for 15 months.

“I realised I couldn’t stay slumped among the lettuce for ever. I had to get up and cook tea.”

The catalogue of long and short term side effects was eye-watering. And we were one of the lucky ones. Brain surgery had been successful and there was no sign that the tumour had spread. His chances of complete cure were 70%. What? 70%? But I had assumed I had Tom for life, that he would help me choose my dentures and carry me up the stairs. It is impossible to describe those first few months. It was the nearest I wish to come to hell. I asked my consultant how parents managed. In my current state it would take a miracle. ‘They do,’ he said simply. ‘They just do.’

Sometime later I remember sitting in our vegetable garden – the good weather had continued in contrast to the storm that had engulfed us – and realising I could not stay slumped among the lettuces forever. There was no avoiding this, no plane ticket that could take me far enough away from Tom’s cancer. I had to get up and cook tea. It sounds ridiculous but this simple realisation was a turning point.



I decided that while I could not treat Tom’s tumour, I could help. I could keep the family together, I could learn everything I could about side effects and how to minimise them, and I could keep Tom happy. My husband and I decided to make the long months of debilitating treatment as fulfilling and carefree as they could be. Eight months into treatment I think we’re doing an O.K. job. It helps that Tom is five and I am thankful for his imagination and playfulness. It helps that he is surrounded by doctors and nurses who strive to make him relaxed in hospital. His sisters (aged 7 and 3) don’t allow us to walk around with long faces, and the support of family and friends has been as comforting as it has been inspiring.

“Eight months ago I didn’t think I would ever smile again. Miracles can happen.”

Things have got better since diagnosis. Shock and grief have given way to acceptance, determination and a devout belief in modern medicine. For my part I used to be fearful of hospitals, keeping my head down in our early visits to the oncology unit. Now I look forward to seeing other parents. In for another blood transfusion, MRI or kidney test, there’s a bond that unites us. We are all having to find a way through the uncertainty and chaos of childhood cancer. I would like to say I’m even less impatient with waiting times, but let’s be realistic.

Not that any of this is enough. I would have my old self back in a flash if it meant Tom could be back where he was – fighting with his big sister over a football. But there’s no going back. My only decision is how to make use of life After Diagnosis.