Board Member Carol Hancock tells of her own experience with childhood cancer.
Being the youngest of nine, Paul went everywhere with us, from baseball practice to recitals to school plays. He was a good sport, rarely complaining about being dragged to yet one more place for one more event. But one time he was different. That time we were off to a Little League game, and suddenly Paul started whining. "Carry me," he said. "Please carry me." "But Paul," I said, "you're three and a half now. You're a big boy, too big for me to carry."
The next day, he woke up with a fever and swollen glands. Must be the flu, I told myself, and we headed to the doctor's office. That night, the doctor called us. "We got Paul's blood test results," he said, "and we think he might have leukemia. It's just a suspicion, but . . . ."
That's when our nightmare began. My husband David tried to reassure me. He said, "The doctor said he suspects. He didn't say he knows." I shot back, "If he called, he doesn't just suspect."
After more blood tests, the diagnosis was confirmed. My little boy had acute myelogenous leukemia.
We knew nothing about leukemia, white cell counts, platelets. All I could think was, "How could this be happening? These things happen to other people, not to us!"
