Every day I’m thankful that my son is still here

WATCHING her little boy fade in front of her, shrunk by his hefty hospital bed and a jumble of drips and tubes, Fran Dundee steadfastly clung to the hope he would beat blood cancer.

But when weeks turned to months and a cataclysmic chain of infections and inexplicable relapses left doctors stumped and her two-year-old fighting to survive, she was forced to contemplate life without Michael.

“Nothing could have prepared us for what happened, absolutely nothing,” says Fran shaking her head.

“We had ended up in this nightmare, it was incomprehensible. What happened was far worse than the consultant said when we talked about the worst case scenarios or we could imagine. The consultant told us to prepare for the worst. I wouldn’t believe it.”

Fran's journey is every parent’s worst nightmare. Her son became feverish and listless on his first birthday back in December 2012. She initially put it down to exhaustion after a busy celebration. But his state only deteriorated the following day and when he refused to be fed she drove him to the Carfax Centre.

There, a doctor took one look at Michael and called an ambulance. He was admitted to the Great Western Hospital with suspected meningitis and hooked to an antibiotics drip to clear the infection. After five endless days, he was discharged, to his parents’ relief.

But this was only a brief reprieve, they were about to find out. Just two weeks later, in January 2013, Michael was rushed to hospital again with the same alarming symptoms. He was soon transferred to Oxford for a bone marrow biopsy, a test used to diagnose leukaemia. It was negative.

“We felt a huge sense of joy and relief,” recalls Fran almost dismissively in light of the ordeal they had yet to face.

“We left the hospital with a big sigh of relief. We thought it was over.”

Three days later, she picked up a voicemail from John Radcliffe Hospital informing her they “had found something.”

She and Michael's father, Jason Beament, returned to the hospital like prisoners to the gallows.

“The consultant told us Michael had a very rare type of blood cancer called myelodysplasia and that the only form of treatment was a bone marrow transplant,” says the mother-of-three.

“It was a shock, we'd been told three days before he didn't have leukaemia. We didn't know what any of it meant. But the consultant seemed to be optimistic. We felt there was hope; they were going to try to cure him, and we decided to focus on the positive.”

And for a while, luck did seem to be on the little boy’s side. A full bone marrow match was quickly found, hugely increasing his chances of survival and the transplant set for April at Bristol Children’s Hospital.

Unfortunately at the eleventh hour Michael contracted an infection and any treatment had to be postponed until his health improved. Finally the transplant was reschedule for June.

The procedure went smoothly and Michael showed promising signs of recovery when out of the blue he developed serious breathing problems. He was diagnosed fungal pneumonia and adenovirus - a severe infection which attacks the airways and intestinal tract.

He was placed on oxygen but soon he condition worsened and his liver began to fail. Consultants had never seen anything like it before.

Fran and Jason were warned to prepare themselves to lose Michael.

“They had never known anybody to survive such high levels of the adenovirus, they were unreadable,” she recalls painfully.

“The transplant had been successful but everything else was trying to kill him. Everything that could have gone wrong did and they said he was going to die.

"Eventually we had no choice. We had to save him from the adenovirus. So we took him off immunosuppressants, which meant he might reject the transplant and that could have killed him. But so would the adenovirus, it's a death sentence for someone with no immune system. It was a massive risk either way.”

Against all odds, he slowly recovered. By September his liver had started to function normally again and he was able to breath on his own.

“It felt like a miracle, it was incredible. It really was.”

Michael was discharged from hospital in December 2013. He has been readmitted several times with infections since but is growing stronger every day.

And the little fireball, with a penchant for break-neck stunts, is more than making up for the months of immobility and isolation. Although he is still technically in remission and will not receive the all-clear for another two years, Fran is hopeful he will make a full recovery. But she admits any cold or sudden ache sends her heart racing.

“It does worry me a little every time he is poorly,” concedes the 43-year-old from Groundwell Road.

“We went through all this and it's always there with me but I can't jump to conclusions.”

During Michael's protracted stay in hospital, Fran came in contact with Swindon charity Children's Cancer And Leukaemia Movement (CALM).

Since then she has become heavily involved with the group, sharing her journey with other families and offering parents facing the same ordeal kinship through CALM's buddy system.

Her experience even prompted her to retrain as a counsellor and support families who unlike her will never get a chance see their child grow up.

“I feel so grateful,” she beams, catching Michael mid-flight has he leaps from his toy chest.

“I look at Michael every day and I'm thankful he's still here.”

While he is happily adjusting to life as a boisterous four-year-old, his lengthy stay in hospital has taken an irreversible toll and there may be more struggles ahead.

It recently became clear that Michael had issues with balance and coordination, and he was diagnosed with developmental delay, which his mother believes was caused by the gruelling treatment.

This is a small price to pay to have her son back, she insists.

“It's nothing compared to what he went through,” she says keeping a watchful eye on Michael, clambering on his toy chest again.

“Whatever happens, if he gets cancer again, I will do what I need to do for him.”

What is CALM?

• CALM is a registered charity run by parents who have all experienced what it is like to have a child diagnosed with cancer.

• It aims to help any family whose child is receiving treatment at the Great Western Hospital.

• It is run solely by volunteers to ensure all the money and resources available can go to those who need it most.

• It provides support to families to cope with the physical, emotional and financial strain of treatment. It is not uncommon for other members of the family to suffer stress-related illness.

• CALM provides play facilities for the oncology clinic at the Great Western Hospital. Throughout the year various social activities are organised for the families. These include trips to pantomimes and other fun days out. These gives the families a chance to all get together and enjoy a day out away from the hospital environment.

• To find out more or donate to CALM go to calmcharity.org.