Life Marrow

Early 2017 It was the beginning of the year 2017 in Sydney, Australia. I had enjoyed a delightful Christmas and New Year with family and friends, in particular with my wonderful two-year-young son, Lucas. I started the new year with lots of hope to advance my career, improve my financial position and spend time with my son. I often played guitar for Lucas, and he sang along with me in his own sweet language. He was so funny when singing, but he sounded in tune. It seemed he had a good ear for music. He was a happy and cheeky boy who made me laugh. I felt I wanted to dedicate my life to him. His love fulfilled me. Everything at home was about him. I could not wait to get back home from work to be with my son, play with him and put him to sleep. Many nights I took him to bed, gave him lots of kisses and cuddles, read a story for him, and sang a song until he was fast asleep in my arms. I had recorded his beautiful voice when he sang along with me. I saw myself in Lucas. I felt I looked at my younger-self and experienced my beautiful childhood moments through my son. It was a strange feeling. I have lovely memories of my childhood in a warm family. Most evenings, we all watched television or a movie together, while the tantalising smell of my mum’s bubbling stew wafted into the living room from the kitchen. My dad often worked on his architecture sketches while watching television with us. After dinner, we went to sleep early at around nine o’clock. Sometimes, my brother and I took our little sister with us in an adventure to find out what Mum and Dad watched after they sent us to our beds. One night, my dad caught us at the crime scene, where we boys cheekily ran away, and our poor little sister took the blame; an unforgettable funny story we laughed over, for many years. Shocking News On Thursday, 23 February, a beautiful and sunny day, I finished lunch and was walking back to the office thinking about the start of my new role in four days. My phone rang. It was Emily. “Lucas,” said Emily while she was weeping and could not continue. I tried to calm her down. “What’s wrong? Is Lucas ok?” I asked. “Lucas has got Leukaemia, blood cancer,” said Emily. I shivered and felt cold. My heart was pounding. I stopped walking and asked for more information. “A paediatrician saw Lucas, and from the initial symptoms, diagnosed him with Leukaemia. The doctor took a blood test to confirm. He advised me to prepare for a few days stay in the children’s hospital. He will call before four o’clock to let me know…,” said Emily. “… I hope the test result is negative, but I’m coming home now…,” I told Emily. This “hope” is what one would need to deal with severe situations; I believe. Lucas had been unwell for a few weeks, which looked like flu. Three General Practitioners examined him and told us there was nothing serious other than a virus until Emily insisted on seeing a specialist. A paediatrician who had worked in the oncology centre for many years saw him and immediately diagnosed him with Leukaemia.