If love could heal…
Louise Fox’s brave son has a battle on his hands… but it is one that the family are hoping ‘Gorgeous George’ can win
Watching our three kids huddled together in Center Parcs, I wanted to freeze the moment and make it last forever. Jamie, now 17, George, 12, and Issy, 10, were laughing together without a care in the world, while my husband Matt and I looked on.
We are a close-knit family and just a few months before that moment, I’d have said our lives were pretty perfect. It goes to show, you never know what’s round the corner…
Matt and I had met on a night out in 2007. He was brilliant with my son Jamie and we quickly decided to extend our family. On Valentine’s Day 2008, I fell pregnant. When George arrived, happy, healthy and weighing 7lbs 4oz, later that year, we couldn’t have asked for more.
Just 19 months on, our daughter Issy was born, and our family was complete. George idolised his big brother and was inseparable from Issy.
‘How did we get so lucky?’ I often asked Matt, who worked as a builder.
As George grew, he became a kind, thoughtful boy who always looked out for others. He was shy until you got to know him, then you couldn’t keep him quiet! He loved going to Arsenal matches with Matt, but was just as happy walking our two dogs, Dolly and Daisy.
But in April this year, George didn’t seem himself.
‘I’ve got a headache,’ he complained. He was lethargic too, which wasn’t like him. We didn’t think much of it, but when George ended up in bed with us for comfort, we knew it was serious.
We spoke to NHS Direct and went to the GP. ‘It’s migraines,’ we were told. But then he started to feel sick…
A friend’s child had had similar symptoms and it’d ended up being a brain tumour. ‘ We need answers,’ we agreed quietly between ourselves. We took him to A&E and begged for an MRI. Doctors reassured us his symptoms were those of migraines, but referred us for a routine scan. I hoped beyond hope they were right…
On 29 April, due to Covid, Matt waited in the car while I took George into hospital near our Bedfordshire home for his MRI. ‘They’re just going to check your head,’ we told him. He was a smart boy and knew something serious was happening…
I was absolutely terrified, especially afterwards, when the consultant took Matt and I into a side room and a nurse sat with George. ‘George has a substantial brain tumour,’ he said. His words rang as he explained it was likely cancerous and in a very difficult location.
I burst into tears and Matt clutched my hand as the doctor explained that an ambulance would take George and I to Addenbrooke’s Hospital in Cambridge that evening.
All sorts of thoughts ran through my head. How would we tell George? What would we say to Jamie and Issy? It was utterly overwhelming.
I tried to compose myself before we saw George. ‘Mum, tell me the truth,’ he said. ‘Have I got a brain tumour?’ We didn’t want to lie to him, so we nodded. ‘The doctors will make you better, though,’
I said, praying I was right.
As I went with George to Addenbrooke’s, Matt had to tell the kids he was poorly. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. I stayed with my son, watching Marvel films, talking… I was so impressed with his maturity.
On 6 May, after steroids to reduce pressure on our brave boy’s brain, George had
surgery to try to remove the tumour. ‘ We’ll be here when you wake up,’ I said, kissing him. It was risky – but there was no other option. Matt, now 51, and I held hands, walked for hours in the rain around the hospital grounds in silence. What was there to say…?
It was supposed to take six hours. After nine, we were beside ourselves with worry.
Thankfully, after 10 hours, George was in recovery. He smiled when he saw us, but we must’ve looked terrible.
‘Can you tell Mum and Dad they need to sleep?’ George said to the nurse. Typical George – concerned for everyone else!
The neurosurgeon had managed to remove 99 per cent of the tumour and we had to wait for the results before we knew what it was… The following morning, despite a big scar across his head, George was talking, walking and laughing. Just six days later, he’d been discharged. Jamie, Issy and the dogs were so happy to see him.
‘I know it wasn’t for a good reason, but it was nice spending time with you in hospital, Mum,’ he said later. It took all my strength not to cry.
Each morning, we asked George if he had a headache. We knew he was likely to need chemo and radiotherapy.
But on 19 May, we were called in to see the consultant.
‘George has a glioblastoma,’ he said. ‘There’s no cure.’ Everything went fuzzy. I heard the words ‘12 to 15 months’, ‘radiotherapy’ and ‘enjoy your son’. When it was time to leave, I could barely stand.
We took George to Burger King for lunch, but I couldn’t speak. We wanted to protect him – and Issy – so we didn’t tell him his prognosis, just that doctors were trying to make him better. We later broke the news to Jamie, who was as devastated as we were.
We tried to stay positive and whilst George began radiotherapy to prolong his life, we started researching pioneering treatments abroad and friends, family and George’s school rallied round, coming up with fundraising ideas. If love could have healed our gorgeous boy, he would’ve been better in no time.
But there were moments when I couldn’t paint a smile on my face. I’d grab the dogs and go for a walk, so I could sob without scaring the kids.
It’s been incredibly tough. We focused on making memories and doing things George wanted to do… going to Center Parcs and Legoland, having film nights. The pain Matt and I constantly feel is indescribable. I’d swap places with George in a heartbeat if I could.
Now I’m 47 and George’s tumour has regrown – but is being held at bay by the chemo and radiotherapy. We’re speaking to doctors abroad in the hope we’ll be able to try experimental treatments. We want as many options as possible for George, as I can’t bear to think of the alternative.
Whatever happens, we’ll face it together as a family – and George is the heart of that.