Good spot!

My smart son saved his sister with a tickle!

As I plonked my feet up on the sofa after a long day, I heard a shriek from upstairs.

Sighing, I stomped into the hallway.

‘It’s quiet time!’ I shouted up to my son Aaron, then 11, and daughter Amy, 7.

Every evening after her bath, Amy loved sitting in her big brother’s room watching cartoons.

Only sometimes, like tonight, the pair of them had bags of energy and played long after their bedtime.

I’d just sat back down and turned on the telly when I heard feet on the stairs.

‘Mum?’ Aaron called. ‘Amy’s got tonsillitis, come and see!’

Strange…

She hadn’t complained of a sore throat, and her appetite was fine.

Following Aaron upstairs, I looked at Amy’s tongue and throat.

When I saw the warty, bubbly shape in the back of her mouth, I felt sick.

‘She screamed because I was tickling her, that’s when I saw it,’ Aaron explained.

Mother’s instinct told me it couldn’t wait. So, calmly, I got them dressed and drove to A&E at Broomfield Hospital.

There, she was passed around doctors, who didn’t know what it was.

Some said it needed to be removed in case it blocked her airway.

We were sent away, to come back two days later to see an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist.

They didn’t have a clue either. But the next day, in June last year, we were told Amy needed a biopsy.

The mass had already grown bigger in that time.

‘Doctors have to find out what’s wrong your throat,’ I said to Amy.

I was honest with her the whole time.

Eventually, the oral consultant told me he removed the whole thing during the op. But he wasn’t worried.

After, Amy was left with a hole in the soft palate in her throat.

When she ate an ice cream for the first time, it came out of her nose!

She soon adapted to it. Not that it bothered her – she was as feisty as ever and couldn’t wait to get back to school.

But, two weeks later, following a biopsy, specialists diagnosed rhabdomyosarcoma, a rare soft tissue cancer.

My world fell apart.

I was told it’s a fast-growing tumour affecting about 60 children a year in the UK. It’s not known what causes it.

Thankfully, Aaron had caught it quickly.

Amy began chemotherapy, leaving her sickly and tired.

So I left my job to take care of her.

Specialists said further surgery would leave her unable to talk or swallow.

‘The best chance of Amy making a full recovery means going to America for proton beam therapy,’ a doctor told me.

It’s not available in the UK, but the NHS would fund it.

Meanwhile, friends rallied, setting up Amy’s Angels.

With fun days and online auctions, they raised £7,000 so that Aaron and the kids’ dad Dan, 33, could fly out, too.

Although Dan and I had been childhood sweethearts, we’d separated four years ago. But we both wanted to be there for our children.

Amy took it all in her stride. She was so inspiring.

When we arrived in Oklahoma, last November, Amy first had some baby teeth removed, as one of the beams would travel through her left cheek and gums.

Then, when her mouth had healed, she started the radiation therapy.

Over the following 10 weeks, Amy had 28 rounds of proton beam therapy, alongside chemo.

Poor thing, as a side-effect of chemo, she lost all muscle use, didn’t know where she was.

‘We believe Amy’s developed

Amy had 28 rounds of proton beam therapy and chemo

neurotoxicity,’ said a consultant.

It was a reaction to one of the chemo drugs.

But then, after the longest night of my life…

‘Mummy,’ Amy called as I gripped her hand.

Somehow, my brave girl pulled through.

‘I thought we’d lost our Amy,’ I sobbed to Dan as she slept.

A week on, Amy was well enough for a day out.

So we took her and Aaron to a basketball game for Christmas, to a ballet show, and for a ride in a fire engine.

Back home this January, Amy had one more cycle of chemo.

In March, her results came.

All clear!

Aaron hugged Amy so tightly when we told him.

‘Aaron’s my hero!’ Amy grinned. ‘Mine too,’ I beamed. Amy’s now back at school four days a week, although she gets tired quickly.

She has regular checkups and scans. We’ve been told if the cancer returns, it’ll most likely be within 18 months.

But my girl’s a fighter.

Altogether Amy’s Angels raised £9,500, too!

Amy and Aaron are back to normal now – best friends one minute, fighting the next.

Now when they’re noisy or won’t go to bed on time, I try not to tell them off.

After all, simply by being a child, Aaron saved his sister’s life.

They’re back to normal – friends one minute, fighting the next!