It began like any ordinary Easter weekend in 2024.

For Nicole and her family, there was nothing to suggest that life was about to change forever. Their two-year-old son, Tommy, had been full of energy just days before. But suddenly, something felt off.

Tommy was vomiting. His temperature spiked. He seemed unusually tired, withdrawn, and uncomfortable.

At first, his parents assumed it was a virus — a stomach bug that would pass. Children get sick all the time, they told themselves. But as the hours stretched on, instinct began to whisper that this was different.

Tommy refused food and water. He clung to his mother in a way that felt heavier, more desperate.

Something wasn’t right.

A Parent’s Instinct That Refused to Be Ignored

Nicole contacted NHS 24 and was given an out-of-hours appointment. They attended, hoping for reassurance.

Instead, they were sent home with advice that would later feel unbearable.

The next day, Tommy vomited again.

This time, his parents didn’t hesitate.

They returned to A&E, driven by fear and urgency. Doctors initially suggested constipation — a common and often harmless diagnosis.

But everything changed when the registrar examined Tommy.

Her expression shifted instantly.

Nicole knew, in that moment, that something serious had been discovered.

Blood tests were ordered. An IV line was inserted. A consultant was called immediately. It was already 10 p.m., a time when hospital wards typically grow quieter.

For Tommy, the longest night of his life was just beginning.

The Word No Parent Is Ever Ready to Hear

The consultant gently examined Tommy’s abdomen and delivered words that would echo forever.

This was not constipation.

There was a mass.

And it was likely cancer.

The word hung in the air — impossible, devastating, unreal.

Over the next two weeks, Tommy’s world turned upside down. Bone marrow biopsies. MRI scans. CT scans. MIBG scans. Each test brought more fear, more questions, and fewer answers.

Then came the diagnosis.

Stage 4 High-Risk Neuroblastoma.

A rare and aggressive childhood cancer. One with a survival rate hovering around 50 percent.

The tumor originated on Tommy’s adrenal gland and had spread to his lymph nodes, thorax, and spinal cord.

In an instant, every plan for the future dissolved.

A Tiny Body, a Massive Battle

Treatment began immediately.

A central line was inserted to prepare Tommy’s body for the intense chemotherapy ahead. Seven powerful drugs flowed through his tiny veins, attacking cancer cells while pushing his body to its limits.

The side effects were brutal.

Vomiting. Hair loss. Extreme fatigue. Days when standing felt impossible.

Yet somehow, Tommy faced it all with a mischievous grin.

Hospital staff affectionately nicknamed him “the little lion.”

And he earned it.

Enduring the Unimaginable

Tommy’s journey included procedures no adult would want to endure — let alone a toddler.

Bone marrow aspirations. Blood transfusions. Stem cell harvesting. Tumor resection surgery. Two stem cell transplants as part of the HR-NBL 2 clinical trial.

A sternotomy.
Twelve rounds of radiotherapy.
Six rounds of immunotherapy.
Endless line replacements and platelet transfusions.

The intensity was staggering.

Just when the family thought they could catch their breath, another setback arrived.

Six days after being discharged following his second stem cell transplant, Tommy required emergency surgery due to complications while refitting his central line.

Another sternotomy.
Another six-and-a-half weeks in hospital.

Every step forward felt fragile.

Every small victory carried fear close behind.

Courage Beyond His Years

Through it all, Tommy’s spirit never wavered.

Despite pain and exhaustion, he smiled. He played. He found ways to be a child even in rooms filled with machines, alarms, and medical staff.

Nicole describes her son as “resilient, cheeky, and brave beyond his years.”

Months of aggressive treatment left lasting effects. High-frequency hearing loss now requires Tommy to wear hearing aids. His hair fell out. His body endured sickness and fatigue few adults could imagine.

Yet his laughter remained untouched.

Every grin was an act of defiance.
Every sparkle in his eyes declared: I am still me.

Remission — and the Long Road Ahead

After 18 relentless months of treatment, hope finally arrived.

Tommy entered remission.

He now continues DFMO treatment, designed to reduce the risk of relapse. Thanks to the NHS, he received access to cutting-edge therapies not yet widely available across Europe.

But remission does not mean the journey is over.

The risk of relapse remains.

Every scan carries weight. Every milestone is celebrated carefully, with gratitude and caution entwined.

Turning Pain Into Purpose

Nicole has become a passionate advocate for Neuroblastoma UK, determined to ensure her son’s story fuels awareness and research.

She knows that better funding saves lives. That rare childhood cancers are often overlooked. That families deserve options, answers, and hope.

Tommy’s fight is bigger than one child.

It is a call for action.

Every donation. Every shared story. Every campaign matters.

Because neuroblastoma is aggressive, devastating, and unforgiving.

And children like Tommy deserve better odds.

A Little Lion, A Lasting Legacy

Today, Tommy is living proof of resilience.

Each day of remission is a triumph.
Each laugh is a victory.
Each playful moment is a reminder of what was almost lost.

For Nicole, life is now lived with vigilance and gratitude. The fear hasn’t disappeared — but neither has hope.

Surrounded by family, medical teams, and a wider community, Tommy continues to show the world what courage looks like in its purest form.

He is more than a patient.

He is a survivor.
A little lion.
A symbol of strength, science, and love.

His body carries the marks of battle — but his spirit remains untamed.

Tommy’s story reminds us that childhood can be fragile, but resilience can be fierce. That hope can survive even in the darkest corridors of hospitals. That the smallest fighters can inspire the greatest change.

And as his journey continues, one truth remains unwavering:

Even at two years old, courage can roar.