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As if by magic!

Doctors are stumped by my grandson's miracle...


Published by: Joe Cusack and Jessica Gibb
Published on: 23 February 2012

Feeling helpless isn't something that sits comfortably with me. I've always been the type to get on with things instead of feeling sorry for myself. Moping doesn't get
anyone anywhere, does it?
But now, looking at my grandson, I felt totally helpless - and there didn't seem to be a thing I could do about it.
Because Connah had cancer.
My beautiful grandson had lost his appetite, and his weight had plummeted. Sitting there, watching him waste away in hospital, I felt so powerless. It didn't seem like the same little boy that nagged me to let him outside at the crack of dawn to ride his bike in the garden.
Suddenly, I had an idea - I could do something to help the poor mite. I could cook him his favourite meal! Volcano mash, he called it, but really it was just a mountain of mash with baked beans on top, like lava.
Before anyone could stop me, I bustled into the kitchen and got to work. Soon, my work was done. A smile spread across my grandson's pale face. ‘Volcano mash, like at home!' he grinned. Seeing his face light up was all the reward that I needed.
Me and Connah had always been closer than most grans and grandkids - well, he and his dad lived with me. After my son Chris, 20, had split with Connah's mum, he'd looked after his son full-time.
He was such a good dad, but working as a full-time chef, he needed help. So when Connah was 10 months old, they moved in with me and my husband Jim, 49.
Connah had always been such a happy little boy, until he'd started getting pains in his belly. Then I'd found a lump the size of a 50p piece in his neck, and tests had shown it was stage four neuroblastoma. ‘W-what does that mean?' Chris had stuttered.
‘It's a cancer of the nervous system. We've found 11 tumours stretching from his neck, through his chest, near his heart, in his stomach and down his left leg,'
the doctor had explained.
Chris and me had been too shocked to speak. The tumours were inoperable, so Connah had started chemotherapy to try to shrink them. It had knocked him about something rotten.
But, hopefully, his favourite meal had given him some strength - goodness knows, he needed it to fight this thing. See, I wasn't so helpless after all!
But then there was more bad news. A new scan revealed the chemotherapy hadn't shrunk the tumours. There was nothing more they could do for him. ‘You need to take him home and prepare for the worst,' the doctor said.
‘But he's only five years old,' Chris cried.
My head reeled. Images of Connah's life flashed through my mind. Starting secondary school, learning to drive, bringing home his first girlfriend. There was so much that our little boy would never do. What would you do if you were told your only grandchild was going to die? Would you accept their fate, or keep on fighting? I chose to fight.
‘My grandson isn't going to die of cancer,' I told the doctor. How could I stop it, though, when experts had failed? Once again, I felt helpless. But I pushed it aside. I needed to get busy...
At home, I searched the internet for cures. My fingers ached from typing, my eyes were sore from staring at the screen for hours. But it was worth it, I discovered organic food could be helpful, and saunas might sweat out the toxins from Connah's body.
No more sweets and fast food. I put him on a strict diet, and bought a portable sauna pod.
Every day, he clambered inside. ‘You'll be back playing outside before you know it,' I said.
‘I know,' he smiled. ‘You're going to get rid of my belly aches - then I can ride my bike again.'
As months passed and my grandson's strength grew, it spurred me on. With more research, I discovered sono-photo dynamic treatment. It sounded so complicated, I didn't really understand it. But it involved light, sound therapy and massage - but was only available at the Hope 4 Cancer clinic in Mexico.
Willing to try anything, we set up the Connah Appeal and held raffles and all sorts to raise the £21,000 needed for two weeks of treatment.
Within a few months, we hit our target. Just before his sixth birthday, we flew out. He sat beside me on the plane, lining up all his Power Ranger figures on the little table in front of him.
‘I'm putting them up to help fight my bad belly,' he said.
‘Good idea,' I smiled. And I'd fight, too. At the clinic, he swallowed an algae-filled capsule every day. Then he'd be put under a special light that activated the algae and somehow killed the cancer. At the end of two weeks, an ultrasound showed... the tumours were smaller! Seven months of chemo hadn't done that!
When we got home, I bought replica equipment to repeat the technique every night. Connah seemed so much brighter, started going on his bike more, playing football, even taking dance lessons. And another milestone approached - his seventh birthday. Doctors hadn't thought he'd make it.
More scans were done 10 months after treatment had started. ‘The tumours in his neck and groin have disappeared,' said the doctor. ‘And the others are shrinking.'
‘It's working!' Chris gasped. I'd always believed in what we were doing, but the evidence made me cry with relief.
Now, 10 of the original 11 tumours have vanished. The original tumour is still there but has a reduced blood flow, and we're hoping further treatment will kill it.
In November, we celebrated Connah's 10th birthday - and marked five years since his diagnosis. We didn't think we'd get one more year with him, so five is a miracle. In truth, we don't know why our boy is still here.
Doctors in the UK won't accept the therapy has made a difference, and warn the tumours could return. All I know is we've brought him back from the brink of death. Sometimes, it just takes a gran who won't give up!
Debbie Broom, 56, Prestatyn, Denbighshire