So, you’ve just been told your child has Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia (ALL).

If you’re reading this as a parent, let me tell you—I’ve been there.

If you’re reading this as a kid, don’t worry, I’ll explain things in a way that makes sense. Just think of this like a big, unexpected rugby match. It’s tough, it’s physical, and there are going to be some hard hits along the way. But here’s the thing—you’re not playing this game alone.

Your family, your doctors, your nurses—they’re your teammates. Your job? To fight. To keep going. To get through this, one step at a time.

So, let’s break it down: what actually happens after diagnosis?

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🏥 The First Few Days: Meeting Your New Team

One of the first things that happens is meeting your oncology consultant.

For us, we started at Royal Stoke, but the doctors at Birmingham Children’s Hospital (BCH) and Royal Stoke all work closely together. It honestly felt like a rugby squad—tight-knit, supportive, and 100% focused on one goal: beating ALL.

Be prepared for:
📌 Lots of information – They’ll throw a lot at you, including treatment plans, medication schedules, and next steps.
📌 Signing paperwork – There’s a lot to go through, including consent forms for treatment.
📌 Endless conversations – You’ll be speaking to nurses, consultants, dietitians, and support teams.

🏉 Pro Tip: Stay Organised!

This will all happen at once, and days will blur together. My advice?
✅ Get a folder – Store all your leaflets, documents, and appointment letters in one place.
✅ Start a spreadsheet – I tracked everything—appointments, medications, test results. If that helps you, do it!
✅ Expect to wait… a lot. Hospitals run on their own schedule. Having something to focus on—even if it’s making notes—helps keep your brain in check.

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😞 The Change Curve: Dealing with the Mental Battle

At some point, the reality of this hits you. You will 100% go through the emotions—shock, anger, grief.

❓ How did this happen?
❓ Why my child?
❓ This isn’t fair. The world is cruel.

Here’s the harsh truth: it’s happening.

I tried to make sense of it. I couldn’t. No one can.

What I could do? Focus on what I CAN control.
✔️ Making sure Sammy was comfortable.
✔️ Making sure he felt loved. (Put the phone away and be present.)
✔️ Looking after myself. (Because if you crash, who looks after your kid?)

I saw parents glued to their phones rather than talking to their sick children.
Don’t be that person. Your child needs you more than ever.

And trust me—they will feed off your energy.
💙 Stay strong.
💙 Stay in the moment.
💙 Stay positive.

(My wife is incredible at this—she reminds me daily to breathe, stay calm, and focus on what we CAN do.)

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💉 Tests, Needles & The “Pin Cushion” Phase

Once you’re admitted, expect a lot of tests. Your child is going to feel like a human pin cushion—cannulas, blood tests, medication drips.

And then comes the fluids—lots and lots of fluids.
What goes in… must come out.

🚽 Be ready for:

• Non-stop bottles of wee for testing (urine dips will become second nature).
• Occasional stool samples (yep, that’s a thing).
• Constant monitoring—blood pressure, temperature, heart rate, urine output.

One of the biggest moments? Preparing for the Hickman Line (aka wigglies!).

To help explain this to kids, hospitals use Ollie the Brave—a teddy with its own Hickman line. It helps make things less scary and more relatable. (I’ll do a separate post on this.)

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🧠 Talking to Your Child About ALL

This is a big one.

At some point, your child will ask you: “Am I going to die?”

When Sammy asked me this, I froze. I didn’t know what to say.

The answer? No.
And then move straight into something positive.

I know what you’re thinking. “But what about the statistics? The survival rates?”

I get it. The consultants told us 85%, then another said 95%. Even 1% feels too much. It’s terrifying.

But your child doesn’t need fear. They need belief.
✔️ They need YOU to be strong.
✔️ They need YOU to help them through.

That’s why when they ask that question, you answer with confidence.

💙 “No, you are NOT going to die. We are going to fight this. And we are going to win.”

(My wife is an expert at this—where I’m too matter-of-fact, she instinctively knows how to keep things uplifting. If you struggle, lean on someone who’s good at it.)

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🩺 Stats & The “Best Type of Cancer” Comment

You’ll hear something strange—“This is the best type of cancer.”

Sounds ridiculous, right? But it’s because ALL is the most curable.

Some parents like to use this when talking to their child—if it helps, go for it.

For me? Stats are just numbers.
💙 Stay positive.
💙 Stay focused.
💙 Stay strong for your child.

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🏉 Final Thoughts: Control What You Can

This first week will be a whirlwind.

Some advice:
✔️ Take a breath. Don’t react with anger—control what you CAN.
✔️ Listen to your child. Their world has just changed too.
✔️ Stay positive. Even when it’s hard.

💙 YOU are their rock. The stronger YOU are, the stronger THEY will be.

We’ve got this. LFG. 🚀🏉

#SlamminSamB #ALLAwareness #RugbyVsCancer #StayStrong #WarriorMode

⚠️ Disclaimer: I’m Not a Doctor!

I’m just a dad sharing my experience of going through this journey with my son, Slammin’ Sam B. This post is here to help explain things in a real, relatable way, but I’m not a medical professional.

💙 Always follow the advice of your child’s doctors, nurses, and medical team.
💙 If you have any questions or concerns, speak to your consultant.

This blog is all about support, positivity, and real-life experiences—but when it comes to treatment and medical advice, trust the professionals!

#SlamminSamB #ALLAwareness #RugbyVsCancer #StayStrong #WarriorMode