How Does a Single Parent Do This In A Children Cancer Ward?

I often wonder how a single parent copes on a children’s cancer ward. I guess the honest answer is: you rely on the nurses, the HCAs, and the call button when your own body gives up. They step in constantly, to keep your child safe while you gather yourself. And I’m deeply grateful that if I were to fall truly unwell, my husband Terry would drop everything and take over — that safety net matters more than I can ever say.

Sunday 28th December — One of Those Quiet Days

Sunday started off rough. Properly rough. I’d barely slept after being up most of the night with awful stomach cramps, which ended in vomiting and diarrhoea. Whether it was food poisoning or just indigestion from Slim Chickens, I honestly don’t know — but my body was not impressed.

The night before, while my friend Jo stayed with Maya, Terry and I went out for a short walk and I dropped him at St Pancras for his 6:04pm train. Terry kept telling me I needed to eat because the only thing I’d had all day was breakfast. But when you’re living on a children’s cancer ward, appetite just isn’t a given. Food feels like an afterthought. Still, on the way back I stopped at Slim Chickens in the Brunswick Centre, grabbed a chicken tender takeaway, and shared it with my friend Jo.

By the early hours, I was stuck in the en-suite bathroom for a few hours, keeping my distance from Maya just in case it was a virus. Around 6am I rang Terry, crying out with tummy ache, and told him that if this carried on, he might need to come back to help me. Thankfully, after my body had clearly decided to eject everything, things settled a bit. I kept sipping water to replace what I’d lost, had a shower, and crawled back into bed.

I told Maya I wasn’t feeling great and needed to sleep. I reassured her that if she needed anything, I’d press the call button for the nurses to come straight away. She seemed to understand. When the day HCA came in just after 8am to do Maya’s obs — blood pressure, oxygen sats, pulse, temperature, all of it — I explained that I wasn’t well and would be going back to sleep. She reassured me she’d keep an eye on Maya, which meant everything.

The rest of Sunday was pretty quiet. A bit of a lull. After catching up on some sleep, the nurse, HCA and I hoisted Maya from the bed into her tilted wheelchair. She was unsettled at first, which is completely understandable. I always think back to my hoist training years ago when I was working at a local nursing home in Hythe, Kent, when I had to pretend to be the patient. Being lifted in a sling is genuinely scary — you feel suspended, with no control — so I never forget how that must feel for Maya.

Not long before the hoist, Enzo — big brother number three — came to visit. He brought some lovely presents for both Maya and me and spent proper quality time with her. That gave me the chance to sneak downstairs to try and eat something. I was still nervous, half-expecting the cramps to return, but I knew I needed something in me.

One of the best parts of the day was pet therapy. The volunteers came with two gorgeous dogs: Lola, a gentle 12-year-old with white fur, and Ozzy, a bouncy 3-year-old with golden fur. They instantly lifted the mood. Animals have a way of doing that — no words, no pressure, just comfort.

Maya managed an amazing three hours sitting up in her tilted wheelchair. When she was hoisted back into bed, she wanted to watch YouTube on the TV.

And then, later that evening, she did something that stopped me in my tracks.

As I pointed at different videos, she shook her head for “no.” And when I landed on one she liked, she nodded — a clear, definite “yes.”

It might not sound like much to anyone else. But for us, it’s huge. Another small step. Another win. The kind you hold onto.

It wasn’t an exciting Sunday. It wasn’t dramatic. But it was gentle. And sometimes, gentle days are exactly what we need — days that remind us that progress doesn’t always come in big leaps. Sometimes it shows up as a tiny nod, at the end of a very ordinary day.

And we’ll take that, gratefully

https://share.icloud.com/photos/01d-hcZKu4ZrCoJxaNfyL5ckQ