There are around 4,100 new cases of cancer in children and young people each year in the UK. That’s 11 every day.  

Some of those diagnoses come completely out of the blue. Others follow months of troubling, unexplained signs. Every single one changes lives. 

For Childhood Cancer Awareness Month 2025, we spoke to three parents about how their children were diagnosed with cancer, and how research and treatment helped them move forward.

These stories also touch on three of our ongoing clinical trials into better ways of treating children's and young people's cancers. You can find out more about our work and Childhood Cancer Awareness Month at the end of the article.

It all happened gradually, but, a few months before Max was diagnosed, we started to have a niggly feeling that he wasn’t right.  

He stopped wanting to play football - he would sit on the side with the younger children. And there was a music class he used to jump around in, but then he just wanted to lie on my lap. 

There were lots of illnesses and colds, and some night sweats. Each time he would get a bit better again, and it’s like that would mask the symptoms. 

It got clearer after my husband Adam and I went away for a few days to celebrate our 40th birthdays. When we came back, Max didn’t run to me. He was so pale. I thought he might have mumps, so we went to the hospital.

We were there for 24 hours waiting for news. 

I was in tears asking nurses what was going on at one point, but when they asked us to come and talk to the consultant in another room, I didn’t want to go. It felt like as soon as we went in there, it would all become real. I wanted to stay outside so it couldn’t be true. 

They told us they would put Max’s cannulas in while we were off in the room – they said, “Let us do this so that we're the bad guys and you aren’t,” and we went to see the consultant.

It was such a horrible moment. We stepped into every parent's nightmare. Being in there and being told it was cancer - everything went black. I hadn’t seen Adam cry before, but he did that day. Then he stood up and looked out of the window. I was sat on the sofa, crying and thinking. Then we came back together and clung to each other, but we each needed that moment apart.

We went back to see Max. I wasn’t sure how I would feel when I saw him. I knew I wouldn’t be able to look at him quite in the same way as before, knowing what we had just been told. The nurses had put his cannulas in and he was looking so sad – he wanted a cuddle and I needed that cuddle too. He wanted to tell us about what had happened while we were away.   

We went to the hospital where Max would be treated a few days later, and that’s where the ALLTogether-1 trial was mentioned. They explained it wouldn’t affect his treatment much, but that it could really help other children. We were keen to do something for the greater good and they said we could come out at any time, so it seemed like the obvious choice. 

Max has never questioned the treatment – he goes along in such a calm and lovely manner. He doesn’t realise that not all children have to do this. He just knows he has naughty blood cells and we’re making them better. 

On Day 78 of the treatment, in April, Max entered full remission, with no signs of cancer. We moved onto the maintenance treatment in September 2024, so he's now having lower doses of at-home chemotherapy more often. Every month he also has chemotherapy through an IV, along with five days of steroids. The steroids can be difficult as they make him emotional and very hungry. 

For Max, the main thing is having fun. He’s had so much time not having fun and it’s the little things he enjoys. 

He likes trampolining and now he’s back playing football in the garden, which is so lovely to see. And we love a trip to the garden centre – it’s a great place to explore. 

When we go back for treatment, it's like one big family on the ward. Everyone's in the same boat, and they're all so accepting and so lovely. You know when families want to speak and when they want to be left alone, and the staff are brilliant.  

Max is known there for his trademark funny look to the doctors and nurses – it’s a shy little smile and it always makes them laugh. And he always says thank you to them when he leaves. Sometimes it’s shouted down the corridor after everyone’s gone, but he does say it! 

Nalia had a boil on her bottom. We didn’t think it was anything to worry about because it didn’t hurt, but then it went from the size of a pea to the size of a golf ball.   

The doctor said it was an abscess, so Nalia was prescribed antibiotics and had a small operation to drain it. They kept the wound open to make sure any extra fluid could drain out too. It should have closed naturally in a couple of weeks, but even after two months of daily wound dressing changes at our local GP, and two A&E visits, it still hadn't healed properly.

Even then I didn't Google anything - we still thought we knew what it was. Nalia was booked in for a second operation to try and drain any remaining pus. This time the surgeon said he'd found something else wrong, but it would take up to two weeks for the test results to show what it was.

We were at the hospital when we were told, and we didn’t have any idea the news was coming. Nalia and I were there, along with my other kids, who were 15, 12 and 1. My husband had offered to come as well, but I said not to worry.

Nalia was hoping to find out when she could start playing netball and swimming again. Then the doctor said it was cancer. Suddenly, we were being referred. They couldn’t tell us anything more. 

Nalia broke down in tears, thinking she was going to die. We were both crying when we left, and I had to explain why to my 12-year-old, who had stayed in the waiting room.   

We were in limbo for the next two days waiting for test results. When we found out it was rhabdomyosarcoma, Nalia was fitted with a line for chemotherapy and offered a place on the FaR-RMS trial, which is looking at ways to improve rhabdomyosarcoma treatment. After a few hours, we decided to do it.

From that moment, everything started moving too fast to keep up. It's like I went into autopilot.

Nalia had a biopsy and started nine rounds of chemotherapy two weeks later. As part of the trial, she also received a higher dose of proton beam therapy, a more targeted type of radiotherapy, five days a week for six weeks.

Most of Nalia's chemotherapy treatment was in Cambridge, but the nearest proton beam therapy centre was in London, and her treatment was scheduled over Christmas. That was difficult, but we decided the best option for our family was to stay together in London for the whole time. We had an early Christmas with friends and family before leaving and then tried to make the most of our time in London when Nalia was well enough.  

Nalia’s now on the last part of the trial, which involves two years of maintenance treatment. She's doing really well – the tumour is gone, her line is out and she can swim again.  

In some ways, though, it’s harder now that the intensive period has finished. There was no time to think before – it was all in the calendar and we just had to do it. Now things have slowed down, we’re feeling the impact of everything that’s happened.   

But we're also moving forward. In July, Nalia had her end of school prom and the doctor delayed her treatment slightly so that she would feel better on the night.  She danced until 12.30. She had a brilliant time and slept all the next day. It was something she didn’t want to miss out on. 

She’s starting at a new college now and only knows one other person who’s going there. She’s been slightly nervous, but it means she can start again. At school, she was the girl who had cancer. Now she can be herself. 

We knew something wasn’t right. Callum was lethargic and he was bruising like a peach. When I was doing his teeth one night, I saw his gums were bleeding.  

I think it’s important for people to trust their gut instinct about their child. We went to the doctor, but Callum was eventually diagnosed in A&E. You could see on the faces of the staff that they were concerned about him. They knew he wasn’t well.   

When they said it, I felt utter terror. I was so scared and was asking if he was going to die. I was angry it wasn’t picked up sooner, and I just knew it was going to change our lives.

They also gave us information about the MyeChild 01 trial, and we immediately said yes. It's looking for the best chemotherapy combinations for AML, so joining was a no-brainer.

We started treatment in Glasgow straight away after that. Callum didn’t get home for 24 weeks and there was no time to pack or prepare. My husband Gavin got some things together in a bag, but we had no idea we would be away that long. 

We took it week by week. Callum had his superhero teddy with him, and people were very kind in bringing him toys and games, but he was often in isolation, which limited what we could do. 

It was especially difficult in December, when Callum had a bad infection. He had to stay in strict isolation for weeks and couldn’t even hug his sisters. All he could do was wave to them through the ward’s glass windows. He could get very distressed if he could see his sisters but not join them, so it was kinder to keep them away.

On Christmas Day, Callum was allowed out for three hours, so we all got to eat together, but it was very challenging.

But Callum got better, and after four rounds of chemotherapy, including a targeted type that's designed to go directly into cancer cells, he was able to come home.

By next Christmas, we were all together in Lapland for a magical winter wonderland.  

Looking back, my advice to other parents is to accept help from others. People will want to help and while Callum and I were in hospital, we had a wonderful community helping at home. People would help with preparing food for Gavin and the girls so that he didn’t have to worry about that. It can be odd accepting help, but I would encourage people to take that kindness. 

I also think people should park any guilt they might feel. I felt so bad that I missed time with the girls, but I just had to be in with Callum. You can’t do everything, so you have to do what you feel is right at that time. And Callum is doing amazingly now. He’s coped so well with everything life has thrown at him.