Childhood Cancer and Me (Part 1 The Diagnosis)

Greetings Steemians,

I thought I'd write about a time in my life, which shaped who I am.

Well this a hard subject to approach. As I come to think about it, this will be my first ever writing of this life experience.
Do I start with the diagnosis, should I start at the end and work back, maybe a Quentin Tarantino approach and start in the middle? All of these would be a good starting point, but the beginning as a 7 year old kid is probably the best.

Every time I think back, I realize how lucky I was. I was 7 turning 8, no real care in the world, why would I? As long as the sun came up in the morning and Mum and Dad were there at night, life was good.

Beginning March 1993 - It started with temperatures and pain under my jaw, not to much at first but enough to create the need to visit the sickbay. Also enough to create a divide in the school staff, as to whether I was chucking a sicky or not. After a week or so of this, the school principal and teachers were moving from suspicious to concerned. The temperatures were steadily rising 37 degrees C, 38 and so on.

Early March 1993 - The time had arrived for the first doctor visit. With temps rising well towards 38-39 degrees C, and myself feeling like a slow cooked stew, we see a doc. After a what should've been a thorough assessment by a skilled and well educated individual, we're suddenly back out the door with a box of antibiotics and tonsillitis diagnosis.

Mid-Late March 1993 - Well back in the saddle again, and back in class. You'd think that the pale child with temps nearing 39 to 40 degrees, might have sparked some curiosity amongst the adults. Eventually the principal could not ignore the near death child in one of her class rooms and went and bought a thermometer to check my temp. At a surprising 40.1 they believed it was in their best interests to call mum.

End of March 1993 - As we approach the doctors for the 2nd round, I still have no idea whats going on, all i know is something feels terribly wrong. I still remember the doctors waiting room, the color of the walls, the smell of the antiseptic in the air. After being ushered in, and quite promptly being turned around and sent back out with a script for some painkillers, and a "It's just his 8 year old molars coming through, and he has an infection."

At this point, I'd bet you're impressed with the skills these doctors displayed and wondering what of my parents? Where were they, surely they were aware? Due to the unhealthy working life most people have to lead these days. They worked full time from 7am to approx 7pm at night. With the time I would finish school, I was so doped up on pain killers, that the symptoms were not as severe at night,

Good Friday 1993 - Doctor #3 by this point was passed concerned to frantic as I had a top temperature 41.4 and 42 degrees celsius is brain dead. Mum went straight past the waiting stage, and right into "You need to blood test my son now!" After a quick needle in the arm, and a urgent phone call to the pathology lab, off home we go.
Later that night, the eerie ring of a 90's model telecom phone rang across the house (Aussie reference). Some instructions were given, Mum, with which I can only imagine must've been the heaviest of hearts, came into my room and packed a bag for me. TBC.