Nick, 50
I watched proudly as my boy ran along the sand.
It was November 2016, and my wife and I had taken our son, Thomas, two, to the beach to burn off some energy.
“He’s a little pocket rocket,” I laughed.
Suddenly, Thomas crashed face-first into the sand. Rushing over to brush the sand off him, I noticed an unusual lump on his stomach.
My wife crouched down to feel it.
“Let’s not take any chances,” she said.
We headed to our GP, who sent us to the radiology clinic for an ultrasound.
Next, we were advised to return to our GP for the results.
“There’s a mass on one of Thomas’s internal organs,” she explained. “You need to go to emergency right away.”
Suddenly, our world was turned upside down. In the paediatric ward, a doctor confirmed that a cancerous tumour was growing on Thomas’s kidney.
We sat in stunned silence while Thomas slept peacefully, unaware of the battle ahead of him.
That afternoon, I picked up our two older boys from school and brought them to the hospital.
“Can we play?” Thomas asked from his hospital bed when he saw his big brothers.
“Not just yet, buddy,” I told him softly. “The doctors need to make you better first.”
That day, Thomas had a port inserted in his chest, to provide long-term access to a large vein for treatments, and a few days later, he began weekly chemotherapy.
Read more: My low-cut bridesmaid gown revealed breast cancer
My poor boy spent many nights in hospital with fevers, requiring constant monitoring.
Then, in December,he underwent an eight-hour operation to remove his kidney.
My wife and I took turns, with one of us at home and the other at the hospital with Thomas.
During the agonising wait, hospital staff directed me to the Ronald McDonald Family Room, a sanctuary for families of kids receiving treatment.
I opened the door to a warm smile from a volunteer. “Spend all the time you need here,” she said. “If you want, I can make a great coffee.”
“That would be lovely,” I said, feeling lighter.
After surgery, Thomas faced complications and needed specialised nutrition as his bowel recovered.
Christmas that year wasn’t the usual festive celebration.
Instead, we took our eldest boys to the Ronald McDonald Family Room to decompress, while Thomas underwent more treatment.
He finished chemo in February 2017 but had ongoing hospital visits for the next four years and the Family Room continued to be our safe place.
Finally, at the age of five, Thomas had his last surgery.
In 2024, with our boys getting more independent, I found myself wanting to give back.
“I might volunteer at the Ronald McDonald Family Room,” I told my wife.
“You should!” she said.
Within weeks, I was trained and ready.
Now, I volunteer at least once a fortnight, chatting with families who are going through what we once faced.
“This room is a calm in the storm,” one exhausted mum told me recently.
“Don’t I know it,” I said.
Thomas is doing well now, and I’m so proud to give back to the Ronald McDonald charity that gave my family so much hope and comfort when we needed it most.
The Ronald McDonald House was the lifeline we needed
Rebecca, 35.
Pulling up to the school carpark, I let out a sigh of relief.
It was December 2024, and the final day of my work for the year asa primary teacher.
My husband, Tom, 34, was at home getting our three kids ready for school and daycare.
Just after lunch, Tom called.
“Harry’s been vomiting and has a fever,” he said.
“Sounds like he’s picked up a gastro bug,”I moaned.
The next day, Harry, four, was sick again.
Recently, a close friend’s son had similar symptoms, which turned out to be appendicitis, so we took Harry to Canberra Hospital to be safe.
“We’ll do a scan to rule out appendicitis,” the doctor said.
I popped out to grab coffee while we waited.
When I returned, Tom’s face was pale.
“What’s wrong?”I whispered, anxiously.
“They found a cancerous tumour in Harry’s abdomen,” he said quietly.
My heart dropped.
I went into autopilot, calling the grandparents to help with our other kids, Emily and Louis.
“We’re on a ride now that we didn’t ask for,” I told Tom. “We need to hold tight to each other and the kids.”
“I know,” Tom replied, hugging me. “We have to be strong.”
Later, when Harry woke up, we explained what was happening in simple terms.
Next day, we were transferred to Sydney Children’s Hospital for more tests and were hit with even harder news – the cancer had spread to Harry’s lungs.
A kind social worker sat us down.
“You’re going to be here for a while,” he said gently. “We can refer you to the Ronald McDonald House.”
Three days later, we were given our own room in the House. Located on the hospital grounds, it was a lifeline, giving us space to breathe and rest.
Tom and I took turns being back in Canberra with our other kids.
Some weekends, we’d take them to the Ronald McDonald House for a sleepover.
“We have a Nintendo here!” Harry told them.
In August this year, the Ronald McDonald House team even organised a digger-themed cake for Louis’s birthday.
He was over the moon!
Living at the House has introduced us to families walking similar paths to us. We’ve found strength in each other when thingsget tough.
Although we have a long journey ahead, we feel incredibly grateful for the volunteers and families who’ve shown us so much love in our time of need.
To help support children like Thomas or Harry and their families, visit mchappyday.org.au
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