Finn has acute lymphoblastic leukaemia
Finn Martin was just three-and-a-half years old when his happy young life veered monstrously off‑course.
He was sporty and agile. He loved tractors, combine harvesters and articulated lorries. He was a good swimmer, played football with his elder brother Archie, scooted like the wind and could count to 40 (in French as well as English, thanks to Archie, who patiently taught him). In summary, he was fiery, fearless and full of vim.
And then, suddenly, he wasn’t.
Towards the end of the summer of 2015, an ear infection lingered doggedly, despite antibiotics and drops. One Sunday in September, his mother Debbie noticed he’d stopped rushing outside at any opportunity. He flaked out on the sofa in the middle of the day. His little legs were smattered with bruises from tumbling off his scooter.
The following morning, as he ate his breakfast at the family home in Warminster, Wiltshire, his face turned a pasty, putty-white and Debbie, a dispensing chemist, felt a creeping dread.
‘He just looked wrong, and somehow I knew,’ she says.
‘I Googled “leukaemia” and realised he fulfilled far, far too many of the possible symptoms.’
An emergency GP appointment led to a trip to Salisbury Hospital where, within the hour, Finn had been diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukaemia (ALL) — a life-threatening illness.
He wouldn’t see his toy-strewn bedroom and enormous toy tractor collection again for an awfully long time.
Suddenly, the Martin family were thrust into a world of blood transfusions, cannulas, stents, lumbar punctures, heart failure, a dawn ambulance transfer to the paediatric oncology unit at Southampton Hospital, and endless rounds of debilitating chemotherapy.
By October, little Finn’s life was in the balance. His battered body suffered an allergic reaction to the anti-cancer drugs.
‘He was like a skeleton with a huge swollen stomach,’ says Debbie. ‘We thought we were going to lose him.’
Finn with mum Debbie. Finn is in remission. He has his blood checked every week, takes a fistful of chemotherapy pills — seven a day and 14 on Fridays
Two years later, Finn is in remission. He has his blood checked every week, takes a fistful of chemotherapy pills — seven a day and 14 on Fridays — and, as a result, has virtually no immune system.
But as he bursts through the front door in his school uniform, eyes flashing, enormous cheeky grin and bubbling with excitement, other than a slight pallor and a cluster of blue-black veins over his left eye, you’d have no idea of his suffering. All he wants to talk about is the family trip to Lapland.
For, in December, his entire family are going there, courtesy of Make-A-Wish Foundation UK, the charity which the Mail has linked up with for our Quids For Kids campaign.
Flights, accommodation, visits to see reindeer, tobogganing, a meeting with Father Christmas in his workshop and, best of all, snow, will all be provided.
‘I’ve never seen snow,’ says Finn. ‘Never! We might even see the Northern Lights!’
Every year, entirely funded by donations, the small team of staff work with volunteers to counter daily tragedy with warmth and love. Make‑A-Wish Foundation UK grants hundreds of sick children like Finn what the charity calls their ‘One True Wish’.
Inspired by the story of a young boy fighting leukaemia in the U.S., it was formed in 1986, above a shop in Camberley, Surrey.
In its first year, four wishes were granted — the first, to Anthony from Liverpool, who went on a magical trip with his family to meet the characters in Walt Disney World, Florida.
Last year, the charity granted 979 wishes. This year, they’re hoping to fund 1,000. But they have had almost twice that many requests.
Three years ago, during a tour to New Zealand, the Duchess of Cambridge, met Lili Reynolds, eight, who had undergone five operations for a brain tumour and was having radiotherapy.
Lili was introduced to her through a sister organisation after telling the charity she wanted to meet the Duchess ‘because I’ve always wanted to meet someone royal and beautiful’.
The criteria to be accepted for a ‘wish’ are strict — and breathtakingly sad.
To qualify, a child must be between three and 17 years old and suffer from a life-threatening medical condition. They must also be referred to the charity by a friend, family member or hospital consultant and be signed off by medical staff as fit enough to take part.
Next, two volunteer ‘wish consultants’ visit the child — at home, hospital, or wherever they are — to discuss their ‘One True Wish’.
For as long as he can remember, Finn has wanted to go to Lapland. Very, very badly. But it was a trip that his parents could neither afford, nor justify.
Holidays are the first things to fall by the wayside for families with a sick child. Parents have to take unlimited time off work and finances are stretched.
Which is one of the many reasons that Make-A-Wish Foundation UK such an inspiring scheme.
The wishes are chosen by the children, but it’s all about family experiences: precious time when, for once, no one is worrying about the cost or the medical implications (the children’s consultants sign off on every trip).
But most of all, they are doing things together, like a ‘normal’ family for once, not split in half with one parent in hospital on a put-up bed and the other at home trying to hold things together. When children become desperately ill, the impact on family life is catastrophic. Normal service goes out of the window.
‘The siblings and father are completely sidelined,’ says Finn’s mum Debbie. ‘They just have to cope, somehow.’
Finn and brother Archie, now ten, were always incredibly close. Archie, an ‘incredibly kind, gentle and practical boy’, according to his mum, was barely eight when his little brother went to the GP and ended up for months in an isolation unit.
To make matters worse, the family were already reeling from Debbie’s sister’s sudden death from bowel cancer two months earlier. She’d passed away within weeks of being diagnosed.
‘Archie associated cancer with death,’ says Debbie. ‘He didn’t know if Finn would ever come home again.’
It was equally hard for Debbie and Andy, a civil engineer, who came close to breaking point during the crisis months.
‘We didn’t see each other for weeks,’ says Debbie. ‘We had a shuttle system — one at home and one at the hospital, 45 miles away.’
They coped in different ways. Debbie shared Finn’s hospital bed, joined numerous support groups and kept herself busy to try and keep worries at bay; Andy said he withdrew.
How your £1 coins could make Finn’s Christmas wish come true: With the Mail’s appeal, you can help desperately ill children like him – by taking your coins to Nationwide
‘You feel so hopeless. You’re just a passenger, and can’t do anything to make it go away,’ he says quietly.
‘I tend not to talk about it very much. I’m just grateful that he’s here and I see him every day.’
The reaction of others was often difficult, too.
‘Some people are frightened of children with cancer.’ says Debbie. ‘They don’t know what to say and are awkward. It can be very hurtful.’
While Finn has had a terrible time, in many ways he’s one of the lucky ones. His cancer was classed as ‘low risk’ because it was caught early, before the leukaemia cells spread to the spine and the brain. His prognosis is relatively posi-tive and, after a year and half wait, he is now well enough to travel.
Many children helped by Make‑A-Wish Foundation UK are less fortunate. Some have ‘rush’ wishes, bought forward urgently before it’s too late.
Others are too ill to go anywhere, so have their wishes put back until their health improves, or their wish is tweaked to suit their energy levels.
If they can’t leave their beds, their room might be transformed into a football wonderland, a Frozen theme park, or whatever they fancy.
Last Christmas, Santa Claus visited one sick child at home and brought his reindeer along, too, who was fed carrots through the open window.
Whatever the wish, doctors, nurses, parents and the children themselves are all unequivocal that its impact is extraordinary.
After all, as well as all the draining medical treatments, these kids are cut off from normal life and often lonely.
Dr Simon Parke, consultant paediatrician at Royal Devon & Exeter Hospital, says: ‘The “wish” gives joy, pleasure, something to look forward to and a positivity which helps make their experience more tolerable for them, they cope with their treatment better and spend less time in hospital.’
It also allows them to make precious family memories to sustain them through the dark times. Because the future is fragile.
As Finn’s mum Debbie puts it: ‘Of course, no one knows what the future holds. But we really don’t.’
When he was finally allowed home, Finn had lost a quarter of his body weight and could no longer walk. ‘It was pitiful,’ says Debbie. ‘At first, he could only crawl, then he limped with one leg dragging behind.’
Since then, he’s relearned how to walk, swim like a fish and ride a bike. Recently, he even won a running race at school. ‘That was very emotional,’ says Debbie.
Right now, the family can take a breath, re-group and look forward to being whisked through the Lapland snow by Husky dogs.
But Finn’s illness still looms large. He has another year and a half of chemotherapy (‘It’s the longest treatment of any cancer,’ says Debbie), and although his family, friends and school do all they can to protect him, with a repressed immune system, he remains desperately vulnerable: a
dose of chicken pox could be fatal. He can’t even drink unboiled water. There are hand sanitiser dispensers on walls all over the house — large crowds have to be avoided to avoid him picking up infections — and his blood doesn’t clot properly, so he can’t play rough and tumble.
The chemo played havoc with his joints and bones, so he struggles to hold pens and cutlery properly.
‘We’re living in a strange artificial world, constantly braced,’ says Debbie. ‘I know adults who had “ALL” as a child and are still fine. But others have had the same as him and six months later, its back.’
So while Finn talks of how — when he grows up — he’s going to be a train driver, or builder, or farmer, or whatever takes his fancy this week, Debbie and Andy swallow hard and concentrate on making memories.
They focus on inexpensive family time: days out at the seaside, crabbing, eating fish and chips. And, of course, counting off the days until they all go to Lapland to make some truly golden memories. Because, as Debbie says: ‘We have no idea how soon we’ll need them.’
So get up right now and have a rummage for any old £1 coins. Because by donating them to the Mail’s Quids For Kids Make‑A-Wish Foundation UK appeal, they give desperately sick children a sense of hope that is priceless.