Carys was a happy, sociable, and well-loved child.
Her parents, Mark and Laura, felt they were navigating parenthood well, and life seemed normal and joyful.
“Carys was ticking every box,” Laura recalls.
“She was always bright, eager to please, and full of life.”
The First Signs
Just as the family was preparing for a long-awaited holiday, Carys became unwell.
It began with an ear infection, but soon came nosebleeds, bruising, and an alarming loss of energy.
Getting medical care during the early days of COVID wasn’t easy, but when Laura took her younger son Cohle for his vaccinations, she also brought Carys “just to be safe.”
The GP immediately advised them to go to the hospital.
Within an hour, blood tests revealed something shocking: Carys’ white blood cell count was the second highest the hospital had ever seen.
The words followed that no parent ever wants to hear—leukaemia.
Laura remembers going into shock.
“I thought, if we had put her on that plane to Fiji, she would have died there.”
Beginning Treatment
Doctors needed to lower Carys’ dangerously high white blood count before chemotherapy could begin.
There was a real fear she might not survive those first critical days.
Eventually, she stabilized, and treatment started.
But the road was brutal.
The first time Carys returned home, she spiked a fever and was back in hospital within 24 hours.
This became a painful pattern—short glimpses of home life interrupted by emergency trips back to the ward.
At one stage, chemo left Carys unable to communicate, a traumatic moment for Laura.
Later, her skin flaked, and her lips turned black.
Still, the family clung to hope.
“At the time it was hell,” Mark says.
“But it could have been worse—we never ended up in ICU.”
Life After Treatment
After completing treatment, life slowly returned to normal.
Getting Carys back to school and her community was a huge step.
For years, things seemed stable.
But during a routine check-up, irregularities in her blood were noticed.
Follow-up tests confirmed the family’s worst fear: Carys had relapsed.
It was Halloween 2023.
Laura says, “When treatment finished the first time, we were told there was a 90% chance she wouldn’t relapse. To find ourselves in that 10% group was devastating.”
Relapse
Re-entering the world of hospitals was heart-wrenching.
Carys herself struggled to believe the cancer was back.
Treatment resumed quickly, but just like before, it was punishing.
That summer, most of their days were spent in hospital.
“There were a few occasions where she almost died,” Laura recalls.
“We were only just holding on.”
A Turning Point With ZERO
In those early days, Carys was enrolled in the Zero Childhood Cancer Program (ZERO).
Genome testing revealed that she did not have the common type of leukemia originally diagnosed.
Instead, she had a rare and harder-to-treat subtype: Philadelphia chromosome-like ALL.
“The ZERO results really changed the picture,” Laura explains.
It was a critical discovery that reshaped her treatment path.
The Second Round of Treatment
Armed with new knowledge, doctors created a plan: chemotherapy, radiotherapy, immunotherapy, and finally, a bone marrow transplant.
It was grueling.
At one point, Carys spent a week intubated in intensive care.
But she survived.
Eight long months later, Carys emerged from treatment scarred but intact.
Today
In 2025, Carys started Year 6 at school.
She is enjoying time with her friends, making plans, and dreaming again.
Her family goes to monthly check-ups, each one a reminder of how fragile yet precious her recovery is.
“The future will always be uncertain,” Laura admits.
“But the longer she goes without relapse, the easier life becomes. We’re trying to treasure every day.”
Laura and Mark remain deeply grateful for ZERO.
“We want people to know this program has real-world impacts,” Laura says.
“Children like Carys have radically different treatment options and outcomes because of it.”
Carys’ story is one of courage, resilience, and hope—proof that even in the darkest moments, science, love, and determination can light the way forward.
The Dog Who Knew Too Much.232
I wasn’t supposed to be on that train. I’d booked the trip at the last minute, after spending the night crying in my car outside my ex’s apartment. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t go back, that I’d be stronger this time—but the pull of memory and habit almost won. I needed space, air, something to lift me out of the swirl of regret and second-guessing.
So I packed a small bag, grabbed the first ticket I could find, and sat down, trying to pretend this was just a regular journey, not a desperate escape. That’s when I saw him.
A golden retriever, sitting upright across from me, like he owned the train. One paw rested casually on the table, his tail draped over the seat, his gaze calm but alert. His owner sipped coffee and
