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‘‘Am I going to die?’’
It is a question no parent should ever have to answer yet one that Bronnie Grant encountered as she broke the news to her 10-year-old son Angus that he probably had leukaemia.
Mrs Grant, who had only minutes earlier learned the devastating news, quickly donned her ‘‘Mum hat’’ and reassured him he would be fine. She had no idea of the journey her family was about to go on.
The day had started normally enough; it was busy on the Grant family farm near Gore with pregnancy scanning of ewes happening and Bronnie’s brother and his family coming to stay.
Angus had been feeling unwell and, after several visits to the doctor and no improvement, Mrs Grant made a third appointment where he was referred to the paediatric department at Southland Hospital.
Still in their farming clobber, mother and son headed to the city. It took a doctor only several minutes before he asked to speak to Mrs Grant alone, telling her he believed Angus had leukaemia.
‘‘I was just blown away. How can this be happening? I really didn’t have much idea of what leukaemia was,’’ she recalled.
She phoned her husband Cameron who brought the couple’s two daughters, Addison and Zoe, into the hospital and, after the girls had seen their brother, Mrs Grant left Angus with her husband and took the girls home.
She kicked off her gumboots, showered, packed her bag and tucked her sobbing daughters into her own bed, leaving them with her brother before driving back to the hospital after midnight.
Tests confirmed he had T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukaemia in his spine and in the cranial fluid in his head — which added complexity to his treatment. Lumbar punctures injected chemotherapy drugs into his spine.
Back home on the farm, which spans more than 4400ha, Cameron’s brother Robert — whom he farms in partnership with — picked up both reins, supported by their staff.
It was decided to leave the girls at home, supported by family and friends, so the couple could focus on Angus, knowing they were well cared for. ‘‘We were lucky in that respect: that part of our lives was taken care of,’’ Mrs Grant said.
Angus returned home at the end of August and the family was reunited in time for his 11th birthday, where he celebrated with friends and life became more normal.
January 2025 was another busy time on the farm with weaning in full-swing. Mrs Grant had left her phone in the house while in the garden when her husband came roaring up the driveway tooting the horn.
Southland Hospital was on the phone, wanting to talk to both of them. She instinctively knew the news was not good.
The couple were told they had to urgently get Angus to Christchurch. Tests showed T-cells had been found in his spinal fluid.
Breaking the latest round of bad news to the children was harder than the first — ‘‘because everyone knew what they were in for, and worse.’’
Angus was re-admitted to Choc that day and, following more tests, the Grants were told they would have to go to Auckland potentially for five to six months as a bone marrow transplant was his only chance of getting rid of the disease. His chances of being cured had dropped to about 40%.
All along, the Grants had asked to be kept in the loop and be given both the worst and best case scenarios so they could be mentally prepared for whatever might be on the radar.
They had thought that when they had gone home, there would be a ‘‘few hiccups’’, but that they would go back to being a normal family. Mrs Grant felt blindsided.
Addison’s 15th birthday was a few days later and the Child Cancer Foundation flew the girls to Christchurch to be with their parents and brother.
To get a transplant, Angus had to be cancer-free and that was the first massive hurdle. New and different drugs had to be introduced that made him unwell in a reasonably short period.
At the beginning of 2023, Mrs Grant’s mother had been diagnosed with cancer and treatment had followed. But she became very unwell again and was told there was nothing more medically that could be done for her.
The day after her funeral, Mr and Mrs Grant and Angus flew to Auckland for Angus to start his treatment. It was, as his mother said, another incredibly tough time for the family.
Taken almost to the brink of death in preparation for the transplant, Angus received bone marrow harvested from his sister Zoe, who was a 100% match.
What felt like years was actually weeks waiting for his cell count to come up — ‘‘this poor wee boy hanging on to life with both hands’’ — until it eventually did, his mother said.
A friend set up a basketball hoop in his room and every day he increased his number of shots. Then he started walking around the room. He was able to do some schoolwork and interact with his class and some routine was reinstated.
In mid-May last year, Angus returned home two-and-half months ahead of when had originally been signalled.
Since then, there had been some setbacks — including graft-versus-host — but hopefully his body would overcome that, his mother said.
Angus was back to school almost full-time and playing touch rugby where he was a ‘‘super sub’’: he would come on for a minute and a-half as his lungs were only working about 30%.
But he was ‘‘pushing through’’, having golf and guitar lessons, spending time with his friends ‘‘and enjoying what is his new normal as a 12-year-old boy’’.
