Katie's Leukaemia Story

At just three years old, I was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia – something no child should ever have to face. While other children my age were playing outside, giggling on swings, and making their first memories of freedom, I was confined to a hospital bed. My childhood was spent in sterile hospital rooms instead of playgrounds, enduring treatments that saved my life but left behind lasting scars – both visible and invisible.

Early diagnosis

Louise, Katie’s mum, shares the moment her daughter was diagnosed with cancer.

I often look back and wonder if I missed something—any sign that Katie was unwell. But the truth is, she didn’t show any signs of having cancer at all.

When I took her to the hospital, I thought it was just a typical infection—maybe an ear infection—because we couldn’t bring her temperature down and she had started being sick. We later learned these were signs of sepsis. At that point, we were told we’d be transferred to Great Ormond Street Hospital (GOSH), where they needed to do a bone marrow test to check for leukaemia. Her only symptoms were a high temperature and severe pain.

When we arrived at GOSH, they told us they needed to start her on medication immediately. They warned us that Katie would be upset during the process, but once the cannulas were in place, she’d be more comfortable.

When we were told she had leukaemia, it was hard to believe. Katie was still so full of energy—running up and down the ward, playing. You would never have guessed how seriously ill she was. It was a surreal and incredibly difficult time.

Gruelling, brutal cancer treatments

The cancer treatments were gruelling and brutal on my body. Three years of chemotherapy took more than just my energy. It stole my hair, my strength, and the carefree moments that should have filled my childhood. While other children posed for their first school pictures with full heads of hair, I stood there bald, feeling exposed and different. For years, I refused to cut my hair – a quiet rebellion, a way to reclaim what cancer had taken. It became a symbol of the journey I never chose, but one I was forced to endure.

Some of the drugs I received as a child are no longer used today due to their harsh and damaging side effects. These treatments saved my life, but they left behind chronic reminders. I carry a port scar on my side—a permanent mark of the countless infusions that coursed through my tiny veins. Even now, the side effects lingered far beyond the treatments. The hospital visits didn’t end when the treatment did, they continue to this day, a reminder that while cancer may be gone, its impact remains.

My world became smaller and smaller

Through it all, school became my sanctuary. It was the one place where I felt safe – a refuge untouched by doctors and needles. I clung to school not just for the learning, but because it offered something rare: a sense of normalcy. While other children might have dreaded the classroom, I found comfort in it. It was my escape from the reality of my illness.

The hospital, on the other hand, became a second home. I even gave it names – “Big Hospital” and “Little Hospital – as if naming them made the endless visits less daunting. There were so many places I couldn’t go because of my weakened immune system – no birthday parties, no crowded parks, no bustling public space. My world became smaller and smaller, shaped by waiting rooms, blood draws, and constant tests.

‘Team Katie’ was born

The year I was diagnosed, my family and friends refused to stand by helplessly. Instead, they turned their heartbreak into action and formed ‘Team Katie’ – a group of runners who have taken on the London Marathon every year for the past 15 years, raising an incredible amount of funds for Children with Cancer UK.

The mission of Team Katie is simple: to support children facing cancer by raising funds for life-saving research and working toward better, kinder treatments. Team Katie became more than a group, it became a symbol of hope. Every step they take is a step toward making the journey easier for children like me.

My first London Marathon

This year I decided to run the London Marathon. Now that I’ve turned 18, it felt like the right time to give back. The race was deeply personal – honouring my family and friends who stood by me during my toughest moments with cancer, and a show of support for the children still facing cancer today.

Completing my first London Marathon was one of the most insane experiences of my life! I achiever personal bests in my 5k,10k and half marathon! There were some low points, but the energy of the crowd carried me through. Running the Marathon reminded me again and again that I am capable of doing anything I set my mind to.

Crossing that finish line gave me a sense of closure from my childhood – a powerful reminder that my past does not define me. More importantly, I hope my journey inspires others with similar experiences that despite our history, we have the strength to rise above it.

Have you or a family member been affected by childhood cancer?

Many of our supporters have been affected by childhood cancer – either through family, friends or their own personal experience. These patient stories can help inspire others to get involved with us, or can support our media work.

If you have a story that you would like to tell, please contact us by email.