I assumed it was just an allergy—maybe a reaction to new laundry detergent or something he ate.
We tried antihistamines and soothing creams, but the itching only grew worse, keeping him awake at night.
Concerned, I finally took him to the doctor, hoping for a quick fix and reassurance.
The doctor’s expression changed as he examined the symptoms,
his casual demeanor shifting into something more serious.
He ordered blood tests and scans, speaking in hushed tones to the nurses.
My stomach twisted with dread as I watched the medical team move with urgent efficiency. Days later,
the diagnosis came—not an allergy, but cancer. The word hit me like a physical blow,
leaving me struggling to process what it meant.
