STT. Critical Condition: 10-Year-Old Autistic Boy Battles Advanced Cancer as His Health Rapidly Declines
After midnight, an idea suddenly came to me.
The house was silent.
The world slows down for a fragile moment when most people are asleep, unaware that battles are still raging in hospital wards.
Amidst the silence, a name emerged with a sense of urgency that could not be ignored.
Jaxen.
A ten-year-old boy from Pinson, Alabama.
A child has faced far more pain than many adults experience.
No one can explain why that name appeared at that particular time.
No warnings.
No messages.
There are no clear signs.
It’s just a hunch.
That feeling clung to my chest and wouldn’t let go.
Jaxen has autism and is unable to speak.
He couldn’t use words to describe his pain.
It’s impossible to tell the doctor exactly where the pain is.
I couldn’t reassure my mother when her fear overwhelmed her.
What Jaxen possesses is courage.
And a body forced to fight a ruthless enemy at such a young age.
Adrenal cancer.
A diagnosis that completely disrupted the normal rhythm of childhood.
Classes were replaced with treatment schedules.
The playground gives way to medical records.
Carefree laughter has been replaced by needles and scanners.
For several months, Jaxen received treatment at the Children’s Hospital of Alabama.
That place became our second home.
Doctors and nurses have become familiar faces.
But not every appointment can be made.
It’s not because the family doesn’t care.
It’s not because they gave up.
But survival becomes complicated when resources are so limited.
The family car broke down.
Commuting has become a daily obstacle.
Missed appointments are inevitable.
Jaxen’s mother, Randa McCall, shoulders it all.
She supports her family in a social housing complex.
She was juggling the healthcare system, financial pressure, and mental exhaustion all at once.
She tried her best.
And sometimes, even that isn’t enough.
Late that night, a message was sent to Randa.
Just a greeting.
A gentle question.
How is Jaxen doing these days?
The answer came very quickly.
It’s too fast to bring good news.
Randa is sitting in a chair at the Alabama Children’s Hospital.
She can’t go home yet.
And that’s impossible too.
Jaxen is in extreme pain.
The pain was so intense that he cried and moaned even when he was conscious.
The pain that his body couldn’t express couldn’t be hidden.
The pain echoed throughout the hospital room and pierced straight into the mother’s heart.
The doctors decided to put him under anesthesia.
They let him sleep so his body could rest.
To allow his mind to temporarily escape the pain, even if only for a moment.
Jaxen remained in the hospital until morning.
The night brings no relief.
The morning brought no answers.
There’s only waiting.
Scared.
And it’s uncertain.
The cancer has progressed.
The tumors are no longer localized.
“They’re actually trying to get out of Jaxen’s body,” Randa said.
From the eye.
Top.
Down to the groin area.
The disease is clearly attacking him.
It cannot be hidden.
You can’t pretend things are getting better.
Seeing her child like that broke the mother’s heart.
And so did Jaxen’s siblings.
The children were forced to witness their sibling’s suffering in ways they could not understand.
A family is pushed to its emotional limit.
Nevertheless, Jaxen is still fighting.
Even when under anesthesia.
Even in pain.
That small body was still resisting an overwhelming force.
Randa was exhausted.
Not just the physical.
And the spirit as well.
Feeling.
And belief.
“I’m completely exhausted,” she said.
I no longer have the strength to pretend to be strong.
I’m sorry I don’t have better news.
As if pain needed justification.
As if the truth needed permission.
She wished she could bring hope.
I wish I could say things are getting better.
But the reality is too harsh.
Too revealing.
And it was terrifying.
There is only one thing she knows for sure.
Prayer is very powerful.
And her family needs that more than ever.
It’s not a ritual.
It was like a lifeline.
The last place where hope still stands.
No one knows why Jaxen appears in their thoughts before they fall asleep.
There is no clear reason.
But sometimes, compassion needs no reason.
It came as a gentle reminder.
Somewhere out there, someone is hurting.
And being remembered is important.
Being asked how you are is important.
Knowing that someone is watching you is important.
Randa’s Friday night turned out to be something she had never imagined.
A sleepless night spent in a hospital chair.
Look at the machine’s screen.
Listen to the device’s sounds.
Pray for relief.
Pray for strength.
Pray for my son.
Jaxen’s story is more than just about illness.
Rather, it is resilience in the face of adversity.
As a mother, I never turn my back.
These are children who learn to cope with loss too early.
As a family, we do everything within our limited means.
And these are prayers from strangers.
It may be impossible to touch Jaxen with your hands.
But it’s possible to reach him in an invisible way.
May those prayers bring comfort.
Bring peace.
And to remind this family that they are not alone.
And may Jaxen, in his quiet courage, always be surrounded by love.
Even in the darkest hours.
🙏🙏🙏
