THE BOY WHOSE CANCER EATS BLOOD: A Mother’s Agonizing Choice in the Heart of Alabama

PINSON, AL — In the quiet suburbs of Pinson, within the sterile, white-walled confines of Children’s of Alabama, a biological horror story is unfolding—one that defies the limits of human endurance and the boundaries of maternal love. It is the story of Jaxen, a 10-year-old boy who has never spoken a word in his life, and the monster inside him that is now consuming him from the inside out.

For most, the phrase “cancer” is a clinical term. For Randa McCall, it is a predator with an insatiable appetite. Jaxen, who is Autistic and non-verbal, is not just fighting a disease; he is being hollowed out by a rare, aggressive form of adrenal cancer that has behaved with a calculated cruelty rarely seen even by veteran oncologists.

The Monster with an Insatiable Hunger

The medical reality inside Room 402 is difficult to fathom. The cancer has not stayed in the adrenal glands. It has marched through Jaxen’s body like an invading army, seizing territory in his brain, his eyes, and his groin.

But the most “unbelievable” and terrifying aspect of Jaxen’s condition isn’t just the metastasis—it is the hunger. Jaxen’s tumors have become so aggressive that they have developed their own “metabolic greed.” Every time doctors perform a blood transfusion to keep the 10-year-old stable, the cancer “eats” it.

“We just got blood Monday,” Randa wrote in a message that has since sent shockwaves through the local community. “And we need it again today. The cancer is eating up any blood transfusions we give him.”

Physiologically, the tumors are hijacking the body’s resources, utilizing the fresh blood to fuel their own rapid growth rather than oxygenating Jaxen’s vital organs. It is a biological paradox: the very medicine intended to save him is being weaponized by the disease to destroy him faster.

The Physical Toll: A Body Under Siege

To look at Jaxen now is to see the physical manifestation of a battle at its breaking point. His groin area, once a normal part of a growing boy’s body, has swollen to the size of a large grapefruit. It isn’t an infection; it is the sheer mass of the malignancy pushing against his skin, a weight that no child should have to carry.

His eyes, the only way he has ever been able to communicate his love to his mother, are now puffy and turning black—a haunting “raccoon eyes” effect often seen in advanced neuroblastoma or adrenal malignancies as the tumors press against the skull.

For 10 years, Jaxen lived in a world of silence due to his autism. He couldn’t scream when the pain started. He couldn’t explain the dull ache in his pelvis or the pressure behind his eyes. He fought with “all his might,” a silent warrior in a loud, vibrating world of hospital monitors and IV drips.

11:59 PM: The Impossible Choice

Last night, the medical team at Children’s of Alabama sat Randa down for a conversation that represents every parent’s ultimate nightmare. The path forward has vanished. There are only two doors left, and both lead to heartbreak.

Door One: Continue the transfusions. Keep feeding the cancer. Watch as the tumors grow larger, the pain becomes more uncontrollable, and Jaxen’s body becomes a vessel for the disease’s expansion. Door Two: Stop.

“I was told stopping the blood transfusions would be the least painful way for him to transition,” Randa shared, her words trembling with the weight of a million shattered dreams. “It would be like his body just stops and he goes to sleep and he will wake up with his Maker.”

Randa has chosen peace over prolonging the agony. It is an act of mercy so profound it is almost incomprehensible to those who haven’t stood on the edge of the abyss. She is choosing to let her son go so that he can finally escape the prison of a body that has turned against him.

A Family Fractured by Grief

While Jaxen nears the finish line of his race, the collateral damage at home is immense. Randa’s other children, Jozlynn and Josiah, are living in a state of suspended animation. They are the “forgotten” victims of childhood cancer—the siblings who watch their hero wither away.

Reports from the family describe a household paralyzed by sorrow. The children aren’t eating. They aren’t sleeping. The trauma of losing a brother—especially one who required the extra protection that comes with being non-verbal—is tearing at the fabric of their childhood. Today, they will walk into that hospital room. They will see the grapefruit-sized swelling. They will see the blackened eyes. And they will say goodbye to the boy who taught them how to love without words.

Randa herself is under medical watch. The physical stress of the “Broken Heart Syndrome” is a real threat. Her doctors are concerned that her heart may physically fail under the pressure of this loss, following so closely after the death of her brother.

The Vision of a Perfect Jaxen

In the face of this “unbelievable” horror, Randa clings to a vision of the future that keeps her upright. It is a vision of a Jaxen who is no longer trapped.

“I told my children when he gets to Heaven, their brother will be perfect,” she says. “No more cancer, no more pain. He will walk and run and most of all… he will have a voice.”

For a mother who has spent a decade wondering what her son’s voice sounds like, the idea of him speaking in the afterlife is the only thing that makes the current silence bearable.

A Community’s Final Gift

As the news of Jaxen’s “transition” spreads, the community of Pinson and followers of local journalist Mr. Karle have rallied in a way that restores faith in humanity. The GoFundMe page, which started as a hope for a cure, has now shifted to a more somber purpose: a funeral.

In the United States, the average cost of a funeral can exceed $10,000—a sum that is nearly impossible for a family that has spent every cent on medical co-pays, gas to the hospital, and missed work days.

“Without you… I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on Jaxen,” Randa told the donors. “I know I will be able to give my baby a funeral—since I won’t be able to do anything else, at least I can do that.”

It is a tragic silver lining. In his final hours, Jaxen is surrounded not just by machines, but by the collective prayers of thousands who have never met him but have been moved by his silent strength.

The Final Watch

As you read this, Jaxen is still at Children’s of Alabama. The monitors are likely still beeping. The “blood-eating” cancer is still there. But the fight is shifting. It is no longer a fight for life, but a fight for dignity. A fight for a painless exit.

Jaxen’s story is a reminder that life is fragile, that cancer is a thief, and that sometimes, the bravest thing a mother can do is let go.

The boy from Pinson, Alabama, may have never spoken a word, but his story is screaming for us to cherish every breath, to hug our children tighter, and to remember that even in the darkest hospital room, love is the only thing the cancer cannot consume.