“Seven Years of Courage: Jaxen’s Battle with Neuroblastoma”.2272

“Jaxen’s Fight: The Boy Who Dreams of the Ocean”

He doesn’t say much — not with words, anyway.
But when you look into Jaxen McCall’s eyes, you see everything: courage, patience, kindness, and the quiet strength of a child who has spent most of his life in a fight no one should have to face.

He’s just nine years old.
Nine years — and already, he’s endured more pain, more hospital visits, more uncertainty than most people will in a lifetime.

Yet through it all, he remains gentle. Smiling. Unwavering.

“He’s impressed me as much as any young fighter ever has,” said one of the nurses who has cared for him at Children’s of Alabama. “He doesn’t complain. He doesn’t give up. He just keeps going.”

And maybe that’s because giving up has never been an option for him.

A Life Measured in Battles

Jaxen was diagnosed with neuroblastoma — cancer of the adrenal glands — when he was just

two years old.
Seven years. That’s how long he’s been fighting.

Seven years of surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, antibody treatments, and endless days in the hospital.
Seven years of his mother,

Randa McCall, sitting beside his bed, holding his hand, whispering prayers that somehow, this time, the treatments would work.

But lately, the news has been harder to hear.

“The last antibody and radiation treatments didn’t help,” Randa said quietly. “Now we’re praying the new chemo pill can stop the cancer from growing.”

You can hear both exhaustion and hope in her voice. She’s been through this before — the endless cycle of waiting for results, holding on to good news for dear life, and bracing herself when the doctors walk in with solemn faces.

Still, she smiles when she talks about her son.
“He’s my hero,” she says simply. “He’s the strongest person I know.”

The Struggles Behind the Strength

The McCall family lives in

a small public housing unit in Pinson, Alabama, where Randa raises both of her sons — Jaxen and his brother, Jadon, who is also autistic.
As a single mother, her life is a delicate balancing act of caregiving, appointments, bills, and exhaustion.

Their car broke down months ago, forcing Randa to rely on Uber and taxis to get Jaxen to the hospital for his treatments — a trip that isn’t just costly, but emotionally draining.


Each ride means carefully packing medications, supplies, and snacks, and hoping they’ll make it through another long day at the hospital without incident.

And when the Alabama summer hits, things get even harder.


The air conditioner in their apartment stopped working, turning their home into an oven. So Randa started staying in low-cost motels near the hospital — not out of luxury, but out of survival.

“Sometimes it’s cheaper than trying to fix what’s broken,” she explained. “At least at the hotel, he can rest comfortably.”

Each night, she watches her two boys sleep — one recovering from treatments, the other curled beside him, both needing her more than the world seems able to give.

“I just keep taking one step forward and two steps back,” she said. “But somehow, I keep going. For them.”

A Boy of Few Words — But Endless Spirit

Jaxen is

non-verbal and autistic, but his silence doesn’t mean absence.
When he’s happy, he claps his hands, twirls his fingers in the air, and lets out a small hum that his mother says is the sweetest sound in the world.

He loves water — always has.
Bath time was his favorite, and every visit to a pool or lake brought out his biggest smiles.

“Ever since he was a baby, he loved the water,” Randa said. “I called him my water baby.”

That’s why this year, for his 10th birthday on October 23rd, she dreams of giving him something special — something that feels like freedom.

“I’m hoping we can surprise Jaxen with a trip to the beach,” she said, her voice softening. “He’s been through so much. I just want him to feel the water again — to be surrounded by something calm, something peaceful.”

For most kids, a beach trip is an ordinary treat.
For Jaxen, it would be a miracle.

A Mother’s Strength, a Community’s Hope

Every parent hopes to give their child the world.
Randa’s just hoping to give her son a few moments of joy.

She’s learned how to stretch every dollar — how to make a little food last, how to find free resources, how to keep the lights on when medical bills pile up like mountains.
But no matter how tight things get, her love for Jaxen never wavers.

“Sometimes, when I’m completely worn out, I look at him,” she said. “And he smiles. Just like that — all the worry disappears. He gives me strength I didn’t even know I had.”

It’s that strength — and the love of people who’ve followed his story — that keeps them going.
Neighbors have dropped off groceries. Nurses have quietly slipped gift cards into her bag. Strangers have donated to help pay for transportation.

Still, every day is a new battle.
Every trip to the hospital comes with new risks, new bills, and new uncertainty.

But also — new hope.

The Boy Who Never Stops Fighting

Even as his treatments continue, Jaxen has a way of brightening every room he enters.
He’ll reach for the hands of nurses. He’ll smile shyly at other children in the oncology ward.
And when the doctors need him to be still, he closes his eyes and does his best — trusting them completely.

“He’s patient and kind,” one nurse said. “He doesn’t understand everything that’s happening to him, but he trusts us. He’s the most courageous little boy I’ve ever met.”

Courage. That word seems too small for someone like Jaxen.
Because courage isn’t just about facing fear — it’s about showing love, even when life hurts.

And that’s exactly what he does.

A Birthday Wish

Now, as October 23rd approaches, Randa’s dream is simple:
She wants her son to feel the ocean.
To watch the waves dance beneath the sun.
To feel the water wrap around him — free from tubes, hospital walls, and pain.

“Maybe the beach,” she says. “Maybe that’s where he can feel peace. He’s always loved water — it’s where he feels most like himself.”

A few friends have begun talking about helping make that wish come true — a small road trip, a few nights by the coast, a chance for Jaxen to be just a boy again, even if only for a moment.

And maybe, if the community comes together, that dream can become real.
Because for this little fighter — who’s spent nearly his whole life in hospitals — a few days of sunshine and waves might be the best medicine of all.

The Boy Who Belongs by the Water

When asked what she hopes for most, Randa didn’t hesitate.
“I just want to see him happy,” she said. “He’s been fighting for seven years. He deserves to laugh. To feel the ocean on his skin. To just… be free for a while.”

And maybe that’s the magic of this story — not the fight against cancer itself, but the fierce, unbreakable love between a mother and her son.

So when you think of Jaxen, think of water — calm, strong, endless.
Because just like the ocean he loves, his spirit is deep and unstoppable.

And this October, when he turns ten, may the waves rise up to meet him — carrying with them the prayers, love, and hope of everyone who’s been touched by his fight.

A Heart Left Behind, Found Again.141

When they brought him in, the confusion in his eyes was unmistakable. The tail that had once wagged freely now twitched hesitantly, unsure of what to make of the world that had suddenly shifted beneath his paws. He turned his gaze toward the people he had loved, the people he thought were his forever family. But they didn’t look back. Their hands didn’t reach down to scratch behind his ears, didn’t call his name with warmth—only the echo of footsteps fading away.

In his crate, he sat surrounded by the few treasures he had left: a soft bed that had once been his sanctuary, a squeaky toy whose sound had always made him laugh, and a worn tennis ball, scuffed and faded from countless games of fetch. It was a tiny collection of comfort, a small world that now felt impossibly fragile. He wasn’t just surrendered; he was left behind.

The first days were the hardest. He waited by the door, eyes glued to the corridor, ears perked for the familiar sound of a returning voice. Hours stretched into days, and still no one came. His toys lay untouched, his bed a quiet witness to his sorrow. Each corner of the shelter whispered the story of what he had lost—a family, a home, a life he had known. Some nights, he curled up tight, as if trying to make himself smaller, invisible, in hopes that somehow they would change their minds. But they never did.

Yet, in that darkness, there was light. The shelter staff, gentle and persistent, began to see beyond his sadness. They saw the sweetness behind the uncertainty, the quiet longing for love, and they offered patience, small acts of kindness, and hope. A hand would reach through the bars to scratch behind his ears. A soft voice would murmur words of reassurance. Slowly, he began to understand that there could be more to life than waiting for those who had left.

Then one day, someone new walked into the shelter. They didn’t rush. They didn’t make loud promises. Instead, they sat down on the floor and looked him in the eyes. With a careful hand, they tossed his worn tennis ball across the room. At first, his tail twitched—hesitant, unsure—but when it landed near him, something stirred. He nudged it back gently, and the ball was returned. Again. And again. With each toss, each careful glance, each small moment of connection, his hesitance melted. His tail wagged a little more, and then a little more still, until it couldn’t be stopped.

That night, he left the shelter. Not alone, not abandoned—this time, he went to a home that would be his. His bed came with him, a familiar comfort in a world that suddenly felt welcoming. His toys, those symbols of the past, were carefully placed in a corner that now resonated with laughter, warmth, and belonging. He didn’t just find a home; he found a family that would never leave.

In that quiet, golden moment, he understood something he hadn’t before. Love could be lost, yes, but it could also be found again. He didn’t just get adopted—he was given a second chance at forever, and this time, he would never let go.