What a morning. I rushed out of Ron Don to make it back to the hospital in time for rounds. The door to the parking garage opened and revealed a bright sunny day with blue sky. “How dare you,” escaped my lips as I told the sky it was inappropriately joyous on this most woeful of days.
I got to Allistaire’s room just minutes before rounds. I opened the blinds and light flooded in. The doctors donned their ugly pale yellow gowns and blue gloves. I knew what was coming, “Allistaire is our four-year old with relapsed, refractory AML,” the resident would surely say. I had bucked at the word “refractory,” in past rounds. Dr. Leary affirmed they would stop using that word. It means unresponsive, it means a disease that won’t back down in the face of treatment and I was not ready to submit to that word until there was evidence to affirm such a wretched label.
“I guess you can say refractory now,” I mumbled sadly. “There were blasts today,” I say and Dr. Learly responds she hadn’t seen that. The resident goes on with the ordinary daily schpeeel and I just couldn’t take it – whether or not she had a stool, what her hematocrit was, etc. What’s the point of all that stuff, I felt. All I could see were the presence of blasts that spell death! I began to crumple on the bed next to Allistaire and I could not stop crying.
I don’t know exactly what happened next but basically, the staff were looking feverishly at the computer and in baffled shakes of their heads, declaring, “There are no blasts.”
WHAT? I could not believe my ears? But there were blasts this morning. I saw it with my own eyes. Absolute Blasts: 10. But, no, they were nowhere to be found, only a few little basophils and granulocytes. Did I see it all wrong? I had kept stammering to the nurse about blasts this morning and she did not correct me. I cannot say what actually happened. The doctor called the lab and confirmed, there are no blasts. The simple reality is probably I read the line on the computer wrong. It is the most wonderful mistake I have ever made.
So friends, yah, I feel pretty bad and really, pretty dumb for putting you all through this. The sun is shining brightly and never has the day more well matched my joy. Today is another day with no blasts. Tomorrow they may come and I’ll just have to refer back to that most woeful post from earlier this morning, but for the moment, hope has risen up once again. I imagine some, if not many, will say I am far too emotional about this all, far too ready to see the worst. I understand that but you see, I see the worst every day. The worst HAS happened. Time after time after time the news has been heart breaking. My friend came up to visit me on the Unit the other day. While her child does not have cancer, she has had another life threatening illness that is in a good spot for the time being, but it wasn’t always so. She told me she had to fight not to throw up coming here. I know that terror that strikes your whole body. We are too linked to sorrow and shriveling hope that it is hard not to be pulled down in an instant by the next wave of bad news. And this morning, when my eyes read that blast count, I was shoved under again. And might I add, in all the mornings I have read Allistaires labs, which occur every single day, I have never had the joy of reading bad results incorrectly or having a lab error, though I have yearned for such!
But I have been given pardon this morning and I will take it with extravagant joy!
Oh Jai and Sten. I am in a puddle of tears. Your losses, my losses. But for today…JOY< JOY JOY!! Big hugs, Robin O
Hooray!!! That is some good news, Jai! I think Jesus was glad to delete that number 10 and zap those little blasts Himself and give you a sunny day. Enjoy your girl!
Wonderful, wonderful news!! Blessings…..
Thank God!!!! For whatever reason, it’s really a sunny day! Prayers of thankfulness you can enjoy your precious girl today. Be extra kind to yourself today, Mama, and breathe.
You have child like faith and that is awesome! To become like children, living in the moment, feeling deeply in the moment, trusting the Lord with every moment. Being real, wearing no masks. This is what the Lord wants for everyone of us who say we trust in Him. To become like little children. To such belong the Kingdom of God. Blessings to you and yours this fine day!
Thank you!!!! Love this post more than I can say. Off to admonish everyone I know to register as a bone marrow donor!
Yes!!! What a sweet little tender mercy you have received! Let that sun shine down on you and that sweet little Allistaire!! 🎉💛🎊
THANK YOU JESUS.
What sweet relief. Praying right along with you for zero blasts, great results later this week, and a U.S. marrow match.
My first thought was little miracle. In tears of joy for you right now. We have a 4yo with epilepsy who magically went in the span of a month from not being a candidate for another surgery (that he desperately needs) to all of a sudden being a good candidate. I love medicine, and I love miracles that happen for us on days when we really need them. Happy sunny day for you guys.
Oh joyous day!! We are praying with you for your precious girl to continue to have zero blasts and great results later in the week. For the Lord to continue to give you both strength and full healing for Allistaire. Signed up and waiting for my kit to come in the mail.. .praying she will quickly find a 10/10 marrow match in the US. And that I can be that hope for Allistaire or someone on a similar journey, through the registry. Thank you for sharing so openly, that our hopes and prayers for her can have the opportunity to take action, through donation.
I’ve wanted to say this for years: Long after our grandchildren have left this earth, your courage to wrestle with God in the moment should be preserved for future Believers. Please write a book someday. Your faith is a shining light because it is so truthful. We, at Bridge, and at church, continue to pray for you.
Don’t ever apologize, ride the random waves of joy that roll unexpectedly your way and cling to whatever hope presents itself but apologize to us never. We are here for you and ever with you. Sweet Allistaire is always in our prayers as are you, Sten and Solveig.
Praying for you and your family every day. I am unable to be a donor due to an autoimmune disease, but my husband mailed off his kit last week. we had no idea how to become a donor until we learned about sweet Allistaire.
My heart is heavy for your burden, then lifted up by how God is working in your life.
I have long since learned to pray whenever someone ‘pops’ into my mind. And your family is frequently in that place. Prayers for unexpected blessing (isn’t it always that way?) And for peace.
Alistair’s smile is so heart warming that it is hard to believe cancer an overwhelming foe.
Blessings to you and your loved ones as we dwell on the advent of Christ’s birth. You are in the prayers of many of the loved ones of our Lord And Savior.