Despite an aggressive set of chemotherapy and the transplant, somehow, a test came back showing blasts of cells in Dom's blood.
Leukemia. Fucking leukemia.
That explains why he wasn't doing so well last week. It wasn't another random illness or a reaction to a drug or a random dip between PTLD treatments. It was cancer again.
They won't have an official diagnosis until tomorrow but told us today that they're pretty sure.
In between phone calls and texts to let family and friends know the brutal news, I'm sitting here dumfounded in my kitchen, his empty high chair to my left, the only sound the dull hum of the air conditioner. This is the way it's been for most of the past 11 months, but the short stretches when he and Trish were home gave us hope.
Will he ever sit in that high chair again? Why can't this torture end? I'll take something other than a normal future for my son but dammit, I want him to have one.
I don't know what hope is right now. I only know that we have to focus on tomorrow, keep doing what we can and let the professionals help Dominic fight this thing again.
They'll come up with a plan, but the options may be limited. Last year our primary doctor said that if the cancer returned, you often can't use the same chemotherapy treatment because it's too harsh and besides, it wound up not working, so why bother? But the treatment he had was already super aggressive because the subtype of acute myeloid leukemia he had, the one with the 7:12 chromosome translocation, was extra dangerous on its own.
I suppose it's possible this is a new, different cancer, which presumably would be good news. Today may not be a good time to speculate, however. We have to wait and see, then go from there.
I don't pray. If there is a higher power, I believe it certainly isn't concerned with the minutae of my life or that of my family's.
But there is a tangible community of real people, and folks, I need to lean on you right now. Thanks for thinking of us.