Long hours of isolation

- photo courtesty ShutterBEAN Photography (www.facebook.com/ShutterBEANPhotography)

And I thought my marathon was hard. It pales in comparison to what my wife and son are enduring this week.

When Dominic went through the first round of chemotherapy, it was early in the process for us. We didn't know what was coming next, were still absorbing the news that he had leukemia and still frantically trying to adjust and plan. The 10 days seemed to fly by.

For the second round we know how it all works, our lives are in a new routine and the waiting game has become the toughest part.

Add in the runny nose that Dom persists with and it means isolation for him — and for Trish.

We didn't even realize that he was hooked up to an IV for the entire first round, 24 hours a day. He is again now, but the difference is he wants to be mobile. Luckily the room they're in is bigger so he can zip around in his walker periodically, but it's not the same as when he was touring the entire cancer ward and getting day passes. And for Trish it means very little contact with fellow parents and nurses.

I've been isolated from both of them, having stayed in Medicine Hat to do the 25-hour gaming marathon in support of the Alberta Children's Hospital. But to say I miss them both is an understatement. Thank goodness for technology which allows us to video-conference twice a day.

As for the medical side of things we've learned more about the 7/12 chromosome translocation. It turns out there have only been a handful of documented cases of it — ever. Our doctor has been able to turn up a grand total of one who survived past two years.

The one who did survive required a bone marrow transplant, which is a long, dangerous process on its own. Hopefully we're not headed down that road, but at the moment it certainly feels like it. Whatever it takes, of course, but naturally we'd prefer to have the miracle child who just kicks cancer's butt and stays the heck away from a hospital the rest of his life.

This wave of chemotherapy lasts eight days, and ends Wednesday at 3 a.m. It's made him nauseous and he's not eating well. Trish is counting down the hours.

I'll get to see them again on Thursday. I'm counting down too.