Prepare for Transplant

A decision has been made. After seeing 5% disease in the final results of Ian's last biopsy, the doctor is confident that Ian needs a second bone marrow transplant from an unrelated donor. They had already found several good matches when they were checking the pool of donors for his first transplant, so things should move quickly from here. Please pray they choose the perfect donor for Ian - one that will destroy the leukemia completely forever but not cause too much damage to Ian's body in the process. If all goes smooth, he will start the ablative chemo in preparation for the transplant soon after he recovers from this round. That gives us a countdown of about 5 weeks. 

Ian is vomiting through each night of chemo. He feels the poison in his veins. He misses us and wants home food, not hospital food. The doctor isn't optimistic about him being able to stay home for long. The nadir (low point) of this chemo should be pretty brutal. We are hanging on to grace for each day. Holding on to God through these rough waters. Trusting we are being held. 

I'm still taking a lot of deep breaths, sometimes with quiet sighs of sadness. Fiona asks me "What's this, Mama?" and then she mimics the sound, the breath, and the unconscious expressions I make. It is deep emotion. It is grief. It is pain. It is silent prayer. It is surrender. It is so much, I have no words to explain.

Next Monday, Ian will have his third and final DLI (the lymphocyte infusion that smells like canned corn).  There was debate about whether or not to give it, since he's going for a second transplant. The chance of it doing anything is very low since there's been no reaction so far.  If he gets some gvhd symptoms after this one, however, there is hope the DLI may work and he won't need the new transplant.  It's a slim chance, but if there's still a chance we'd like to try. The only risk is if it causes mild gvhd in his internal organs that we aren't aware of and this weakens him for the transplant. 

Oh there are so many risks associated with the transplant.  I refuse to think much of them right now. Soon enough we will be reading the lists and signing the medical consent forms stating we understand all the myriad ways this procedure could kill him or trigger serious, life-long side effects. There will be grace for that day when it comes. 

Today I am in a warm home, typing this update while my girls sleep peacefully in their cozy beds. Today the girls and I laughed while we drank home-brewed kombucha and made our own super messy "sushi" and edamame. Today Fiona exclaimed with a huge smile of genuine surprise and gratitude, "We're still alive, Mommy! It takes for a long time for us to die!" She also begged me to pray again and again that she could see Jesus with her eyes "in real life, actually, not in my heart" and for him to hold her and heal all her owies so she never has to die. Today Asha told me that she has so much hope, that she really thinks this is just a lesson for us to learn from and that Ian will make it through this. When she saw me starting to sink as I surveyed the ominous road ahead, Asha gently reminded me not to worry about tomorrow. Today the girls played happily together for a miraculously long period of time while Ian and I talked about deep truths and hard decisions and lessons we are learning. We also sat on the phone together in silence, in God's presence, just listening. 

Today has not been easy, but we have been given grace and there will be fresh grace for tomorrow, too. And also for the transplant 5 weeks from now.  I may not actually see Him with my eyes, but I know wihout a doubt that Jesus is with us, holding us, infusing us with the grace needed for each moment. He knows us intimately and understands deeply the path of suffering. He has walked it before, so he knows exactly how to strengthen us on each leg of this harrowing journey. For this we are thankful.