Phin Phans: Phinish Line In Sight

Phin and Henry IV

Hi Phin phans! Dustin here with a quick update. Let's do this!

Phin was originally predicted to conclude his fourth (and hopefully final) chemo admission at Day 29, which was Tuesday. In the previous post, Neesha discussed the situation that prevented that--the arrival of a molar on the bottom back left side of Phin's mouth. That tooth coming through the gums would probably have been no big deal for a kid with an immune system. Not so for this kid, whose white blood cells and platelets had been almost completely annihilated by chemotherapy when the tooth cut through. Bacteria from Phin's mouth entered through the puncture in his gums and caused a painful infection that swelled up Phin's face, punched his ticket for a multi-day rollercoaster of fevers and chills, and extended his hospital adventure by at least a week.
Phin's projected discharge day is now Tuesday, Aug. 16.
If Phin leaves the hospital on that day, it will close out a four-round in-patient hospitalization that began in March and continued to the present with only three brief interludes. Phin will have spent 126 of the past 146 days in the Children's Hospital.
Phin and Aspen on the go in
the hallways of the pediatric
specialties unit.
We are extremely hopeful that Phin's dear friend and fellow AML fighter, Aspen, will be discharged Tuesday as well. One of their oncologists has been almost giddily calling it "Two-fer Tuesday," and there is something like a spark of excitement in the air on the childhood cancer ward as it prepares to release two of its most familiar figures. Aspen, who is slightly younger than Phin, arrived at the Children's Hospital in January.
For us, at least, that excitement is offset somewhat by a heavy cloud of concern since Phin's sisters are both back in school and there are already reports of absences from Covid and other bugs in both of their grades.
In an effort to reduce the likelihood that we trip on the finish line and accidentally prolong Phin's confinement in the hospital even further by carrying some contagion from the girls to him before his immune system semi-reboots, Neesha and I have resumed the lockdown protocols we implimented during the Great Fluing of May and the Mass Coviding of June.

Phin at Neesha play at the
Children's Hospital playroom.
But this time, instead of me staying put with Phin at the hospital for days, Neesha is there chasing him as he races through the hallways of the unit on his bike. She's there weathering his constant bombardment of bouncy balls and paper airplanes and rubber snakes. She's there sleeping fitfully curled up with him on his hospital bed with his dragon hoard of stuffed animals. And I'm the one who's home now, realizing at last just how hard it must have been for her to be away.

Nurses Erinn and Taylor pose with
Phin after his final CVC dressing
change (we hope).
If you're reading this and wondering, "What happens next?" or "Is that it?" or "Did the treatments work?" or "Is the leukemia gone?" or "If it is gone, will it come back?", believe me, I'm with you. I'm wondering about those same things.

The results of the spinal tap and bone marrow biopsy that Phin will receive on Tuesday should help to answer the "Did the treatments work?/Is the leukemia gone?" questions. For now, anyway.

The other questions, about what happens next or whether the leukemia will come back if it is indeed gone, those are murkier, harder to see.

Stay awake with me this night, like the 140 nights before it, and together we will seek out these answers by staring at the darkened walls of our bedrooms until we either find them, or sleep overtakes us.