Bridging Chemo: Complete

Hey there, Phin phans. Dustin here with a quick update as Phin prepares to head to the Children's Hospital of Atlanta (CHOA) for the preliminary and preparatory procedures before his scheduled bone marrow transplant (BMT) at the end of the month. 

As you all know, Phin completed the bridging chemo segment of the treatment last week after a harrowing scrape with e.coli that threatened to push back or derail the BMT. But it could have been even worse than that. As we've mentioned before (although not in a while), once people with leukemia start chemotherapy, it usually isn't the cancer that gets them. It's regular old infections--germs that normally wouldn't stand a chance against a functioning immune system. Phin's scrape with e.coli the week before last was the closest we've come to losing him since this whole thing started back in March of 2022, but his physicians made excellent decisions, the antibiotics worked, and Phin recovered. A few days later, he packed up his room, got one last spinal tap and bone marrow biopsy, said goodbye to his nurse squad, and headed home. 

Since it's also been a while since we did a photo essay, here's a quick recap of Phin's time at home so far, on the eve of his first on-ground CHOA appointment. 

Neesha and Phin look back as they exit the Children's Hospital of Savannah. Between his first rounds in 2022 and the treatment after his relapse in 2024, Phin has spent roughly eight months of his life inpatient at this facility. Phin crosses this physical and symbolic threshold with a measure of ambivalence--glad to be going home but apprehensive about leaving behind familiar faces. 

Requests from Phin are few and far between, but one thing he's said he wanted since early in his initial leukemia experience when he was four was to plant a tree--and not just any tree, but a sycamore, which can grow to be so massive that we weren't sure how to realize this dream in our own little yard. The neighborhood HOA made it happen for him, though. Phin's sycamore stands at the edge of the neighborhood playground overlooking the lake. He loved making its acquaintance.

Phin and his big sister Av play on tablets together in Av's room. Phin had missed his sisters tremendously during this latest round. Unlike his hospital stay in February and early March, when his sisters could come visit and even have sleepovers, Phin spent much of the bridging chemo phase in lockdown. Even with those precautions, infection found him anyway...which is why, when Av suddenly came down with a fever mere hours after this photo was taken, the house instant went to DEFCON 2 and Phin was evacuated to his grandparents' house. He'd barely even been home for a day. 

Phin's grandfather takes his temperature as Phin watches TV at his grandparents' house. The orders we received from the oncology team at the hospital upon discharge were clear: Bring him back the minute his temperature exceeds 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit. After we arrived and all that night and the next morning, Phin's temp would repeatedly approach 100 degrees, but it always came back down. His sister recovered the following day. 

Phin and his grandmother play the card game war. Tablet-less for the first time in weeks, Phin rediscovers the excitement of playing games face-to-face with his grandparents.  

The town where Phin's grandparents' live has lots of ponds inhabited by alligators, and a tradition of ours hearkening back to when we had to flee germs when he was immuno-compromised last time is the self-guided gator safari. It's basically just us driving around looking for gators or swooping through parks that have ponds and seeing what kind of reptiles we can find lying around without getting too close. We found three this day. 

His grandparents' town also has a playground that looks like a pirate ship. The last time we were there, he was in remission, and he played there with his sisters and cousins. As he played, we remembered that time, and we talked about how he'll get there again, only this time we'll do it in a way that makes it so his cancer can never come back.

"But it'll take so long," he said.

He's right, but he'll get there. He's on his way. He's made it across the bridge. 

When it cooled down in the evening, Phin, Uncle Kiran, and I went mini golfing. No particularly amazing shots, no holes in one, but Phin lasted all 18 holes. That in itself was a win. 

Last but not least, Phin did finally get to come back home, the sickness there having cleared, and even better because it was Mother's Day. Here he is celebrating with his cousin, G, and his mom. Cousin G embroidered his logo for him. Very awesome. 

That's all for now. On to Atlanta for a few days of appointments, consultations, and examinations at CHOA. Wish us luck, and we'll catch up when we return home at the end of the week.