London's fight against Leukemia
The kicker....Destany lost her job when London got sick. Please help her, and my nephew London, get back on their feet by donating for their cost of living. If everything goes well, Destany can go back to work in January. Shes super smart, and would appreciate any job offers as well. #cancersucks
From Destany:
You’re sitting in the emergency room with your 6 year old. He’s had a fever for a few days but the leg pain (the leg pain that’s kept him—and you—up all night every night for the past several nights…nights of watching the tears streaming down his face while you do your best to comfort him) is your major concern. Maybe he fell and has a tiny fracture that the first urgent care didn’t see? He was at the pool Monday (a few days before the leg pain started); he could have fallen there. It could be arthritis; it runs in the family (the second urgent care tried to draw blood to test for that, among other things, but they were so terrible to him and it was so traumatic you told them you and your son were leaving answers or none!) You’re not sure, but after two urgent care visits and now the emergency room you’re ready for some answers.
But are you really ready for two doctors to walk in and tell you your son has acute lymphoblastic leukemia and has a massive tumor in his chest that could crush his windpipe? Are they sure it’s leukemia? Yes, they’re sure. They aren’t sure about the type but with the way his symptoms have presented they believe it’s ALL. You glance over at London. He’s just sitting there playing…he can’t have cancer. He’s only 6. Remember when he was 2? He used to sit on the couch with his blankie to watch cartoons and says “toes mommy” because he wanted you to tuck the blanket around his feet. That boy can’t have cancer. Remember turning the music up in the house and you both singing as loud as you could dancing your silly ways to his favorite songs? That kid…he just can’t. But London’s grandparents and your brother are showing up. You don’t have time to think about those things. You can’t cry in front of him. You can’t be scared. And anyway 2 seconds later, or was it 2 years, you can’t tell, you’re being moved to the ICU.
Things like that happen to parents daily. Your kid has lots of bruises—what growing child doesn’t? He’s tired lately—he’s just going through a growth spurt, right? Leukemia is the most prevalent childhood cancer and children younger than London are diagnosed every day. Treatment is at minimum (if everything goes perfectly) a 6 month process of different chemos, steroids, antibiotics, antifungals, anti-nausea, pain medications, appetite stimulants, flushes for the PICC line, and when he upgrades to the port: numbing cream. It’s a 6 month process of sanitizing the house daily because half the time he has no white blood cells to fight off infections (while the chemo is killing the cancer it’s also killing off good cells…like those lovely red blood cells and platelets which have to be transfused weekly along with all the antihistamines he has to take because he has severe allergic reactions to platelets). It’s 6 months, minimum, of weekly and bi-weekly hospital trips to a hospital an hour away, losing your job because you can’t come back to work—you refuse to leave your child, of not being able to leave the house with your son most weeks because he’s too sick, constantly checking his temperature because if it ever gets over 101.5 you have to get antibiotics in him within the hour. 6 months minimum of torture for a sweet little boy who wants to be friends with everyone and anyone.
Luckily for us, London is a fighter. He’s strong, stubborn, outspoken, charming, tenacious, caring, compassionate…he’s all around the most amazing person I’ve ever known and I know some pretty incredible people. I’m so happy to be a part of his life and so honored that I get to be with him every step of the way on this journey to recovery. He’s the only person I know who looks forward to going to the hospital every time, knowing that they’re going to stick a needle in him, knowing he’s probably going to cry, because he gets to play video games with the nurses. That, really, is my son’s personality in a nutshell. He just loves. He’ll happily go through pain to see and play with his new-found friends. He’s the kid who wears his mask gladly because he’s worried about getting other people sick (although I’ve told him before that’s not the case.)
London is in remission. He still has 3 more months of treatment as of October and after that he will have 2.5 years of check ups to make sure the cancer hasn’t returned. 98% of kids go into remission after the first month of treatment and 80-90% of kids overall live over 5 years after diagnosis. London’s prognosis looks great. He’s responded really well to treatment and was just moved from the “High Risk” bracket to the “Standard Risk” which means less intensive treatment and we won’t have to stay in the hospital for 60 days (success!). London should be done with treatment by January and hopefully can return to school at that time. He misses his friends, he misses being a normal kid, he hates being sick, but he does appreciate all the gifts (of course), comments, and love that he’s received. He’s a lucky boy, I’m a lucky mom, and everyone who knows him is lucky to have him in their lives. He’s a miracle in a 46 pound body.
