Turns out Jack’s bone marrow is indeed “the shit” – it’s just not my shit. Shit.
“He’s not even close,” said the pediatric BMT nurse when she called with the news yesterday afternoon. Jimmy and I were weaving through the parking ramp of the Science Museum, having just seen the King Tut omnitheater movie and knowing the whole time I had a voicemail from Mayo waiting on my phone.
The nurse sounded rather chipper in her message. Misread, I guess.
We just had talked to Dr. Arndt the day before about what we would do if Jack wasn’t a match and we had to wait to find a bone marrow donor. The trick is to make sure this pesky MDS doesn’t develop into the peskier AML in the meantime. Dr. Arndt had spoken with an international MDS expert at Mayo, but they cut their conversation short hoping it was one we wouldn’t need to have.
Well now we need it. Interim treatment may come in the form of chemo (ugh), but we’ll have to walk a fine line between keeping a cap on the MDS and keeping me healthy enough for a bone marrow transplant.
I’m waiting for a call from Dr. Arndt today or tomorrow. Apparently pediatric and adult BMT have a pow-wow on Wednesday mornings to discuss difficult cases (read: me) and put their big brains together to identify the right path of treatment. How lucky am I to have such a well-oiled machine of big brains working on me?
Until then, I’m officially looking for a match on the National Bone Marrow Registry (Be The Match). So, if you’re out there – maybe someone a little taller with French language skills and more freckles that would rub off on me – I’m looking for a marrow mate. You could be it.
Please join the registry – you may be my one in a million, or you may be someone else’s who needs it just as much.
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