Quincy's Little Cell

We thought we were in the clear after that hairy night at the ER but damn it that shift change meeting failed us again.  No information was passed to the incoming ER doctor that night.  Quincy’s blood never made it to the hematologist group that were standing by waiting to analyze his blood!  An automated machine spit out answers that relieved our hearts but in reality, a human eye was supposed to confirm that Quincy was in the clear. 

We learned this the next morning as our naturopath (Dr. Tran) explained to us that the final answer was still pending.  

I shook uncontrollably.

Andrew and I held on to each other in the laundry room.  We were on speaker phone with Dr. Tran while distant background sounds of Dragon Rescue Riders played on our TV in the other room.  All too familiar. 

Word came back shortly that Quincy's little cell was not there anymore. Not detected by the lab machine, not detected by the pathologist.

Whew.

But Dr. Tran was insistent on giving it another look, so in we went to Hematology/Oncology the next day. After a long meeting and another blood draw, it was confirmed that Quincy’s little cell was not there. Since his other blood counts were out of range, they scheduled us for a follow-up in one month.

Let’s not forget that while all of this was happening, little Q was still suffering with his undiagnosed illness.  Still having episodes and in pain. 

A few more lab requests waited their turn for Quincy's temperamental blood. The plan was to see what his numbers looked like while he was NOT sick.. and... they had a few rare leukemia tests too (I thought we were DONE with this Leukemia maddness!) Three weeks later, we were urged to go get poked again which was sooner than we had planned.

Quincy had his blood drawn in the morning. 

That afternoon, Oncology informed us that they found that ugly little cell again, and his counts were now seriously, pretty alarming.

The next day, we were in the clinic getting a bone marrow biopsy. 

Our world spun wildly.

Could this really be happening?

As I recall all of this, I gasp for air. I would not wish this kind of fear upon my worst enemy.

As we waited while Quincy’s bone was being pierced (thankfully he was sedated), all I could hear was Marcy's voice (my sister in heaven) saying, “You don’t belong here...You don’t belong here”.  

But we DID belong there.

A few hours later, as we were at the park with our boys, Dr. Kuo called us and ripped the bandaid off lightening fast, “So, Quincy has Leukemia”. He said it as if he was shocked, which somehow made it ok to hear...“So, Quincy has Leukemia”.

The ground dropped beneath my feet.

As our boys innocently played, I stood there like a statue.

Speechless. 

Motionless. 

No tears. 

Nothing. 

Everything went silent.  

I was forced to take a sharp turn down a dark and unwanted path. 

I was reborn into an alternate reality that sat like a rotting piece of shit in the bottom of my gut.

I died breathing.