One year. One year ago today, our lives were changed forever. The day started exactly like today started: a normal May school morning where we are all tired of getting up and dragging out the door. But since 3:00 that afternoon, our lives have not been the same. I remember every detail of that day as if it happened yesterday, but so much of what we’ve been through seems so far away. 

I won’t drag on about the bad we’ve experienced—you’ve all been with us through that. You’ve all visited and read this site over 30,000 times. Without your support, I’m not sure where we’d be, but I do know the way I view the world is forever changed because of your kindness and support. I hope I’m paying it forward in sufficient ways.

To update on the cancer side of things, I am happy to report that the results of B’s six month post-transplant biopsy show 0.00% MRD and 0.00% of anything else. This means there is no trace of cancer, residual disease, nothing; nada.

In the transplant world, and because AML is such an aggressive disease, we can’t exactly consider him ‘cured’ just yet. That will take some time. But to be here today, one year from diagnosis, and to be able to say that he is cancer free is nothing short of a miracle. I remember so vividly lying in bed one year ago, after our family and friends had left.  The last few hours had been spent hugging and crying and laughing and momentarily forgetting the diagnosis from hours before, only to be jolted back to reality. I knew sleep was impossible for that night, but what I’ll never forget is lying next to B in bed, hearing him breathe, and sobbing with every breath he took because I was overcome with fear that I was about to lose him. For the foreseeable future, this fear overcame me. It controlled my life. And I remind myself every single day how lucky we are to have had the treatment he was able to have. How lucky we are to be a normal, functioning family right now. One year away.

That said, our lives are seemingly normal right now. B is back at work and even back in his office. He gets to go to meetings and lunches and gets to see vendors in person. He’s not just escaping to “the field,” ha! He is still taking a trial drug that requires monthly visits to MD Anderson, and he gets his labs checked every two weeks here in town at Ocshner.  Labs are holding strong at healthy levels, despite some of the medication suppressing them, all are within healthy ranges. B has recently gotten to attend events for our oldest, who will graduate kindergarten next week! We’ve gone to movies and ice cream dates and we’ve spent evenings at home fussing at our kids and getting irritated with each other because we are tired and our lives are normal. And it is glorious.

It’s amazing how quickly we were able to slip back in to normalcy. Sometimes I have to remind myself that within the coming weeks, my normalcy was ripped away one year ago, and I stop and think about how lucky I am to be where I’m at now. 

If you’re experiencing a life-altering diagnosis, yourself or a loved one, I hope you can read this and find hope. Trust modern medicine. Lean into your friends and family. And don’t give up. As B has said for the past year, “whatever it takes.”

In sickness and in health.

Prayer Requests:

1. continued progress and cure

2. For Beth, Jamie, Jaymee, and little Alissa

3. For Mr. Don Bernard and his doctors