April 10

With love, I want to keep everyone updated. 

Strother is doing… both better and worse, sometimes in the same hour.

There are moments that feel almost normal—like when he’s hungry late at night and gets IHOP to deliver pancakes for Hodge and himself, or when he shows me he’s put $5 on a Cubs game, (not condoning gambling here, I’m recognizing this is typical teenage boy stuff). Those things can make one forget about the other stuff. Almost like he doesn’t even have other stuff. 

And then there are the other moments. The ones where getting out of bed that day is probably not going to happen. When a quick blood check turns into a three day hospital stay because of an incredibly low white blood cell count coupled with a nasty UTI. Something small for you or me turns into a hospital visit for Strother. It’s a recalibration of expectations to be sure. 

Medically, here’s the most accurate and most meaningful information as I understand it right now: the cancer is not completely gone-gone. The primary germ cell tumor—the one they expected—has been almost entirely obliterated by chemo. But there are still mixed cells in all this mass and it can still be pre-cancerous teratoma.

The next step was never optional, and it will not be a simple surgery. The goal is to remove the entire remaining mass, both because of where it sits structurally and to clear out anything that could still cause problems. These cells will be sent out post operatively and be analyzed thoroughly. 

There is a small chance they won’t be able to remove all of it. Or that some of the cells studied are problematic. If that happens, we’re back in it—another round of chemo or whatever else our team deems necessary.

Small chance. Not zero.

I am writing this because the end of chemo certainly felt like a victory. It is. But it’s not the end of this challenge. 

And I DO celebrate late night food deliveries AND I am mentally preparing for surgery conversations. And what could come next. 

This weekend he’ll be at Cooks. Had IV antibiotics and needed one blood transfusion unit. Not hungry right now. In fact, no appetite at all. At this point, with his blood cell counts at the lowest they go, and with an infection, he is in the safest place possible.

I know he’s over it. Mentally. His body is not. 

With diligent care and lots of midnight meals to come, we’ll help him catch up. And we are right here with him, finding the small victories in all of it.