Chemo, round one, ding ding

The oxford dictionary defines admission as “The process or fact of entering or being allowed to enter a place or organisation”. This definition could not be truer to describe Jude’s admission to hospital on the 12th of November 2014. However, Jude did not really have a choice in this matter, as the alternative is not worth thinking about. We have never had any doubt that Jude is a very different child to Levi in every sense of the word. As Jude entered the world that was his room, there was no excitement to be seen on his face, the last seven week admission in the ward next door had wiped that excitement clean off the slate of any elation that he may have felt about being locked in a 4m square room for 3 months. The overall thought process was adequately described when the door closed behind him and he immediately pointed to be taken back out of the room. However, that was the last time he was going to be allowed to pass through that door until his engraftment is completed. Fortunately, prior to entering the room, we did give Jude some time in the playroom, where he got the opportunity to be bossed around by his brother.

The realisation on Jude’s face as he become more apparent that this room was to be his home for what would feel like a life sentence for this little guy was heart breaking. You could almost see the will being sapped from him as he found his way around his new cot. This was a very different experience to what we had with Levi, and we instantly came to the conclusion, that there was not going to be any comparative analysis to what we had gone through nearly 11 months previously. Unfortunately, the doctors and nurses failed to get this memo as we began to get the annoying and distinct feeling that they thought we were experts in Bone Marrow Transplants, they could not be any further from the truth. The constant use of lengthy medical terminology and the often to common statement of “you have done this before so we won’t bother explaining it to you again” was, in short, beginning to piss us off. We put our personally feelings aside and focused on what was important and put the request in to reduce the mattress size to the correct height and minimise the risk of Jude suffering a head injury as well as the all to common moving into the room. The desire to run from the room was not limited to Jude, we continued to question ourselves and the decisions that we have made to go through with this, but, there was no running, we had raised our sails, harnessed the wind and chosen our tack to take. This was to be Jude’s journey, and we had to be his advocates to get him through.

That positive energy was very short lived as Thursday came around. It started off so positively as we were moved into an isolation apartment with Levi so that he could have unimpeded access to his brother. Our team had advised us that if there was to be any possibility that we were going to keep the family together, Levi was not to have any contact with any other children, which was going to be a challenge if we stayed in the house with the other families. But then, as Jude was 2 hours and 15 minutes into his first 2 and a half hour run of Chemotherapy, disaster struck. Jude was sitting at the end of his cot, seemingly alert, however, “seemingly” can sometimes be a very loose term. He crawled down his cot, and within a matter of seconds, his skin mottled, his pulse shot to over 200 beats per minute, blood pressure fell through the floor and oxygen saturation began to drop. On top of all of this Jude’s temperature began to rise and his body began to convulse. This was not a normal response and no parent should have to witness their child going through this and our hearts were breaking as we stood there trying to comfort him. There was no hiding the pain and conviction in his eyes, the beautiful hazel eyes looked at both of us and you could see the question, “why”? It is just not fair.

I don’t apologise if this upsets people, it is not my intention but I fear that it is a consequence of our story, it is not sunshine and lollypops, this is reality. Some people will understand and we love you for that, others will criticise us for sharing to much, and I pray that you will eventually understand our reasons. The truth of the matter is, this first day of chemotherapy has scared us both, and in truth, we do not know what to expect regardless of the fact that less than a year ago we were sitting here typing one of Levi’s first Blog entries. Regardless of how strong our boys are, nothing can prepare you for this, regardless of how much research you do and what people tell you. I have being asked on numerous occasions from people all over the world, what words of wisdom can we offer having gone through this before, the only words of wisdom for anyone is take life a day at a time, appreciating what is special to you and be the strongest advocate for those that do not have a strong enough voice to make themselves heard.