Category Archives: cancer

The Breaking Point

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December 16,2009

Tomorrow is a pivotal day. We go to clinic in the morning for counts. The results will likely determine the course of our holidays – joyful and with lots of family, or a little less joyful and by ourselves at home. I feel like this will be the breaking point for Tanner… and possibly for me, too. We want — no we need – a change of scenery and a chance to forget about cancer, even if only for a few days. The thing is, Tanner feels really good these days. It’s hard sometimes for me to remember to give her midday medicine because she seems so normal. But, still, we’re reminded every day by the places we cannot go and things we cannot do, that she is not normal. Being able to spend the holidays among family would be as close to normal as we have had since diagnosis. I don’t know how I will console her if her counts are too low to go.

The stress of everything depending upon this count check has definitely gotten to Tanner. She has begun in the last few weeks to act out and has steadily gotten worse. We haven’t seen this type of behavior from her since her stint of acting out after diagnosis. What seemed to help her then, and I believe will help her now, is our play therapist, Allison. It is so weird, but without ever talking to Tanner about leukemia or her difficulties with it, Allison is able to help Tanner work out her feelings through play. She says Tanner is very transparent in her play. Last week, Tanner forced animals and dolls to drink “toilet water,” telling them they had to do it and if they didn’t, she would have to hold them down and make them drink it. I think toilet water is actually a really good analogy for chemo.

Tanner is also anxious about moving. What started out as a really positive thing has turned into a source of anxiety. She is nervous about leaving her friend, Corinne, and about meeting new kids in the neighborhood when she has no hair. She has also started obsessing about the dog we lost several months ago, Millie. She writes her notes and puts them on her ashes urn and talks about her all the time. She is afraid to leave the room I am in and won’t go upstairs without either Jake or me with her. She is still sleepwalking and having nightmares, although she is sleeping better than she was several weeks ago. It’s heartbreaking to watch her self-destruct this way. She is eaten alive by anxiety and it manifests itself in bad behavior.

So, please pray for us in the morning. We need good counts. We need a break. I don’t want to have to tell her, yet again, that we will miss something important to her.

Love,
Beth

Another Battle Lost

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November 24, 2009

I am crying as I write this, crying for yet another child who has lost his life to cancer. I did not know him, but every time I hear about cancer taking a child so early, I can’t help but cry out of sadness for the child and his or her parents… and out of fear for my child. There are no words to describe the terror.

My Mom emailed me last week about a little 5-year-old boy she heard about who was losing his battle to neuroblastoma. He loved Christmas and his family was celebrating Christmas early while he was able. They put out a request on their blog that people send Christmas cards to him.

Yesterday, I told Tanner about Noah. I didn’t tell her he was dying, but that his family was trying to do something special for him, just like people do special things for her when she is having a hard time. She eagerly agreed to make a card for him and got right to work. She drew a Christmas ornament and wrote inside it, “Merry Christmas. Hi, my name is Tanner. I am six-years-old and I have cancer just like you. Love, Tanner.”

IMG_1303This morning when I woke up, she had gathered a small stuffed fox, a pumpkin eraser and a little fuzzy ball and put those items, along with the card, inside a large zip lock bag. Thirty minutes ago, I put the bag inside an envelope and addressed it to Noah, added stamps and dropped it into the mailbox. When I came in, out of curiosity, I decided to look him up on Caring Bridge to see if he had a site. He did not, but I googled him and found a host of new stories documenting how his family’s request for cards had gone viral and more than 1 million cards and gifts had come to their home. But, the family was asking people to please stop because they had celebrated Christmas on Nov. 8 and Noah had passed away… yesterday.

I can’t stop crying thinking how I now have to hide away the card and little gifts Tanner collected… little childhood treasures put together from the innocence of her heart… so I don’t have to explain to her that he died before he could receive them.

Noah Biorkmann received more than 1 million Christmas cards before he died yesterday

Noah Biorkmann received more than 1 million Christmas cards before he died yesterday

This disease is vile and heartless. It steals childhoods from innocent children and beautiful children from loving parents. It breaks my heart every day and I am sick of it.

Beth

The Struggle

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November 16, 2009 We continued our quest for uncrowded playgrounds today… neighborhood playgrounds are almost never occupied, just in case you ever need to isolate your kid who still feels good enough to play! Today we went to Liberty Downs playground in Brentwood. We had a contract on a house in that neighborhood when Tanner was diagnosed, which we let go, of course. It’s one of my favorite neighborhoods, though. The whole thing feels like a beautiful park.

They have a nice playground next to a beautiful lake and a little stage where they hold neighborhood events. There is lots of space for running and some beautiful trees, so it’s one of our favorite spots. Today, though, it almost proved too much for Tanner.

To get there, you have to park at the top of a hill and go down the grassy slope to the lake and then down another steep hill to the playground. As soon as we got out of the car, Tanner cried out in pain – her left leg. She wanted me to carry her, but I encouraged her to walk, hoping it might work itself out. It was most likely nerve pain, combined with some pretty marked muscle loss from the most recent steroid bout. She limped down the hill with a grimace on her face, but seemed to be moving a little better at the bottom. She began running, which is once again a real struggle for her. She can do it; it just looks very awkward and like she is running against a current that keeps her from getting anywhere very fast. Her legs don’t seem to really cooperate with the will behind them and her head jerks and bobs with the effort of trying to get her body to do this simple thing that she would like to take for granted.

She fell twice while trying to kick the soccer ball. I had to lift her up into and out of a low fork in a tree she would have scaled easily before the leukemia. She struggled mightily, and with typical Tanner resolve, to get up the “rock wall” on the playground that Jake climbed up in seconds. She fell again, dancing on the stage and scraped her ankle. And, finally, when we left, she had the two big hills to face in order to get back to the car.

Normally, I would have given her a piggy back. I’m all for using play as therapy, but she was beat from an hour of hard play and it’s about 125 yards, mostly uphill. But, I had two soccer balls and some coats to carry. So, I put my hand under her upper arm to help support some of her weight up the first hill. She worked so hard. At the top, she stopped, hands on her knees, to rest. She looked back at the hill, panting, and said, “Corinne could just run right up that hill.”

Corinne is Tanner’s best friend and Tanner is right; she could have run right up. She is strong and athletic and full of energy. While I would pit Tanner’s energy against almost any kid, her physical strength has waned to the point that I wonder whether she will ever fully recover from the damage the drugs and the steroids are doing. Her upper legs are so thin, she looks like one of those starving kids in Africa; there’s no muscle there.

She has never fully gained her physical strength back after the first round of steroids back in June. She gained a lot back, mind you, and surprised me with what she was able to do. But, it was never normal. Now, this second round, combined with the 10-day stint in the hospital, has put her almost right back where she was before. I worry what the five-days-a-month of steroids that she will take for the next year and 10 months of Long Term Maintenance will do to her. Theoretically, she has the rest of her childhood to get strong again, but I still wonder what 2 ½ years of not being able to use her body to it’s fullest will do long-term. Not to mention the possibility that the long-term steroid use can cause avascular necrosis, or bone death, which can have a permanent debilitating effect (one of our leukemia friends is dealing with this now).

It’s scary and seems unfair, but I try to remember this: someone (I don’t remember who) told me that they knew someone who had leukemia when they were young and that it was a miracle this person survived at all, because leukemia at that time was a “death sentence.” It’s true. Even just 10 years ago, Tanner’s chances of beating this would have been notably different.

So, I try to ask myself, “If a doctor came to me when Tanner was diagnosed and said, ‘She will die within a month without treatment, but the treatment is very tough and can have some lasting side effects,’ what would we choose?” Of course, we would choose the opportunity for life. If it means she’ll never be a super athlete, it’s still better than the alternative, right?

I’m trying to learn to be more grateful for the treatment. For the chemo, the steroids, the plethora of medicine. It’s so easy to despise, but really, it’s a lifesaver… literally.

Love,
Beth

A Nice Weekend

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Just a quick post to say we had a nice, normal, relaxing weekend. Aside from some occasional nausea, Tanner continues to feel really good even though she has been taking IV chemo for the past four days and continues her daily oral chemo through Thursday.

Thursday is her last day of chemo for Delayed Intensification! John and I cannot believe it. We’re going to have a little Bye, Bye DI party for her (just us, of course, since her counts will likely be very low) with a cake, etc. It is a huge landmark in this journey and one that marks the end of the really rigorous portion of leukemia treatment. We feel so lucky to have made it this far with so few delays. This portion of treatment is supposed to last 6-9 months and Tanner has made it in 6 months so we feel really fortunate.

We played at the playground (see Tanner’s post earlier today) this morning and met some other kids. Tanner asked initially for her hat to cover her head, but got busy playing and handed it to John to hold. She was hanging on a little bar that glided across a fixed crossbeam, a zip-line of sorts, with two other kids and having a great time. It was a little nerve-wracking since her port was accessed, but she made it very clear I was not to tell her to be careful in front of her new friends! Those kids never asked about Tanner’s hair. In fact, at one point, she asked them if they knew why she didn’t have any hair and the boy said, “You have cancer,” and that was the end of that. I love kids… they’re so accepting.

Great weekend, looking forward to an uneventful week. We’ll be pretty isolated since we have to assume her counts are really low, but we’ve been enjoying this good weather and taking advantage of it.

We’re lucky, all things considered, to have arrived at this point without any more difficulty than we have had.

Love,
Beth

Courage

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November 10, 2009

Tanner, Jake and I went in search of an uncrowded playground yesterday. We ended up at River Park in Brentwood. There were a few little boys Jake’s age, but not really any one else around. Tanner and I sat on a dinosaur together and watched Jake play with three little boys. She was not wearing her wig… she hasn’t worn it for even one minute since she shaved her head… and had a Hannah Montana bandana wrapped around her head.

While we were sitting there, another Mom sidled up to us and tactfully said, “Where does she go?” She caught me slightly off guard, but only for a second before I replied, “Vanderbilt.”

She told Tanner she liked her bandana and then stood next to me as we watched Tanner run off to play. Then she said, “My son went to St. Jude, but finished his treatment at Vanderbilt; we lost him when he was 12.”

We hadn’t even exchanged names yet, but I already knew her. I knew the long hours she spent in hospitals, dosing out medicine, waiting for test results, soothing a sick child, wishing it could be her instead of him. I knew her without saying anything else. I knew her except for that hole in her heart, which I have had to face but never had to actually accept.

After telling her how sorry I was for her loss, I said, “I can’t possibly know what it feels like to lose a child, but I can imagine it… because I’ve had to.” She just nodded.

John and I have had to face the possibility that Tanner might not live at least twice; once when she was lifeflighted to Vanderbilt for a drug reaction and doctors could not tell us whether she would live or die; and the other when she was diagnosed with leukemia. It’s a feeling you can’t really appreciate unless it’s happened to you, just like the feeling of actually losing a child is something I’ll never truly understand, although I think I might have a better idea than most.

The thing that struck me about this woman, who had lost her son just 4 years ago, was that she smiled when she talked about him. She explained that just last weekend, they had hosted the Hoover Run for Hope in Brentwood, in honor of her son, Liam Hoover, and that they had raised over $40,000 to give to St. Jude and Vanderbilt to help families of children with cancer. She and her husband had found a way to turn their grief into something positive and she was amazing in her strength.

This Cancer Parent Club is not one I ever wanted to join, but now that I’m here I find I meet the most amazing people. Fighting this horrible disease can sometimes bring out the best in someone. It’s a by-product of facing your worst fear every day and trying to make the best of it. I’m better for knowing the people I have met through this process, including Michelle Hoover, Liam’s mom. I’m touched by the stories they choose to share and by the way they unfailingly put aside their own worry or grief to try to soothe mine.

My Mom sent me an email from a friend of hers that had a quote at the bottom that struck her as appropriate and meaningful and I agree:

Courage does not always roar. Sometimes it is a quiet voice at the end of the day, saying… “I will try again tomorrow.” –Mary Anne Radmacher

Yesterday, a quiet voice sidled up to me at a playground and showed me how to keep trying even when everyone would understand if you gave up.

Love,
Beth

Kicking those steroids to the curb

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October 21, 2009 Tanner finished this pulse of steroids tonight! Yay! No more until Long Term Maintenance. It is my understanding that steroids affect the kids in all different ways… some get hyper, some get really belligerent, some get super sad. Tanner acts as if she has been run over by a truck. She is just limp— physically and emotionally. Today, I was helping her get to the bathroom and I noticed she didn’t grip my hand at all, she just let it lay in mine… limp.

I am feeling better today. The antibiotics kicked in and I was even able to take off my mask. My friend Beth invited us over this morning to hang out at her house with mutual friend Anna Lynn and her daughter Elise while the two earth mommas were making applesauce (no one even suggested that I participate in that!). It was a great idea because it gave me the opportunity to wear Jake out running on Beth’s acre and a half while Tanner could lie on the couch. Tanner really wanted to go, even though she felt so bad. I carried her to the car and she slept most of the way there. When we got there, I carried her in the house and put her down in a big, comfy chair and she never moved until we left. Just sat in the chair and watched TV and spoke when she was spoken to. Poor thing. Jake did get the expected exercise looking for the geese that were not at the pond and jumping over goose poop (his idea, not mine). Tanner got a change of scenery, but she was wiped out when we left.

Beth and her husband Glenn came over later and made us some yummy shrimp scampi and ate with us. It was a nice day, despite the fact that Tanner felt so lousy.

Now, we just have to wait until the steroids get out of her system. She started to get a stuffy nose and is coughing tonight, so I’m hoping she’s not getting sick. She said it was hard to breathe, which could either mean her lungs have some fluid in them or she could have low hemoglobin, which carries oxygen in your blood.

She is also losing hair by the fistful. At this rate, she may not have any hair by next week. I must have combed big piles of dead hair off of her 7 or 8 times today… it’s heartbreaking. She doesn’t seem bothered by it, but she’s so numb from the steroids, I don’t know if that’s a true reaction or not. I pulled a big hunk off her back today and put it in my jewelry box so later, when she is bald and missing her hair, we can pull it out and remember how beautiful it will be when it grows back.

This is definitely the most tenuous and stressful phase of her treatment besides the first month after her diagnosis. It is every bit as difficult as we imagined it could be. I am worried constantly. Does she look anemic? Is she getting sick? What will this next round of chemo do to her? Will she need a transfusion? How will she handle losing her hair? Will she be able to trick-or-treat? Etc., etc., etc. It’s exhausting. Oddly enough, I’m not normally a “worrier.” But, you would have to be dead not to worry. I’m trying to just look ahead one day at a time… that’s all I can really count on.

Tomorrow is Clinic Day. We’re just going in for counts, so it should be quick unless she needs a transfusion, and then it will be really long (see what I mean by not being able to count on anything?). Hopefully, she beats the sniffles and doesn’t wake up sick. They told us she would likely be in the hospital 2 or 3 times during DI, but surely they didn’t mean all in the first month?

Love,
Beth

Tanner Page… My Hero

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IMG_1231October 2, 2009 Tonight, as we crossed the Shelby Street Bridge, I looked behind me and in front of me to see thousands of illuminated red balloons, marching along at a determined pace, sweeping along with them the occasional bobbing white balloon for blood cancer survivors and too many gold balloons marking the loss of a loved one. Among these red balloons carried by those who love and support someone currently fighting blood cancer or someone who has survived and beaten it, somewhere around the middle of the pack, was a white balloon attached to a red wagon carrying a pale, but determined six-year-old propped up on pillows and wrapped in a pink High School Musical blanket. That child was my daughter and I was prouder of her in that moment than I have ever been before.

When I left the house at 5:30 pm to make my way to LP Field and meet up with Team Tanner, she was in my bed having managed to choke down a slice of bread and some applesauce. It was the first food she had eaten since the night before and she looked weak and sick, but was firm on the fact that she and John would meet me at the walk a little later. On my way downtown, John called to say she had thrown up 3 or 4 times and that they would not be coming. My heart sank… she wanted this so badly, had worked so hard to raise this money. While we were still on the phone, John says, “Wait, she’s up and says she’s coming!” We talked about keeping her home, but decided to let her make the call and she and John said they would be on their way shortly.

Tanner arrived, packed comfortably in her wagon, with a tired smile on her face, but happy. She said she felt better and joked and posed for pictures with the team. She never got out of the wagon except to go the bathroom and, even then, I carried her the few steps to and from the port-a-potty, but she never complained, and even perked up enough to, hilariously, eat a barbecue sandwich while being pulled through downtown Nashville by her Dad. She made it on sheer grit, a childlike desire for fun, and a maturity I had never seen her show on this level.

The walk was a beautiful event. The weather was perfect, downtown Nashville sparkled and there was an impressive turnout. I thought I would be a weepy mess, but I only cried once, when we found the luminary that Keith Harper created for her, lit along the side of the road with many others. It said, “Tanner Page, My Hero.” Indeed.IMG_1228

Other than that, it was a mostly joyous event that was too uplifting to make me cry. Even those who were walking in memorial of a loved seemed to be celebrating a life lived well, if not ended well.

Our team was wonderful and perfect, a great mix of our friends, some co-workers, some former co-workers, some church members, and some just old friends. I am glad to have shared this magical night with them… it was special for all of us, I think. Thanks to Robin, Kim, Beth, Glenn, Paula, Rebecca K and Rebecca L, Anna Lynn, Abbey, Amy, Keith, Leslie, Pat, Bobby, Lauren and Larry for walking with us. And, many thanks to everyone who donated; we raised more than $7,500. Larry wins the prize for having travelled the furthest; he hails from New Jersey and had flown in the night before from Maine, just to walk with us. Rebecca K wins the trooper award for walking nearly two miles and standing on her feet for an hour beforehand while 9 months pregnant (I am not worthy…). We are blessed many times over to have such wonderful friends who are carrying us through like the red balloons carried the whites.

We carried adorable signs that Robin made, with pictures of Tanner and slogans like “We love Tanner,” and “Team Tanner Rocks.” I think Tanner realized, for the first time, that she is not alone. That there are lots of people with cancer, that there are tons of people who love her, and that she is never alone in this journey, although she probably feels like it sometimes.

On the way home, I looked into the rearview mirror to see my little girl, asleep with the chain of glow bracelets Anna Lynn had brought her looped over her ears and dangling down, ridiculously. She had joked only minutes before that they looked like earrings, then asked if she could have her nighttime meds when we got home because she was starting to feel sick again. She looked beautiful and strong, even though she was pale and physically weak, and I marveled at her determination.

This is my daughter. And she is fighting cancer tooth and nail.

Love,
Beth

Blessings & Curses

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September 30, 2009 Tomorrow will be both a blessing and a curse. It is the long-awaited day of the Light the Night walk for Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, a joyous day we have been really looking forward to. But, it is also the first day of the Delayed Intensification treatment phase, a day we have been dreading.

It will be an odd day, but I think it’s awesome that it will end on the up note with the walk at 7:30 at LP Field.

We are still hopeful that Tanner will be able to come, but there are certainly a lot of hurdles to jump. First, her counts will have to be high enough for the doctor to clear her (we’re pretty confident about this as her counts have been high and she did not have chemo last week). Second, if her hemoglobin has gone down and she has to have a transfusion tomorrow, we will be at clinic for so long, we probably wouldn’t make it. Third, she has to feel like coming (and this is where we may find our sticking point).

Tanner’s first day of Delayed Intensification starts with a bang. The whole goal of this phase of treatment is to ferret out and destroy any insidious little leukemia cells that may be hiding, and for that job, they bring in the heavy artillery. Tomorrow, Tanner will have a lumbar puncture with and injection of methotrexate, an IV infusion of Vincristine and an IV infusion of Doxorubicin, a chemo she has never taken. In addition, she starts the dreaded oral steroid, dexamethasone. We’re hoping with a nap in the afternoon, we can bring the wagon and pull her when she gets tired. She really wants to come. So, we’ll see.

We are so honored by those who have chosen to donate to Tanner’s team. It floors us that we have had to raise our goal not once, but 3 times, due to the overwhelming generosity of friends, family and some we have never met. We have currently raised more than $7,200. I cannot find the right words to thank people enough or to explain what this has meant to us… to have something like this to look forward to.

Our friend, Rebecca Little, has a way with words and best summed up the way this event has made us feel. She said we must feel like the guy on the cell phone commercials with the huge network behind him. Only our network is one of love and support! What a perfect analogy! Every donation, every person signed up to walk, every wish for success, has wrapped us in love and support… and tomorrow night we will literally be surrounded by it. I so hope that Tanner can come. She needs to feel what John and I feel, and I think tomorrow night is the kind of night even a six-year-old can understand.

Thank you is not the right word… I just can’t find one that is adequate.

Love,
Beth

Lemonade for Leukemia

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Lemonade for Leukemia

Lemonade for Leukemia

September 28, 2009 This afternoon, Tanner, Jake and I made a pink sign that said, “Lemonade for Leukemia.” Then, while Tanner had school with Mrs. O’Hara in her classroom, Jake and I made lemonade and packed the wagon with a card table and chairs, cups and Leukemia and Lymphoma Society red bracelets.

At 5:10, we pulled the wagon across the street and set up shop. An hour later, we packed back up, having collected $259 for Tanner’s Light the Night Team. Yes, you read correctly… $259!!! Tanner is so excited. We came home and I thought after dinner we would count up the money and make the donation on-line. But, Tanner had other ideas… she wanted to know if she could have the loose change that John and I throw into various containers throughout the house. Needless to say, we’re taking it tomorrow to Kroger to put it in the Coinstar machine to be counted.

But, here’s the best part… she lost a tooth today (that’s a whole other story) and we put it under her pillow for the tooth fairy. After putting her to bed, I came down to eat dinner and she showed up on the balcony and said, “Mom, I want to write a note to the tooth fairy to ask for extra money for Light the Night. Can you help me?”

So, she dictated the following note:

Dear Tooth Fairy,
Please leave extra money so I can get ahead of the other team and have the most money for Light the Night.
Love, Tanner, Jake, Mommy and Tanner

She asked me, while I was writing the note, why I kept laughing. I wanted to tell her that I loved her competitiveness, her never-give-up attitude and her wonderful innocence in thinking that we could somehow make up the $4,000 that separates us from the first place team. That is the attitude that will help her come through this stronger than before and I love seeing it.

So, look out! Tanner Page is on a rampage to be the high dollar fundraiser for Light the Night this year.

I want to thank my friend Robin Embry for putting together this Light the Night team for us and all my dear friends at Lovell Communications for jumping in to help. I don’t think we would have ever done this without her and it has turned out to be the most positive thing for us. I know that I’ve dedicated a lot of blog space to this event, but it’s not just because we want so badly to see this cancer eradicated. This fundraiser has given us, and especially Tanner, something positive to focus on and has empowered her to feel like she could have some effect on this disease. That is priceless and we thank everyone for helping her feel this way.

Now, excuse me while I go find my wallet and make sure the tooth fairy is generous.

Love,
Beth

This Is How a Cure Happens

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September 27, 2009 I’ve been sitting here on the sofa for the last hour writing thank you emails to those who have donated to Tanner’s Light the Night Team. I’m happy to say it’s not the first time I’ve spent time writing thank yous for the event, nor will it be the last, as I am still not finished. I’ve had tears in my eyes for the vast majority of the time I’ve been writing. I can’t believe the generosity of our friends, our family and those we have never even met.

Tanner was so excited when I told her that we had passed our goal. In fact, we haven’t just passed it, we’ve blown right by it in a flurry of generosity that has made me hopeful that someday, no one will have to ever get leukemia. In the past four days, we have raised another $1,000 for a total, as of this writing, of $5,920. I can’t believe it!

This is a how a cure happens… one donation at a time… donations in honor of a little girl who appreciates it so much.

We’re planning our lemonade stand for this week so Tanner can contribute as well. She’s really excited and so hopeful that she’ll be able to walk with us on Thursday. John and I said today it will be a “perfect storm” of circumstances if she is able to come, but we’re still hoping.

We had a wonderful weekend. My parents took on the responsibility of Tanner’s medication (I didn’t realize how complicated it was until I tried to explain it) and kept the kids overnight while John and stayed in downtown Nashville Friday night. We had a great dinner at my favorite restaurant, a good night’s sleep and a leisurely, uninterrupted breakfast before meandering our way home Saturday afternoon. It was wonderful and my parents are awesome. They stayed with us Saturday night and the kids loved getting to see them.

Tanner has had some odd moments of not feeling well and not being able to describe her symptoms that have me worrying about her red counts, but her energy continues to be great, so I’m trying not to worry about it. Poor thing, I keep staring at her face to see if her lips are blue and picking up her hands to look at her fingernails. I’m sure she’s sick of me.

We have some cancer kid friends that need your prayers … Tanner reminded me last night not to forget to pray for Kinsee – an eight-year-old with T-cell ALL who goes to St. Jude on Tuesday to begin preparing for a bone-marrow transplant. She will undergo intensive radiation and chemo treatments until all the cells in her bone marrow have been killed and her white counts are down to 0. Then, they will transplant the donor’s marrow into her bones and see if she recovers. She will be in the hospital for a minimum of 100 days. This is a very dangerous procedure that, Thank God, is not part of Tanner’s treatment plan.

Another eight-year-old you have probably heard me talk about, Lily, has had very low neutraphil counts. Neutraphils are your big, infection-fighting white cells and a normal count level would be from 5-10,000. Lily’s neutraphils last week were at 300. She has had to be pulled out of school until her counts recover, after just having been able to return. Lily has not been feeling well the last two days and has had a low fever. Please pray that her immune system recovers and she does not have an infection or virus.

Thank you so much to everyone who has donated to help stop this disease, or at least find a more humane way of treating it.

We love you,
Beth