From Pripyat, with Love

When we brought Asher into the clinic on March 11, he was feeling awful. The combination of pain, vomiting, along with the rapid loss of motor control is a solid recipe for having an unpleasant demeanor, yet, though he was certainly a pitiful sight to behold, he wasn’t mean or harsh with anyone.

It wasn’t long before the oncologist showed up, but it wasn’t Asher’s usual doctor. In fact, his doctor was a woman we hadn’t met before. She had a distinct Eastern European accent, and Asher latched onto it immediately. She asked him if he could guess where she was from, and his first guess was “Ukraine.” With a slightly surprised look, she responded, “Yes.” His follow-up question was probably a little unexpected coming from an eight-year-old, “Ever been to Chernobyl?” Of course she responded that no one could live there right now. They continued this back and forth about Ukraine, the city of Pripyat, and radiation for the next few minutes. It was a fun exchange to witness, to the point where I almost forgot why we were there. She ended their little conversation with, “Now I have something to tell my friends about.”

One of the reasons I write these things is a matter of fatherly pride. Parents love to talk about my kids, so it brings me joy to share a story about a time and place where my son, in the midst of immense suffering, was not only respectable, but downright charming.

On the medical front, the onset of his symptoms was a clear indicator of swelling in his brain. The fastest way to treat it is with a large boost of steroids, followed by a gradual step down while monitoring his symptoms for any negative changes. Accomplishing this would require admission to their inpatient facility.

The inpatient care at St. Jude is by far the best I’ve ever seen in my experience. The rooms, the staff, and the care were all top tier. I could continue gush about it, but suffice it to say that I never once worried about the level of care he was receiving.