Day 366

Today is one year since Eli's transplant. It would be day 366.

I just keep thinking about last year. How we were so damn hopeful. It felt like we had been treading water for so long and FINALLY we were doing something proactive. Something that could/would heal my baby.

It was our only hope. Of course we were hopeful.

Bone marrow transplants typically have a 90%-91% success rate. Eli's bone marrow doctor told us he thought there was somewhere between 50%-80% chance it would work. Eli' immunologist thought it was in the ballpark of 60%-70%. But a bone marrow transplant not working could mean death or it could mean the cells fail to grow and another transplant is needed. A second transplant is always more risky.

The day after Eli's transplant, Jerry and I went out to eat. I think I was eating mussels, but it may have been oysters. I took a bite and my molar came down on something hard. I was temporarily horrified. I fished the hard thing out of my mouth and it was a pearl. A true pearl that had formed in my mollusk from a grain of sand under immense pressure. And it felt significant. It felt meaningful. It felt rare. So I kept it.
I've had my pearl in a baggie in my purse for nearly a year. This week I received a silver charm imprinted with Eli's fingerprint, which I had ordered a couple of months ago. The Duke BMT Family Support Program provides one fingerprint charm for every child that goes through bone marrow transplant. You can order more through them as they receive a reduced rate through the company they use. We were finally able to get Eli's fingerprint on a piece of cardstock when he died. He hated feeling messy so we kept putting it off. I finally ordered my charm of his fingerprint in February. When it came I knew I needed to put it in a chain with my pearl. I now have a charm of Eli's condensed ashes (about the size of a pencil eraser), a charm of his fingerprint (about the size of a dime), and my pearl in a pearl cage, all on a chain. And I love it.
Just because what I hoped for didn't come to be doesn't mean my hope was unfounded, and it doesn't make my pearl meaningless. Of course we had hope. We had hope so powerful you could practically touch it. It felt contagious. Even though it hurts to remember that hope now, it was right and true at the time. And even though I thought my pearl symbolized the struggle of Eli's health and moving toward a beautiful life with him, I'm glad I kept it. It doesn't symbolize any particular struggle or hardship for me anymore. It symbolizes a moment. A particularly hopeful moment. That hope is good and hope exists, even if I don't have any of my own.

We're going to the Suns game shortly in Eli's honor. I have mixed feelings about it. It will probably be a lot of socializing, which is hard, but I knowingly brought that on myself. I know a number of people will be there and it is so kind of them to give their Sunday afternoon in a gesture of love. We have the best people.
I am going to eat french fries with loads of ketchup and salt and that is going to be amazing.