The Bone Marrow Biopsy
Monday morning was one of the strangest mornings of my life.
Instead of heading straight to the hospital, I went to Veterinary Vision Specialists.
I gathered the team and gave them the latest update. At that point, we knew I would likely be admitted to the hospital for at least four weeks. None of us really knew what that meant for the practice, but we all knew we had patients who still needed care.
Almost immediately, we shifted into problem-solving mode.
We started brainstorming relief doctors, and I sent an email to the veterinary ophthalmology listserv asking if anyone might be available to help cover appointments while I was away.
Looking back, it’s funny how quickly I slipped back into “practice owner” mode. Even with leukemia hanging over my head, I was still worrying about my patients, my staff, and the business we had worked so hard to build.
I saw a few patients that morning before Danielly and I headed to the VCU Massey Comprehensive Cancer Center for my bone marrow biopsy.
It was our first time there.
I remember thinking how beautiful the building was. Volunteers were stationed throughout the lobby with little carts full of snacks, tissues, pens, notebooks, and other thoughtful items for patients and their families. It was such a small gesture, but it immediately made the place feel welcoming instead of intimidating.
After more blood work, we met with Dr. Maher and her nurse, Lindsay.
Lindsay was clearly Dr. Maher’s right hand. Watching them together immediately reminded me of my own relationship with Danielly. We joked about how they seemed to work exactly the way we did—Lindsay anticipated everything Dr. Maher needed, just as Danielly somehow manages to keep both my professional life and my personal life running. She’s as likely to be scheduling appointments for my children as she is coordinating surgery schedules at VVS.
It was comforting to see that kind of partnership.
Before the procedure, Dr. Maher talked with us for a while.
She was careful not to promise anything or give false hope, but I remember her saying that she didn’t want to jinx things. She pointed out that I was relatively young, otherwise healthy, and in good physical condition. Those were all positive factors, regardless of what the bone marrow biopsy ultimately showed.
It wasn’t a guarantee.
But it was another small glimmer of hope, and at that point, I was collecting every one I could find.
Then came the biopsy.
If you’ve never had a bone marrow biopsy, consider yourself lucky.
The numbing medicine wasn’t bad.
The pressure wasn’t terrible.
But the moment they aspirated the bone marrow is something I’ll never forget.
It’s almost impossible to describe. It wasn’t just painful, it was a strange, deep, hollow sensation that felt completely unnatural. One of those experiences that makes your whole body instinctively want to pull away.
Danielly stood beside me the entire time, holding my hand.
Ironically, while I was the one having the biopsy, she was the one who nearly fainted. She watched the entire procedure until the aspiration, and suddenly she wasn’t looking so good herself. It gave us something to laugh about afterward, and we still joke that she handled the bone marrow biopsy worse than I did.
When we left the cancer center that day, we were still trying to stay optimistic.
We didn’t yet know the genetics.
We didn’t know the mutations.
We didn’t know what treatment would ultimately look like.
All we knew was that there was still reason to hope.