The Plan Changed

Wednesday, July 22, 2026

The Tuesday after my bone marrow biopsy felt almost... normal.

I went into work at VVS and saw a full day of patients. I worked out that morning, came home, spent the evening with the kids, and enjoyed what I didn't realize would be my last normal night for a very long time.

At that point, we thought we knew the plan.

Four weeks in the hospital for induction chemotherapy.

Then a few months of outpatient treatment.

It wasn't what I wanted, but it was something I could wrap my head around.

Wednesday morning arrived, and I was packed and waiting for Danielly to pick me up. I was still waiting on a few clothes to finish drying, so there wasn't any rush. Looking back, I think we were probably stalling a little. Neither of us wanted to say it out loud.

It was just the two of us at the house.

It was raining outside, so we loaded all of my luggage into Danielly's Bronco in the rain. At the last minute I grabbed a big straw hat to keep my hair dry while we walked into the hospital.

It's funny what you remember.

Between the oversized suitcases, the straw hat, and the two of us hauling everything inside, we looked like we were headed on a weeklong tropical vacation instead of checking into the hospital for chemotherapy.

We were actually in pretty good spirits.

We had accepted the challenge.

Four weeks in the hospital.

Four more months of treatment.

Okay.

We can do this.

We got settled into my room and slowly started unpacking everything, trying to make a hospital room feel a little more like home.

Then Dr. Maher walked in with George.

Immediately, something felt different.

The lightness they had carried during the previous few days was gone.

They stood quietly at the foot of my bed.

I was sitting on the bed when Dr. Maher looked at me and said,

"We have some bad news."

I honestly don't remember much of what came immediately after that.

It's strange how your brain protects you.

Everything seemed to slow down.

Danielly came over and grabbed my hand.

Dr. Maher asked if I wanted to call anyone.

I FaceTimed my mom. I think my sister joined too. We couldn't get ahold of my dad right away.

Then Dr. Maher explained that the genetic testing from my bone marrow biopsy had identified a mutation called TP53.

It made my leukemia much more difficult to treat.

The plan wasn't just four weeks of chemotherapy anymore.

The new plan was induction chemotherapy at VCU... followed by a bone marrow transplant at MD Anderson in Houston.

Instead of preparing for another four months of treatment close to home, I was suddenly looking at leaving Virginia and living in Houston for somewhere between three and six months.

I don't remember crying right away.

I remember feeling numb.

I had already spent the previous several days coming to terms with having leukemia.

I had accepted chemotherapy.

I had accepted losing my hair.

I had accepted being in the hospital for a month.

And then, in the span of a few minutes, everything I had worked so hard to mentally accept was ripped away and replaced with something far bigger.

That moment was, without question, the hardest part of this entire journey so far.

Not the bone marrow biopsy.

Not chemotherapy.

Not the side effects.

Hearing that my disease carried a TP53 mutation and that I would need a bone marrow transplant in Houston was the moment that truly broke me.

It wasn't something I recovered from in a day.

Or even a few days.

It took more than a week before I could even begin to process what my life had suddenly become.

That Wednesday morning, I walked into the hospital believing I understood the road ahead.

By lunchtime, I realized I had been looking at the wrong map.