The Diagnosis
The First Night
After hanging up the phone with Dr. Vaughn, I drove to the emergency department at VCU.
The next several hours were spent waiting while they repeated my blood work to confirm what she had already seen. Part of me hoped there had been some sort of mistake, that maybe the lab had mixed up my results or something had gone wrong.
It hadn’t.
While I was in the emergency department, I met one of the residents, Dr. George. We immediately found some common ground when he told me his sister was a veterinarian. It was a small connection, but in a moment that felt incredibly isolating, it was comforting to talk with someone who understood a little about my world.
He gently explained that the diagnosis of leukemia appeared to be correct. However, there were still many unanswered questions. They needed additional testing to determine exactly what type of leukemia I had, which would ultimately guide my treatment and help determine my prognosis.
That first night was surprisingly quiet.
There was no chemotherapy. No dramatic emergency interventions.
They started me on allopurinol to help prevent tumor lysis syndrome, along with medications to reduce the risk of infection, and they drew what felt like countless tubes of blood. Mostly, we waited.
The following morning, I met Dr. Maher, the head of the leukemia service at VCU. Dr. George joined her as they came into my room.
She confirmed what I had already begun to fear.
Everything pointed toward acute myeloid leukemia (AML), although additional testing would be needed to confirm the diagnosis and identify the specific subtype. She explained that 76% of the cells circulating in my bloodstream were blasts—immature leukemia cells that simply shouldn’t have been there.
I remember telling them that I actually felt fine.
I had worked out the day before.
Other than an occasional mild morning headache, I really hadn’t noticed anything wrong.
They seemed genuinely surprised.
Leukemia often announces itself with profound fatigue, recurrent infections, bruising, bleeding, or shortness of breath. Somehow, despite my blood being overwhelmed with leukemia cells, I had been living what felt like a completely normal life.
Because bone marrow biopsies aren’t performed over the weekend, they discharged me that Saturday morning with instructions to return first thing Monday.
It was an incredibly strange feeling to leave the hospital.
Twenty-four hours earlier, I had been planning a trip to Raleigh for a Phish concert.
Now I was driving home with a presumed diagnosis of acute leukemia.
Before I left, Dr. Maher sat down with me and explained what the road ahead might look like.
Her goal, she told me, was cure.
That single word became the thing I held onto.
She explained that treatment would likely begin with approximately twenty-eight days in the hospital, followed by months of frequent clinic visits, blood work, transfusions, and additional treatment depending on how things unfolded.
It was overwhelming.
The next forty-eight hours became a blur.
I began telling my closest family members and friends.
I sat down with Etta and Graham, one at a time, and tried to explain something I was only beginning to understand myself.
I started thinking through what would happen to Veterinary Vision Specialists while I was gone.
I tried to stay hopeful.
Mostly, though, I was just trying to wrap my head around the fact that my life had changed forever.