[an error occurred while processing this directive] [an error occurred while processing this directive]
"Nor Admit the Horse"
Jaymun is moving slowly out of the septic crisis. There were no fevers since early yesterday.
His breathing, although rapid (60x), is slowly improving (down from 80x).
His blood pressure is much better.
He is eating some meals again.
His heart rate is normal.
Having said that, we are 14 days out from 2nd Salvage chemo (2CDA and Idarubacin) and he still has zero neutrophils. Marrow aplasia is something in the back of our minds - although too early to confirm. And his CNS blasts are rising.
Despite rapid breating, he still requires 1 liter of oxygen. This sepsis reminded us his lungs are compromised. Even if by some miracle we were able to secure an 11th hour remission over refractory, relapsed, congenital AML - it is doubtful that his body could survive second transplant rigors. I have not seen clinical second transplant trials with promise.
After a few more months of misery, current therapy (radiation / chemo / transplant) would at best give us another
gaudy "gift horse" - a remission "present" to "celebrate" while the Leukemia stem cells prepare their final onslaught.
"...Thus they pretend, but in the hollow side, Selected numbers of their soldiers hide..."
It makes no sense to tear a big traditional BMT hole in the wall of his poor little body
...just to drag that horse into Troy.
Researchers have resources, drugs with reduced toxicity, vaccines, milder transplants, etc. within reach.
Let's perform a permanent rescue, not be placated with a "proxy".
'Laocoon, follow'd by a num'rous crowd,
Ran from the fort, and cried, from far, aloud:
'O wretched countrymen! What fury reigns?
What more than madness has possess'd your brains?
Think you the Grecians from your coasts are gone?
And are Ulysses' arts no better known?
This hollow fabric either must inclose,
Within its blind recess, our secret foes;
Or 't is an engine rais'd above the town,
T' o'erlook the walls, and then to batter down.
Somewhat is sure design'd, by fraud or force:
Trust not their presents, nor admit the horse!'