Lord Business - Remembering Dr. David Dix

DD & JZ - August 2017

We called him Lord Business, inspired by the main antagonist in The Lego Movie that came out in the same year as Jaxon's leukemia diagnosis. Though Dr. Dix had an imposing stature, he had a kind presence and obvious heart for the kiddos in his care - far from the villianous traits of the character who inspired the nickname we gave him. He got a kick out of it. 

His presence in the early days of Jaxon's diagnosis was reassuring - we knew we were in good hands. His optimism and quiet confidence buoyed us through those days of uncertainty. We knew we had some serious business to attend to, and trusted that he would be the one to guide us through.

JZ was only actively under his direct care for the first 6 weeks or so, while we remained in Vancouver right after diagnosis. Our primary care then transferred to our beloved Dr. Ewa and the pediatric oncology team at Victoria General Hospital. When we had to make occassional trips to "the mother ship" at BCCH over the next three years, we got to see Dr. Dix. 

Dr. Dix, JZ, Nurse Clinician Lucy, Marty, Mom
Celebrating the end of treatment in August 2017.

We knew from some of our friends in cancerland that DD was well-loved by his patients and their families. I'm sure he made mistakes and didn't always get things right, but we didn't hear much about that. It was through one of these families that we learned of his recent passing, and we're so sad that he's gone.

Though our interactions with him were limited, it feels as though we have lost a friend - probably because he was a central figure during the most challenging event of our lives so far.

I found this tribute online, and reading it makes me even more grateful that he was part of our story.

Dr. David Dix : June 8 1961 – Dec 11, 2025

David Dix, known affectionately to those close to him as “Double-D,” was an exceptional hematologist-oncologist, clinician, researcher, and educator whose impact was felt locally, nationally, and internationally.

After his initial training in South Africa and a brief career as a general practitioner in rural Alberta, David completed his Pediatric Residency (including serving as Chief Resident) and his Hematology-Oncology fellowship at BC Children’s Hospital. His first academic position was in Toronto at The Hospital for Sick Children, where he began his career as both a clinician and educator, serving as Program Director. He later returned to Vancouver, where he remained until the end of his career.

David was an active member of the Histiocyte Society, but his greatest impact was at the Children’s Oncology Group, where he served on the Renal Tumor Committee and as Site Principal Investigator for BC Children’s. He led the AREN0532 study that changed the standard of care for children with favorable histology Wilms tumor and LOH 1p/16q or lung metastatic disease — work that continues to benefit young patients around the world.

As Program Director for over a decade at BC Children’s Hospital, David was a beloved mentor, friend, and often the “Work Dad” to countless trainees who have gone on to successful careers across the globe. Everyone who trained at BCCH experienced the incredible care and hospitality that David and Susan showed — from summer barbecues in their backyard to living room Journal Clubs. David made everyone feel welcome and part of the team, often by giving them a special nickname, and he always remembered you, even years later. He could always be counted on to be a good sport (dressing up with his fellows) and was always game for dinner at a conference or a fun evening out.

What we will remember most is how David gave incredible guidance and support when we needed it most — both at work and in our personal lives. His tireless work in education was recognized with the Royal College Specialty Committee Chair Service Award in 2013 and the Outstanding Contribution Award from the UBC Postgraduate Medical Education Program in 2025. His career in research and education earned him the rank of Clinical Professor at the University of British Columbia.

David’s greatest legacy, however, lives in the memories of those of us who considered him a friend.

David passed away peacefully at home on Thursday, December 11th, surrounded by loved ones after treatment for cancer. He is survived by his beloved wife Susan, his loving daughters Olivia and Hayley, his new son-in-law Teague, and his cherished pup Phoebe.

May we all remember the wonderful life he lived, the lessons he taught us, and the support he so selflessly gave, as we toast him with a Coors Light (yes, we mocked his choice of beer), a Diet Coke, or most appropriately, with a large glass of Sauvignon Blanc with a few ice cubes thrown in — “South African” style.

– Friends and Colleagues from the Division of Hematology/Oncology/BMT

https://pediatrics.med.ubc.ca/2025/12/15/in-memory-of-dr-david-dix-june-8-1961-dec-11-2025/

S I X T E E N

This number is significant today for a few reasons. 

It's a new year - 2016. Hard to believe that 2015 has already passed us by. So many emotions as we continued on our path through cancer-land, and the new people we met and stories we heard along the way. This community of parents and children is unlike any other I have known. I am honoured to know these families and to share in their victories and heartbreaks.

I realize it's been a long time since I've posted any actual updates. I guess the main reason for that is that everything is going according to the plan! Jaxon continues to have monthly appointments. I've made a blurb on the side bar to describe what his current treatment protocol dictates.

In November Jax had his S I X T E E N T H lumbar puncture (spinal tap) under sedation. If everything continues to go according to the plan and protocol, he will have about 6 more before the anticipated end of his treatment in June 2017. We are well aware that everything going according to the plan is something we should not hold onto too tightly. 

We have now been in Long-Term Maintenance for just over one year, approaching Day 57 of Cycle 5. While much of the time we carry on with regular life and it could appear as though he is "cancer-free", that is not the whole picture. We are ever vigilant to watch out for potential exposures to illness. What is a minor, common, viral or bacterial infection for a child with a healthy immune system ... can rapidly become dangerous for someone like Jax who is immune-compromised. 

The dosages of the oral chemo he gets every day (and extra on Thursdays) are calculated based on his absolute neutrophil count (ANC). They want his ANC to stay between 0.5 and 1.5. Since beginning LTM in Dec. 2014 his ANC has stayed perfectly where they want it. At his last appointment in December, it was elevated above 1.5 so he got a minor increase of his Thursday chemo (methotrexate). He was also at the end of a viral cough/cold, so that could explain his elevated ANC. Since he had been hovering close to 1.5 for several months and then jumped to 2.3, they decided to see how he handles an increase. At his appointment on January 6th we'll find out if the dosage will stay the same or will be adjusted. Some kids run really high ANC all the time and are constantly seeing meds increase, some run really low and are on low percentages of meds. If the standard dose is 100%, some will get closer to 150% and some only 10%. Each kid is different, and the treatment protocol is designed to treat each patient according to their blood counts. He takes his 6MP first thing in the morning, and then has to wait one hour before he can eat or drink anything other than clear fluids. Some days, the wait is easier than others. 

Dex. Ooooooohhhh, Dex. 
Steroids are a powerful cancer fighter. I don't know why or how they work, but they do. Younger kids in cancer treatment take dexamethasone. Older kids and those who don't handle Dex well take Prednisone. They are taken for varying stretches of time all through treatment. Jax had 28 days at the very beginning, 2 stretches of 7 days (with 7 days off in between) in the most intense part of his treatment, and now takes them 5 days every month. Along with Dex comes mood swings, hunger, anger, hunger + anger = HANGER (it's a thing), agitation, short fuse, food cravings and aversions ... etc. The side effects are the most intense while he's taking the meds, and they can last up to a week afterwards. Even when he's not 'under the influence', I see some effects. He often tells me "I just don't know what to DO!" He said once "I wish I could go back to before I had cancer because I used to always know what to do and now I don't know what to do!" I think it's a restlessness and that's the best way he knows to explain it. Knowing he's hungry but not knowing what to eat. Fixating on something to eat but then not wanting it after he finally gets it. It's a tricky balance to navigate his mood swings, knowing that he is battling a chemical force. We work hard to extend grace while at the same time, ensuring he doesn't learn behaviours and carry them into his regular life. Roid Rage is no joke, and it has a mighty impact on many days of our life. 10-14 days of the month ... we tread lightly.

I found this perfectly worded quote online:

We still have to pay close attention to his body temperature. If he spikes a fever over 38.5* we need to get to the hospital immediately to begin IV antibiotics and find out if a bacterial infection is causing the fever. He could go septic very quickly if there is an infection in his port / line / bloodstream. 

I don't think very much about his monthly bloodwork until we get close to his appointment day. I don't dwell on the possibility of relapse, but as any oncology parent will tell you, the nagging thought is never far away. Remission is a wonderful place to be, but it can go sideways at any time. We remain hopeful that his body will continue to respond well to the treatment with minimal long-term side effects. 

At our appointment at BCCH in December he had an evaluation with an Occupational Therapist. He is part of a study group that is monitoring the effects of Vincristine, the IV chemo he gets every month. I don't have the results of her findings yet. He did the same tests after the first month of treatment.  She was short on time so couldn't complete all the exercises, but I'm hoping we can get that done when we go next time.

She was wearing protective gear because he had a cough, and she didn't want to pick anything up and pass it on to other patients and staff. It was the very end of the cough and no one was really concerned he was contagious, but the precautions must be taken.

It was lovely to be at RMH just before Christmas. The Grand Living Room is lined with about a dozen fully thematically decorated trees. The second night we were there, RMH had arranged for a bus to take families to Canyon Lights at Capilano Suspension Bridge. We had a great time, despite the rain. The ride through the city in the big, tall, fancy charter bus was probably just as exciting for my little country bumpkins.

I got to deliver some soft cozy hats made by my friend Jenny and her grade 4 students. Sweet Samantha picked one for herself and had a hard time deciding which of her many friends to give the others to. Jenny just gave me another bag full of hats to share around. She had made one for Jax when he was first diagnosed and it was such a perfect gift. She actually sent two for him in different sizes. We kept one and gave the other to Kaynan, the little guy we shared a room with our very first night at BCCH. 

Jax and Marek are 3 years apart in age but have a special bond as they were both diagnosed with leukemia on the very same day. We met in the halls of 3B. His Mama Amanda holds a very special place in my heart and we keep close tabs on how each other and our boys are doing. The boys follow the exact same treatment schedule. They travel to BCCH/RMH every month from their home in Whitehorse. We see them every six months when we go to our required appointments at BCCH. It should be noted that it's faster for them to drive to the airport, fly to YVR, drive to RMH ... than it is for us to drive to the ferry, cross the water and drive to RMH. 

Intermittently over the past year, Jax has had signs of blood in his urine. Just a few streaks one time and a slight pink tinge half a dozen other times. It's always been just once and then all is normal. No pain, no fever associated with the blood. Way back in the first month of his treatment, it was thought he might have a kidney stone, but nothing has ever been definite. Ultrasounds and x-rays have been inconclusive. Because of this he has had a few nephrology (kidney) and urology appointments both in Victoria and at BCCH. Again, all very mysterious as to what could be causing these random episodes. His kidneys seem to be happy and healthy with no lumps or bumps or kinks or cracks. We expect to just wait and see if any more symptoms occur and his team of docs will decide where to go from there. 

The wait to see the nephrologist was excruciatingly lengthy. 90 minutes after our appointment time, we met this lovely gal from Sydney, Australia. She's a resident, or medical student, or something. Can't remember. She went over his history with me and gave him a thorough once-over. Once she and the top doc looked at the ultrasound pics from the day before and reviewed his urine samples ... they sent us on our way. Poor bubs was super hungry as I let him sleep too long and he had that one-hour wait before he could eat. I had only brought a few snacks and the Dex was talking to him about ALL THE THINGS he wanted to eat. I wish I could remember this lady's name, she was great with him. She couldn't believe how strong he was, beating her twice in an arm wrestle. He could believe it.

This is my friend Sondra and her boy, Lucas. He is S I X T E E N. 

He was diagnosed with Leukemia this week. My heart aches for this dear family as their lives have taken this unexpected and frightening turn. I pray, with hope, that he responds well to treatment and can get back to the business of being 16 sooner than he could have thought possible after such an upheaval. They face the same three years of treatment that we are in the midst of (some different medicines because he is older), but his prognosis is very good. 

when cancer came (part three)

when cancer came (part one)

when cancer came (part two)

We were told the night before that our helicopter would be arriving first thing in the morning, and it arrived before 8:00. Jax had still been dozing on and off so I woke him up with the news of the helicopter ride happening very soon. I had just enough time to grab some more snacks from the parent kitchen. Jax wasn't allowed to eat because of the tests and procedures waiting for him at BCCH. He was calm and trusting as we waited for the paramedic team to get organized. Our morning nurse, Andrea, was amazing.

The paramedics were efficient and professional, and they got him snugly wrapped up for the ride across the water.  He wasn't scared, and I think he was even a little bit excited. I awoke with renewed hope that whatever was causing his blood work to go so wonky would be a temporary problem with an easy solution. There was a mood of anticipation rather than dread. Taking a content 5-year old for a helicopter ride has a way of doing that, I suppose.

Walking across the parking lot to the waiting helicopter.

They offered to take a pic of the two of us before loading.

He went in first and once his stretcher was locked in place,
I went around the other side to find my seat.

It was a beautiful day for a flight, and a great day to save a life!

Our family doctor later told me that just as she was arriving at the hospital to do her morning rounds, she saw the helicopter take off, and knew that it was taking us to Vancouver.

From our friend Joanne in Crofton ... 

"We were outside when you flew over. 

I was praying on the driveway and Geoff was 

waving and praying from the back yard."

(It was Geoff's birthday that day.)

It was really loud! Jax had a headset to dull the sound, no mic. 
He could hear the chatter between me and the paramedics.

This pic was featured on the front page of our
small town newspaper a few days later,
with details about Jaxon's diagnosis.

We landed at the Vancouver Airport and then went by ambulance to BCCH. We later learned that the helicopter flies directly to the hospital for more critical traumas and illnesses. Jax was very critically ill but stable enough to take a bit longer to get to the hospital.

Read here to learn more about the 

Infant Transport Team

servicing BC & Yukon.

I followed the paramedics and their precious cargo down a long hallway. My heart caught in my throat as I saw the sign indicating we were entering the Oncology Clinic. Another long hallway past a bunch of small offices and treatment rooms, then into the heart of the clinic. This was the sign on the outside of the room where Paul was waiting for us. I don't know if he was in the isolation room because of his mild cold symptoms, or if that was the only one available.

Hugs all around and worried looks exchanged between the parents. Tears in Daddy's eyes. He had a long time to sit in that little room and wait for us. Jax settled onto the stretcher bed, still happy and compliant with all we were asking of him. I think someone must have put some freezy cream on his hand in preparation to do another blood draw and to start an IV. It was clear that he required a blood transfusion, but the team needed to know what caused such chaos in his blood. They probably knew much more than they let on at that time, but didn't tell us much until they had confirmation. We answered all kinds of questions about his symptoms, his medical history, family medical history ... many times over for many different people.

We changed him out of his shirt and into a hospital gown as it was easier and comfier for all the exams he endured from various doctors and nurses. A medical student started the line for his IV. He did not cry. None of us were thrilled by the student's shaky hands and the mess she made with his blood on the bedsheet. She admitted that she still gets nervous when starting IVs. But the good news was that she picked a really good vein that served his IV needs well for that day and the next.

As displeased as he was about the IV in his hand, he liked the sticker they put on the cut-in-half medicine cup that was protecting the needle ... a golden retriever puppy, much like our Tucker!

We were moved to a different room in the clinic after that. It was in that room that two doctors, both young and beautiful and both named Ashley, as well as a few other people - nurses? Social worker? I don't know - came in to tell us that they had confirmed the presence of leukemia cells (blasts) in his peripheral blood. With tears in her eyes, Ashley S. told us that they couldn't say definitively that he had leukemia until they looked at his bone marrow under the microscope, but that since they saw blasts in his peripheral bloodstream, it was guaranteed to be in the marrow. 

We learned later that meeting with oncology doctors and parents and bad news is referred to as "disclosure".

We were told that he would be going very shortly for the sedated bone marrow biopsy to confirm his diagnosis and would receive his first dose of chemotherapy into his spine.

It must have been at this point that I didn't know whether to cry, shout, vomit, or lay on the cold dirty floor of the tiny little room we occupied. I was hungry, thirsty, tired, terrified.

I've since heard other parents describe those moments as ...

"and a black fear swooped in"

"And the water rushed all around me

and sucked all the air out of the room."

My friend-in-real-life (and fellow Momcologist) Christie said: said:
"I'm writing to make some sense of all of this. It's moving so fast. And my brain is moving so slow. That feeling when you walk into a room to get something, but can't remember what. The fog. I feel like that - all the time. They kept asking us 'do you understand why you're here?' Over and over. Were they expecting more tears? Are we doing this wrong? What a stupid thing to think at a time like this."

I won't say that it's the worst news a parent can hear, because it's not. There are worse things. This was our hardest thing. For Paul and I - it was our darkest hour.

We probably made some phone calls and sent texts to family and friends then. Jax was content watching movies, though he was very hungry! He hadn't eaten anything for about 20 hours.

They came to take him, and us, to the procedure room. Some call it the bubble room. They have a bubble machine to use as a distraction for distraught kiddos. We didn't need the bubbles this time.

I'll never forget the moment I rounded the corner into the room with Jax in my arms. As soon as we entered with our nurse, what seemed like a dozen people in the room turned to look at us. Most wearing scrubs and stethoscopes, some in gloves already, others with paperwork. Their chatter stopped. They were standing, sitting, waiting to take us and our boy somewhere no child or family should ever have to go.

Paul vacated the room pretty quickly. He knew that he'd be out cold himself if he stayed any longer.

I laid Jax on the stretcher and snuggled him until the sleepy medicine took effect. I remember looking at all those faces as I backed out of the room.

Paul was waiting for me in the hallway, just outside the opaque glass doors that someone closed after I left the room. We embraced, and that's when the sobs came. We stood there a minute or two, absorbing what had just happened. Paul said through his tears, "those were angels in there".

We went back to our little cubicle room with glass doors and drew the curtains. I laid on the bed where Jaxon had watched 3 or 4 movies earlier that day. I sobbed, Paul wept quietly. Suddenly all the "what if" and "if only" thoughts came to my mind. Paul talked me through all that, and we chose to focus on that day forward, and not to dwell on why or how we got to be there.

More phone calls. More texts.

I'm not sure how long he was away from us. I know now that 
a lumbar puncture procedure is typically done in under 10 minutes. A bone marrow biopsy likely doesn't take much longer.

He returned to us on the stretcher from the procedure room, still sleeping. A nurse or two came in to monitor his vital signs as he was coming out of the sedation. A few different nurses were there, trading off, and also chatting with us.

Sometime around 5pm, Dr. Ashley came to tell us that the bone marrow biopsy confirmed the diagnosis ... Leukemia. 

Drowning again. 

There were so many faces we met that first day. Doctors, interns, residents, fellows, students, nurses, social worker, research coordinator ... so many. They told us that although it was known to be leukemia, further pathology testing would tell us what main-type and sub-type it was. Knowing those things would dictate the next steps to be taken. There would be a "Family Meeting" the following afternoon for more details, questions and answers.

Then it was time to head upstairs to the oncology ward. 

Our child. Cancer patient.

Paul, Jax & Clinic Nurse Danielle, as we ventured down more unbearably long hallways, then upstairs to Ward 3B, Room 14.

Because of a Norwalk type of virus that was spreading between the two wards (on two different floors) of the oncology department, space was limited. We had roommates. More about them another time.

Our dear friends Frank and Sherri came to bring us McDonald's dinner (at Jaxon's request and against their better judgement). They brought food, hugs, prayers, laughter and encouragement.

Once Jax and I were fed and settled, Paul left to go somewhere to sleep. I think it was to the Easter Seal House.

That was Day One.

when cancer came (part two)

when cancer came (part one) {here}

I called our family doctor first thing on Wednesday (April 9th, 2014) morning and got an appointment for 12:10pm. The timing was perfect as I could drop the older boys off at their weekly homeschool group class and then go straight to the doctor. That morning there was a meeting for parents about the upcoming changes from the provincial government for the 2014/2015 school year. While the older boys went off to activities with the other kids, Jax stayed close to me for snuggles during the meeting. He received several sympathetic looks from staff and other moms at the meeting. I mentioned my concerns to a few friends after the meeting and they affirmed my decision to pursue bloodwork. Most agreed with me that his complexion looked pale, another friend thought he looked yellow. One friend sent me on my way with a hug and a quick prayer for courage, peace, answers.

While talking with our family doctor, I mentioned my concern about leukemia being the cause of his symptoms. I told her about Debbie. She assured me that leukemia is rare, is not hereditary, and that it was highly unlikely to be the cause. Yet she readily agreed to run bloodwork (at my request), to set all our minds at ease. 

Right from the doctor's office, I took him to the hospital lab for bloodwork. He was a champ! I don't think he even cried, just a flinch at the needle pinch. The boys and I completed our day in town and headed back home. Jax played with the boys next door and made himself a smoothie with Sharon.

At about 6:00pm, the phone rang. Paul answered. After a moment he said "Oh, hello Patricia." And I knew. She asked Paul if I was with him. We went into our bedroom and closed the door, our doctor on speakerphone between us. She said that Jaxon's bloodwork had come back and that it showed his hemoglobin was frighteningly low. (Hgb should have been easily over 100, and it was at 40.) She said "I know I said that this is likely not leukemia, but these are the kind of numbers we see in leukemia." Our stomachs dropped. Voices gone. Tears came. She told us that she had spoken to the pediatrician on-call at the Duncan hospital who agreed that he needed to be assessed quickly and thoroughly. She told us to meet Dr. Z in the emergency department at 8:00. She said that we would not have to wait long to be seen, to tell the triage and registration desk that we were getting a "direct admit" as per our family doctor and would be seen by Dr. Z. At that time I didn't know what "direct admit" meant, now I do. It meant we had a very sick child who needed immediate attention, and we wouldn't be going home anytime soon.

We called Frieda and she immediately started the 90-minute drive to our house. I grabbed my pillow and Jaxon's, as well as his cozy blanket, and maybe a blanket for me. I couldn't think of anything else to take. I must have taken his slippers. He wore big orange rubber boots out the door. He, or maybe the other boys, asked why I was taking pillows and blankets. I said it was because we might be there for a little while and I wanted to make sure we'd be comfy. We fumbled around the house for a bit, I have no idea what we did. I don't think we had supper. Finally, we just decided to make our way into Duncan (25-minute drive). We sent Max and Marty next door to play and eat until Frieda could get to our house to take care of them for the night. I probably called my mom and my sister to let them know what we were doing. I had talked to my sister that day about my concerns, I don't remember if I had told my mom anything at that point. Maybe my sister filled her in?

Updated details from my Mom ...Our phone rang at about 6:45 pm on April 9, 2014. Because it was a Wednesday we had finished supper and I was likely hurriedly cleaning up before the people arrived for Bible Study. It was Laurel-Anne, I think you had asked her to call us. She told me that you had recently been having concerns about Jaxon's health leading to a visit with your family doctor that day. She told me about the call to you at home less than an hour earlier, about the "frighteningly low hemoglobin," and the appointment with the pediatrician in Duncan soon to take place. She also said that you had phoned her to learn about E's anemia after his viral infection.
I went to tell Dad, and as we hugged each other, he asked, "does that sound like leukemia to you?" I answered, "yes." Ten minutes later our friends arrived for Bible Study. We began by telling them what had just transpired and prayed together for your visit with the pediatrician and whatever was to follow.
You were able to phone us at about 10 pm after the visit with Dr. Z and knowing that the helicopter was arranged for the next morning.
I think Laurel-Anne phoned your brothers and families too.
When Dad and I prayed together before falling asleep (yes, I think we did sleep), we determined that we would choose to trust the sovereignty of God. 

When I had heard our doctor mention the name of the pediatrician we'd be seeing, it sounded familiar to me but I couldn't quite place it. We got to the hospital in plenty of time for our 8:00 "appointment". 

Although he was feeling crummy, he was still full of beans and smiles and lovies.
On the way into the ER there were some paramedics hanging around in the ambulance bay and they used some choice words in their conversation just as we walked by. I turned and gave them the stink-eye and carried on inside. As we were sitting talking to the registration clerk, one of the paramedics came in and gave Jax a stuffie. Compliments of Shaw, but still ... I appreciated the sentiment.  Jax would need that buddy over the next few days.

I saw a nice lady come in through the main doors, and as she chatted with someone else in the waiting room before flashing her lanyard to open the door into the ER, I knew why her name sounded so familiar. She had volunteered at our camp a few summers earlier, and she and I had chatted a few times. I don't know if I knew at that time that she was a pediatrician. A few minutes after she went in, Jaxon's name was called. I don't remember if we were seen by a nurse first, or if Dr. Z just came right in to start her examination. 

My darling! What yellow flesh you have!

Dr. Z listened to the history of Jaxon's illness, now hearing it from the perspective of knowing what his blood was telling us. We told her about Debbie. Knowing that his hemoglobin was so drastically low brought much greater urgency to find out why he was still so unwell. She affirmed that it could very well be a viral suppression of his bone marrow, but she did not rule out the fact that it could indeed be "that big scary thing that we really hope it isn't." Further bloodwork would tell us what course of action to take. She prepared us for the fact that he may need to be transported to Victoria or even to BC Children's in Vancouver for further testing. A transfer to Victoria seemed scary enough, knowing that BCCH was a possibility was absolutely mind-blowing. I don't know if she consulted anyone in Victoria, but she did get in touch with the oncology department at BCCH. They told her what blood tests to order. The lab tech came in while Dr. Z was out of the room and commented to us on the vast number of tubes needed to collect all the blood that was to be analyzed. Not helpful, lady. Not helpful. But thanks for doing your job.

Popsicle prize!

After x-ray tattoo prize! Daddy's damp, leaky eyes.

Dr. Z was in and out of our room several times to talk to various people and back to us. She came in to say that BCCH wanted to see him first thing the next morning, and that we'd be going over on the first ferry the next day. When she came in again and said that BCCH wanted him to be FLOWN over the next morning, we were stunned. Again Dr. Z reminded us to hope for the best, but assured us that if it was indeed something big, bad, and scary ... we'd be okay. We could do this thing. The fact that SHE was the pediatrician on-call that night, the way she spoke to us about the serious nature of his illness, the way she cared for us and encouraged us ... we are so very grateful.

We were moved upstairs to the peds ward to settle in for the night. I don't remember any of the names or faces or much of what happened at all. I scrounged around the parent kitchen for something to eat. Digestive cookies and apple juice never tasted so good. Paul went home to gather more clothes and things for me and Jax.

Earlier that week, he had come to me to show me something amazing! "Mom! Look, I can see my heart beeping!" I looked at his chest and indeed I could see his heart beating. Knowing nothing about normal resting or active heart rate for a child, I thought how cute it was that he noticed it. I told him "that's great, it's doing it's job!".  Upon exam in the ER his resting heart rate was noted to be about 132 bpm. Too fast. Because of his severely depleted hemoglobin (the part of the blood that carries oxygen around the body), his heart was needing to work extra hard to sustain his major organs. Several people commented in the early stages of diagnosis that if an adult had such an alarmingly low hemoglobin, we'd be flat on our backs and feeling debilitatingly unwell.

Despite the smiles and "thumbs up", he was really annoyed by the oxygen tubes in his nose. I had to put it back on several times as he knocked it off. One clever nurse adjusted it to go down to his nose from the top of his head, not up from underneath his chin. That worked much better and he finally drifted off to sleep.

I didn't sleep much. I waited for Paul to return with whatever he could think of from home, and I watched this little monitor tell me what his heart rate was (red) and the percentage of oxygen in his blood (green - "sats"). Because his hemoglobin was so low and not doing its job, the extra oxygen he received did the work, and did it well. He stayed on the oxygen all night, and his heart rate and sats remained stable. I found some cookies and milk for myself in the parent kitchen.

Paul came back around 1 or 2 am and snoozed for a bit on the pull-out chair in our room while I snuggled with Jax. The plan was for him to drive our car over on the ferry with our big bag of stuff while Jax and I caught a ride in our own private chopper. Paul caught the 5:45am ferry and got to BCCH before we did.

when cancer came (part three)

RMH & BCCH in December

Most of Jaxon's treatment is done at an outpatient clinic in Victoria, a satellite campus of the BCCH Oncology Program. We are required to pay a visit to The Mother Ship (BCCH) once every six months, and also have to be there for any super duper special parts of his treatment protocol. More about that in another post. And so we went in December. Max and Marty had not yet stayed at the new Ronald McDonald House in Vancouver, so they were very eager to go. I didn't mind taking them, as it was a quick trip with a low-key day in the clinic. It certainly was a lot more work to have the older boys there with me, but I'm glad they got to experience it with me and Jax. It also made things much easier for Paul here at home for me to take the boys as it was during the work week. But next time? I'll try to go with just the wee one.

Heading back to the car after finding some snacks inside the ferry terminal.

Enjoying the view from our complimentary State Room on BC Ferries.
Available to Jaxon anytime he travels, thanks to our super great social workers in Vancouver and Victoria.  I think only the Victoria ferries have state rooms, so that's the route we take. So nice to have space to spread out our stuff (Lego building!) and lay down if needed. Sometimes they even give me the key so we can leave the room to get food or go for a walk. But otherwise we have all we need, even a bathroom! I must remember to take bleach wipes onboard with me next time because it's certainly not any cleaner than the rest of the boat. 

Happy boy to FINALLY be at the new RMH!
Pic taken before I knew that sitting on the slide is a no-no.

RMH Grand Living Room beautifully decorated with fourteen Christmas trees!

One of our favourite clinic nurses sensed that Jax would need a distraction upon entering the procedure room*, so the bubble machine welcomed him for the first time. Good fun while the good sleepy doc snuck some good sleepy milk into Jax's line. I get to stay in the room for his LPs in Victoria, and have several good pictures from previous ones. I plan to post them, with a warning ahead of time for those lightweights who aren't so fond of medical procedure documentation.
*The 30 minutes that Jax spent delaying and trying to avoid getting his port accessed, followed by the hysterics when me and 2 nurses had to just go for it
was a good indication that he was displeased with the goings-on.

He had a visit from physio lady Anne who put him through a whole bunch of tests to check his nerve function in hands, feet, and knees, balance and range of motion on his feet. Vincristine is the medicine that he'll be getting the most of
(has had plenty since the beginning of treatment and will continue monthly through LTM) and it is known to cause neuropathy, to varying degrees.

We soon discovered it was a great day to be at BCCH as the Canucks were there
to visit! Marty and Jax posed with Fin before they chased him down the hall trying to pick a fight with him as he followed the rest of the team upstairs. 

Max's first selfie! Thanks Fin!

My boys were sort of impressed, and were excited enough to pose for a pic with these guys (Daniel Sedin, Weber, Horvat, Higgins). They each got signed postcards from 12 players! We saw our favourite, Dan Hamhuis, and Jax was friendlier to him this time than when we met him and his wife Sarah at BCCH in May.

Our friend Marek!

We met Marek and his parents in the early days following Jaxon's diagnosis. He has the same diagnosis as Jax, received one day apart. They live in Whitehorse where there is no oncology facility nearby. He and his Mom have been living in Vancouver since April, and are eager to head home in the coming weeks. They will fly to Vancouver for the remainder of his monthly treatments. We're so glad that they were still there when we made the trip over to begin LTM. This time he and Jax were in the clinic at the same time, recovering from their LPs in rooms side by side. He is 3, with the same light brown hair and dark brown eyes as Jax. They look like brothers! Super special friends. He cried when it was time to say goodbye. Feeling thankful that he'll soon be home to rough-house with his own big brothers and sister.

This pic taken after I knew it was a no-no to sit on the slide, but just so cute!

Hard to get a good pic of that boy - always on the move!

Me and Marek's mama, Amanda. I'm so very grateful to have a friend alongside me in this marathon who is going through so much of the same things. Every cancer story is different from all the others, but there are so many commonalities as well. Love you, Lady. Thanks for the socks.

We received free admission via RMH to see the Festival of Lights at
VanDusen Gardens.  So many lights! It was hard to take pics of the boys
with the poor lighting and they ran the whole time.  (Looks like I should have looked at the website before we went so we could have seen some of the extra indoor activities. SCANDINAVIAN GNOMES! Lego Room of Joy! Shadow puppet show!) It was lovely, and great fun to make some memories with Marek and his Mum (and Grandma!) outside of the hospital and RMH.