How it Started…

For months, Kevin had been battling pneumonia that wouldn’t go away — fatigue, trouble breathing, lingering no matter what treatment he tried.

In late January 2026, he went to urgent care, still in his school work clothes. An EKG picked up an anomaly that turned out to be nothing — but it was enough to send him to the hospital. There, bloodwork told a different story: his white blood cell count was severely elevated. A bone marrow biopsy confirmed it.

Acute Myeloid Leukemia. FLT3-positive. You can read more about what that means here.

Kevin went to urgent care that day and didn’t come home for over a month.

The Hospital Stay

Kevin was transferred from Loudoun to Inova Fairfax, and Jessie stayed with him throughout — through the stress and the adrenaline and the long uncertain stretches of not knowing what came next. Jessie’s parents were there from day one, taking care of Zia throughout so Jessie could be present with Kevin. We are so grateful to them.

The induction chemotherapy hit Kevin hard. He developed severe mucositis — sores throughout his mouth and throat so painful that for a long stretch he could not speak, was in significant pain, and lost a considerable amount of weight as well as a. His liver took a real hit from the medications. We are so appreciative of all the visits, cards, and additional support from friends and family throughout this stay.  

He came through it…

Outpatient Consolidation

Since coming home, Kevin has been doing outpatient consolidation chemotherapy at Virginia Cancer Specialists in Fairfax — the phase of treatment designed to maintain his remission while we work toward the transplant. Each cycle is approximately one month, and as soon as one ends, the next begins. There is no real break between them.

Each cycle follows a similar pattern:

Week one is a grind. Kevin has long days of IV chemotherapy (cytarabine) at the infusion center — several hours in the chair, multiple days in a row. He comes home connected to a portable infusion pump on his central line that runs through the night. Eye drops are required every four hours while awake as a precaution against one of the drug’s side effects, which means fragmented sleep throughout. It’s relentless.

Weeks two and three are when the cumulative effects settle in. The IV chemo has ended, but Kevin begins Rydapt — a pill form of chemotherapy that specifically targets his FLT3 mutation — taken twice daily with food. This is also when his blood counts hit their lowest point, when food starts to taste off or metallic, and when mouth blisters return. He makes the 45-minute drive each way to Fairfax multiple times a week for bloodwork and transfusions — red blood cells when his energy crashes, platelets when needed. It’s tedious and tiring, but it’s what keeps him stable while his marrow recovers.  We’re forever grateful to the Virginia Cancer Center.  

Then counts climb, things start to improve — and we go again.

The Central Line

Kevin has a central line — a catheter placed near his heart used for all infusions, blood draws, and the overnight pump. It requires daily flushing and care at home to keep it clean and prevent infection. A close friend who is a nurse and another who is a former nurse and now a teacher have been an absolute lifeline through this — available at all hours for medical questions, hands-on help with the line when we’ve needed backup, and the kind of steady support that has carried us through more moments than we can count.

Life Around Treatment

Kevin’s immune system is compromised throughout treatment, which means life requires constant awareness. When Zia brings something home from daycare — which happens often, because she’s two — we have to move quickly. Jessie’s parents have stepped in countless times to host Zia and Jessie when we need to isolate to protect Kevin. We have had to cancel plans with friends and family more times than we can count, and everyone has been so patient and flexible with us. That grace has meant more than we can say.

Our friends have shown up in every way — including sushi nights and midnight texts that have been a real source of support for Jessie during what is, honestly, a long and often isolating stretch.

Kevin’s colleagues and friends at school have organized an around-the-clock meal train that has taken one enormous thing off our plate during the hardest weeks. The outpouring from that community has genuinely moved us.

What’s Next: The Transplant

Kevin’s bone marrow transplant is planned for July 2026 at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore, after luckily finding a donor match.  He’ll need to stay within an hour of the hospital for approximately 60 days after transplant, so we’ve arranged housing in Baltimore for that stretch. Kevin’s mom, Marie, will be his on-site caregiver and wonderful company for him during what will be a long stretch away from home. Jessie and Zia will be back and forth on weekends.

The transplant is the path to a cure. His care team at Hopkins, led by Dr. Jones, specializes in exactly this and is among the best in the region. Getting there is our north star — everything we’re doing, every cycle, every long day, is in service of that goal.