Wyatt had his first ever ill visit on January 2, 2024.  Wyatt had experienced a few episodes of dizziness.  When he woke up one morning with a headache followed by an episode of vomiting, I couldn't ignore that sinking feeling in my stomach. 

I knew the signs—but Wyatt’s symptoms seemed so mild.  I sent a quick text to one of my favorite ED docs outlining what was happening.  I tried to minimize it, rationalize it—I actually felt a little silly asking.  She responded quickly with, “I’ve scanned kids for less.”   That was all I needed to hear.  Within minutes of that text Wyatt and I were on the way to the ED.  (I thank God everyday for leading me to pursue nursing, in a department that taught me the scary signs and introduced me to colleagues that would be instrumental in catching this early.)

We didn’t wait long.  We got back to a room, talked with a nurse and doc and got a CT of Wyatt’s head.   It wasn’t long before the doctor came back and asked to speak in the hall away from Wyatt.  Something had to be horribly wrong—good news or no news can be shared in front of a child. The walk from his room to the quiet consultation room took an eternity.  She handed me a tissue before she said it—there was a mass in our sweet boy's brain.  

In that moment our entire world changed forever.  Wyatt was immediately admitted to the PICU and 3 days later, on January 5th, a brilliant neurosurgeon was able to remove the tumor in its entirety.   Only 4 days after that, Wyatt came home.  Less than a month later he began radiation.  He sailed through OT and quickly graduated from PT.  He didn’t love them, but took his meds (sometimes 16 doses a day) like no 3 year old I’ve ever seen.  He gets eye drops and gel and wears an eye patch a few hours every day.  Through all the appointments, MRIs and surgeries, so many meds, port accesses, dressing changes, eye gel and patches, all of it—Wyatt has remained the sweetest boy.  He takes his job as a big brother very seriously—you’ll be hard pressed to find little sisters as loved, protected and cared for as his.  We couldn’t have be more proud to be Wyatt’s parents.  We love him to the moon and back.  Please pray for our boy, that this tumor never, ever returns.  The world needs this future farmer firefighter!

"The prognosis on most, if not all, recurrent brain cancers is abysmal—it’s a horrifying reality we worry about every day. We’ve said over and over we want a cure in our back pocket should Wyatt ever need it. We pray he doesn't everyday. We’ve also met so many families that are desperate for a miracle cure now—if there’s any chance we can help move the dial towards that miracle cure, we’ll do whatever we can."  -The Reber Family

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