Cylus’ Surgery: A Rollercoaster of Hope, Fear, and Gratitude

I have hesitated to post an update since yesterday because a lot has happened, and honestly, we are still in shock.

This week was supposed to bring hope, a step closer to recovery, and a moment of relief—but it turned into one of the most terrifying experiences of our lives.

 Cylus didpull through surgery, but not without facing some serious complications that no parent wants to even imagine.

From the very beginning, we knew this surgery was a critical milestone. Cylus’ original tumor had responded to chemotherapy, and the doctors had confidence that its resection could be successful.

We held onto that hope, imagining the relief of hearing that the tumor was gone, that this chapter was finally behind us.

 That hope became reality—his original tumor resection was indeed successful, and the tumor had died. For a moment, it felt like the clouds had parted, a ray of light breaking through the long months of treatment and fear.

But as often happens in life, moments of joy can be overshadowed by sudden crisis. During theliver resection, the surgeons encountered unexpected complications.

Additional nodules were found deep within a section of his liver, so far down that removing them inadvertently caused a major blood vessel tear. Cylus lost all five units of his blood supply in an instant.

The situation was critical. Watching your child’s life hang in the balance is a feeling no parent can ever describe. Fear, helplessness, and disbelief collide all at once.

The medical team, however, acted with incredible speed and precision. They immediately replenished his blood with blood products and successfully repaired the tear.

But the damage caused additional complications—fluid accumulated in his lungs, leaving him fully intubated and sedated as the doctors worked to stabilize him.

He remains in the ICU today, his tiny body still fighting, still fragile, still surrounded by monitors and machines that beep rhythmically with every breath he takes.

Even in the midst of this crisis, we cling to what is good and what has been achieved. The tumor that had plagued our little boy is gone. It has died as a result of the chemotherapy and the surgical resection.

That fact alone should bring immense relief and joy, yet it is impossible to separate that joy from the fear and trauma we experienced. We are caught between gratitude for the medical miracles that saved him and terror over the life-threatening complications he endured.

Yesterday was nothing short of traumatic. I cannot put into words the fear of seeing him in the OR, the hours of waiting that felt like an eternity, and the surreal relief when we were told he had survived the surgery.

 And yet, the ICU stay, seeing him intubated and sedated, reminds us that this journey is far from over. Every monitor, every ventilator breath, every drip reminds us of the fragility of life and the immense strength it takes to survive something so harrowing.

The doctors have been incredible. Their preparedness, experience, and immediate action are nothing short of miraculous. We are profoundly blessed to have a medical team capable of saving our son’s life once more.

 Watching them work to replace lost blood, repair the vessel tear, and manage the resulting complications was a reminder of how precarious life can be—and how vital skilled hands and quick thinking are in moments like this.

I hate cancer. I hate what it has done to our family, to our sweet boy, to the moments that should be full of joy but are instead laced with fear. Words feel inadequate to capture the whirlwind of emotions we are experiencing—relief, gratitude, terror, exhaustion, and hope all at once.

 We are still trying to process the enormity of what happened, still grappling with the fact that our child faced death and lived.

Right now, we ask for prayers. Prayers for Cylus’ recovery, for the fluid in his lungs to decrease, for him to wake from sedation and breathe on his own again.

 Prayers for our family, as we navigate the shock, the fear, and the emotional toll of this life-threatening event. And prayers of gratitude—for the doctors, the nurses, and the hospital staff who acted so quickly to save our son’s life.

I will continue to post updates as they become available. As of now, Cylus is stable, but the emotional weight of yesterday and the lingering ICU stay are heavy.

The joy of knowing his tumor is gone is tempered by the reality of the complications he experienced. It is a reminder that this journey is not linear, that progress can come hand-in-hand with setbacks, and that every moment of life is precious.

To everyone reading this, please pray for Cylus. Pray for his lungs to clear, for his strength to return, for his body to heal, and for his spirit to remain unbroken.

Pray for our family as we navigate the emotional aftermath of a near-tragedy. Pray for hope, for resilience, and for the miracles that are still possible.

Cancer is a monster. It has taken too much from too many families, yet in moments like this, the bravery of a child, the skill of doctors, and the power of love remind us that there is still light even in the darkest moments.

Cylus is our light, and we will continue to fight alongside him with every ounce of our strength.

For now, we breathe in the relief that he is alive, stable, and in expert care, and we brace ourselves for the road ahead, step by step, prayer by prayer.

Our hearts are heavy, but they are full of hope. And we cling to that hope with every fiber of our being, knowing that today, our little warrior survived—and that is worth everything.