We’re still deep in the trenches right now… and truthfully, it feels like there’s no way out. Every day seems like an endless loop of heartbreak, a battle that repeats itself with no signs of relief.
Nothing has changed yet. Each time we step into Branson’s room, seeing him so small, so exhausted, our hearts break all over again. The helplessness is almost unbearable.
Today, Branson had to go back on oxygen because his levels were dropping. The doctors ran every test possible, including another chest X-ray, and thankfully, everything came back clear.
They believe this is just another cruel side effect of the relentless adenovirus he cannot seem to shake. It’s like an invisible enemy that never rests, constantly attacking, leaving him drained.
Yesterday, Branson was infused with more donor cells in the hope of giving his immune system an extra boost to fight these viruses. But his little body is just so tired.
He’s not only fighting the adenovirus and all its awful side effects, but the BK virus has returned too. It’s brutal. Every day feels like a new challenge, and sometimes it feels like we’re watching him being crushed by a storm we can’t stop.
Earlier this week, Branson underwent both a colonoscopy and an endoscopy to figure out why he’s in constant pain, vomiting, and struggling with stomach issues.
The results showed his intestines are extremely inflamed, with a significant buildup of fluid and air in his abdomen. That explained so much of the discomfort he’s been enduring. Thankfully, aside from the inflammation and pressure, everything else looked okay.
Branson is sleeping most days, barely eating or drinking, and so frail. We asked again about placing a feeding tube because his body is so malnourished, but the doctors said his platelets are still too low.
With all the vomiting, they feel it’s too risky right now. We’re praying that in the coming days his counts improve enough for them to place one because he desperately needs nutrition and strength.
The doctors have told us that because of all the harsh therapies he endured in the U.S. before coming here, his body is taking an even harder hit than most children do after a transplant.
Watching Branson suffer day after day is gut-wrenching beyond words. Each time he grimaces in pain, we feel every bit of it ourselves. The helplessness is a heavy weight we carry constantly.
We miss home more than words can express. We miss Donald. We miss Maddox and Maggie. We miss our dog. We miss our people, our routines, our life.
Living this nightmare in real time while the rest of the world keeps turning is nearly impossible. We feel like we’re standing still, waiting for some sign of relief for Branson.
Please pray. Pray, pray, and pray again that these new cells will take hold. Pray that Branson’s body will finally turn a corner.
Pray that the viruses will be cleared, the inflammation will calm, his pain will ease, his appetite and vision will return, and his strength will be restored. Branson deserves to feel good again. He deserves to just be a kid again.
We cling to faith, even when it feels impossible. Every single prayer being lifted for Branson carries us through.
They remind us that even in the darkest moments, we are not alone. The love and support pouring in from everyone around us give us the strength to keep going, day after day, minute after minute.
Every message, every prayer, every ounce of love and support means more than we can ever express. We could not make it a single day without each and every one of you. Your words, your care, your hope—they are what keep us standing. They are what keep Branson fighting.
Watching Branson lie there, we feel both helpless and determined. Every breath he takes reminds us of his strength, courage, and resilience.
We have seen Branson smile, even just fleetingly, between the pain and exhaustion. Those brief glimpses of happiness give us hope that one day he will come through this, healthy and strong, able to live the childhood he deserves.
While waiting for that miracle, we stay by Branson’s side, holding his hand, whispering words of love, and sending up every hope and prayer we can muster.
Every day is a battle, but we know we are not alone. The prayers and love from all of you are lifting us, giving us courage, and giving Branson a fighting chance.
And in the quiet moments, when Branson drifts off to sleep, we stand there, listening to his fragile breathing, silently promising that tomorrow will be different.
A day when his body may heal a little more, when the viruses may weaken, when his smile may return. We will not give up. We will continue to pray, to love, and to stand strong until Branson can return to the normal life he deserves.
Every day is a test of faith, a reminder of the fragility and preciousness of life, but also a reminder of the power of hope, love, and community. Branson’s fight is not just his own—it has become ours, yours, and everyone who is holding him in their hearts and prayers.
And together, we continue to hope for that day when he can finally be free from pain, free to be a child, free to live. A day when Branson’s body is strong, his smile is bright, and his childhood is restored to him. We will never give up.
