Hazel’s fevers were relentless.

It was day four, or very close to it, of her persistent fever.

She woke at 5:45 a.m., burning with heat, and her parents rushed her to the hospital by six.

By the time they arrived, the fever had gone away, giving a brief sense of relief.

But the relief was short-lived.

By 4 p.m., after a nap and while still on her afternoon ibuprofen, Hazel spiked a fever of 103.8°F.

Tylenol was given, but even an hour later, the fever refused to break.

Two hours after Tylenol, her temperature still hovered at 102.7°F.

Her parents worried it might be due to the daily GM-CSF injections she received.

To ensure she stayed hydrated, they decided to start her TPN early.

Thankfully, she finally fell asleep, allowing them a small moment of peace.

Earlier in the week, Hazel had woken on Wednesday with a 102.2°F fever.

It persisted for nearly twenty-four hours, only dipping briefly between doses of fever medicine.

Blood cultures showed nothing alarming, and doctors suspected the rhinovirus was the culprit.

Thursday was unimaginably hard.

Despite receiving methadone, oxycodone, Benadryl, hydroxyzine, a ketamine drip, and two doses of dilaudid, Hazel refused to sleep.

During immunotherapy infusions, children typically fall asleep, which helps ease their pain.

But Hazel did not.

She was exhausted from missing a nap, yet sleep would not come.

Before the treatment, she had received a fluid bolus, Flovent to open her airways, and a nebulizer.

She was a wreck, and the hospital stay that day lasted over ten hours.

Both Tuesday and Thursday had demanded long, exhausting days at the hospital.

Friday brought the final day of chemo for this round and a PET scan.

Her parents were thankful for the approaching weekend and hoped her appetite would return.

Hazel was developing more mouth sores, barely wanting to nurse, and had gone nearly twenty-four hours without eating.

For about ten hours now, she hadn’t nursed at all, making TPN crucial to maintain her nutrition.

Most of the day she had slept, waking for perhaps four hours in total.

Her parents held her the entire time at the hospital, just so she could rest.

Though exhausting, they cherished every snuggle, knowing it offered comfort and security.

These days were the hardest, when chemo made her feel “blah” and her counts began to drop.

Hazel’s body endured itching from immunotherapy, and narcotics worsened her discomfort.

After her infusion, she screamed for four hours, frustrated and in pain.

Despite all of this, there were glimmers of hope.

Her PET scan results revealed that the disease previously noted as “new” was likely post-surgery progression, not new cancer.

Even better, all of her SUV scores were decreasing, showing that the treatment was working.

SUV scores indicate how metabolically active the disease is, and Hazel’s numbers showed that the cancer was becoming less aggressive.

Amid the fevers, sleepless nights, and relentless pain, this news brought profound relief.

Hazel was fighting every day, enduring discomfort and procedures with courage beyond her years.

Her parents watched, exhausted but filled with love, celebrating small victories alongside moments of hardship.

Every nap, every swallow of TPN, every tiny improvement in appetite became a beacon of hope.

Even when her body rejected sleep or medicine, her spirit, though weary, carried on.

This week was a testament to resilience — Hazel’s, and her family’s.

Through it all, she remained a child of courage, imagination, and profound endurance.

And though the journey was grueling, moments of comfort, love, and hopeful scans reminded everyone that progress, however small, was real.

Hazel’s story was one of unyielding strength, the quiet triumphs in the midst of relentless challenges, and the power of love and care to sustain even the smallest warriors.