The Q life Grief Journey

Quinten went on hospice on April 15, 2025.
He passed away exactly three months later, on July 15, 2025.

That date, April 15th, is etched into me. Not because we expected it to change everything, but because it did.

James and I took Quinten to his appointment at the OU Stephenson Cancer Center that day, believing it would be routine. Quinten had been taking a chemotherapy pill meant to slow the cancer’s growth and spread. His recent lab work showed his AFP tumor marker had increased, so we assumed the doctors would adjust his medication or try something new, understanding that this cancer was stubborn, but still believing there were options.

We were not prepared for what we were told.

Because of the significant rise in his AFP tumor marker, the doctors explained that there was nothing more they could do to treat the cancer. No medication to increase. No alternative chemotherapy to try. The next step was hospice care and a referral to the research study department.

I remember sitting there, hearing the words but not fully understanding how they could be real.

In that moment, I remembered something we were told at the very beginning, back in the fall of 2023: if they couldn’t get rid of all the cancer, it would come back, and when it did, it would come back with a vengeance and spread quickly.

I knew this intellectually.
I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

From the start, Quinten’s cancer journey had been complicated and frightening. His very first round of chemotherapy had to be given in the hospital because the cancer was already advanced. He was given three extremely strong chemotherapy drugs and monitored closely. On the third day, Quinten went neurotoxic. He couldn’t communicate. He seemed lost somewhere far away in his mind.

Doctors rushed in and immediately administered the antidote. We didn’t know if he would recover. His body was swollen from fluid overload, but that felt secondary to the fear that we might lose him, the person we loved, even if his body survived.

Then, on the second day, he recognized James and me.
His speech was slurred, but he was communicating again.

The relief was overwhelming.

Over the next few days, he improved significantly. They completed his chemotherapy, minus the drug that caused the neurotoxicity. But without all three drugs, his chances of eliminating the cancer were reduced. This rare form of testicular cancer, a yolk sac tumor in an adult, is difficult to cure even when caught early. Now, without a key chemotherapy drug, a cure was no longer possible.

Still, Quinten wasn’t done fighting.

He chose to continue treatment, opting for three more months of inpatient chemotherapy. He was determined to gain time, valuable time, and live his life as fully as he could. For three months, our routine became one week in the hospital followed by three weeks at home. Labs. Appointments. Scans. Waiting.

And for a while, things looked hopeful. The fluid came off quickly after his first round. New scans showed that most of the cancer was gone from his abdomen and lungs. The remaining testicle with cancer was removed to improve his chances. His kidneys were holding on thanks to stents, though we learned those would need to be changed in surgery every three months to keep his kidneys functioning.

Despite everything, Quinten was happy.
He was willing.
He was brave.

He accepted whatever was required of him because he wanted to live. He wanted time. He wanted moments. He wanted life.

That is what makes April 15th so devastating.

That was the day we were told the fight had shifted, not because Quinten had given up, but because his body had reached its limit. Hospice did not mean he stopped fighting. It meant the fight changed.

Even in hospice, Quinten was brave. He was determined. He gave it everything he had until the very end.

He lived only three months in hospice.
But in those final months at home, he showed us what courage looks like.
What love looks like.
What it means to keep choosing life, even while preparing to let go.

Hospice entered our story that day, but it did not erase who Quinten was. It simply marked the beginning of our final chapter together, one written with honesty, tenderness, and an unfathomable amount of love.

And I will carry that chapter with me always.