MONROE - Regular transfusions of blood and platelets keep 3-year-old Bryell Schulz from dying.
Blood. It's more precious than a houseful of possessions. It's also the one thing her mother, Sheila Schulz, can't provide.
"What's keeping my daughter alive is what I can't buy her. It's blood. ... And I can't give her my blood. I have cancer," she said.
Her experience has turned her into an advocate for blood donation. "People don't realize the gift they give," she said.
If anyone is entitled to feel angry and sorry for herself, it's Schulz.
With no warning last October, Bryell developed a rare, life-threatening condition called aplastic anemia. Even if a risky and expensive bone marrow transplant saves Bryell's life, the little girl faces a life of medical complications.
Meanwhile, Schulz is on chemotherapy - and will be the rest of her life - to keep terminal breast cancer from metastasizing more than it already has.
Self-pity simply isn't an option, however. If she loses hope, Schulz said, she would lose her will to live. As it is, she feels blessed.
"I know I don't have forever," she said. But her kids need her and she doesn't feel like she's dying. "It isn't going to beat me. I have my kids to raise. I don't feel sorry for myself."
The Monroe mother of four was diagnosed with cancer soon after Bryell was born in 2009. It went into remission, then came back more aggressive than ever. By late 2011, her doctor told her, "You aren't going to live to be an old woman. You need to retire." So, Schulz left her job as a child support administrator in Lafayette County - a position she'd just started months earlier - in February 2012.
In October, Bryell came down with an ordinary cold. Schulz didn't think much of it until her daughter turned jaundiced and developed bruises on her legs. At Monroe Clinic, doctors determined Bryell's cold virus had attacked her liver and bone marrow, causing the aplastic anemia.
"They took her in an ambulance to Madison. They wouldn't even let me drive her," Schulz said. Bryell spent the next two months in the University of Wisconsin Hospital, in isolation because of her compromised immune system. She turned 3 in the hospital, not at a pizza party at Chuck E. Cheese as her mother had hoped.
Worst of all, there doesn't seem to be any reason Bryell was so susceptible to the disease. She had been a healthy kid. Even now she looks like a normal, chubby-cheeked 3-year-old. She loves Dora the Explorer and being held by her mom.
Bryell and her mom share a bond in their illnesses. When Schulz lost her hair, Bryell was the only person she allowed to see her without a wig.
"She was my little angel. She's the most mellow little thing," Schulz said.
It's been hard on Bryell's older siblings, according to Schulz. Hunter, 13, is overwhelmed by anxiety. Alyvia, 9, doesn't talk much about the situation but struggles academically. Ten-year-old Sydney, who Schulz and her husband Marty adopted from the former Soviet state of Georgia, asks questions about death.
"She's already lost one mother," Schulz said.
Bryell has been home since around Christmas but goes frequently to Madison for transfusions. Three times a week, a nurse from Monroe Clinic makes a home visit for a checkup and blood draw. Bryell wears a device on her arm that gives nurses easy access to a vein.
On Friday morning, nurse Amber Shelton sat down in the Schulz's dining room with a laptop and medical bag.
"How you doing? You doing OK?," she asked Bryell. "I brought you some Dora stickers."
Bryell was unmoved by the offer. She wiped a tear away as the nurse drew blood from her arm, then buried her head in her mother's chest.
In general, Bryell is happier at home than in the hospital, her mother said. She's no longer feverish, her medication is working and doctors are pursuing three potential bone marrow matches. Best of all, she gets to be home to play with her siblings, particularly Sydney.
"The room lights up when those two are together," Schulz said.
Blood. It's more precious than a houseful of possessions. It's also the one thing her mother, Sheila Schulz, can't provide.
"What's keeping my daughter alive is what I can't buy her. It's blood. ... And I can't give her my blood. I have cancer," she said.
Her experience has turned her into an advocate for blood donation. "People don't realize the gift they give," she said.
If anyone is entitled to feel angry and sorry for herself, it's Schulz.
With no warning last October, Bryell developed a rare, life-threatening condition called aplastic anemia. Even if a risky and expensive bone marrow transplant saves Bryell's life, the little girl faces a life of medical complications.
Meanwhile, Schulz is on chemotherapy - and will be the rest of her life - to keep terminal breast cancer from metastasizing more than it already has.
Self-pity simply isn't an option, however. If she loses hope, Schulz said, she would lose her will to live. As it is, she feels blessed.
"I know I don't have forever," she said. But her kids need her and she doesn't feel like she's dying. "It isn't going to beat me. I have my kids to raise. I don't feel sorry for myself."
The Monroe mother of four was diagnosed with cancer soon after Bryell was born in 2009. It went into remission, then came back more aggressive than ever. By late 2011, her doctor told her, "You aren't going to live to be an old woman. You need to retire." So, Schulz left her job as a child support administrator in Lafayette County - a position she'd just started months earlier - in February 2012.
In October, Bryell came down with an ordinary cold. Schulz didn't think much of it until her daughter turned jaundiced and developed bruises on her legs. At Monroe Clinic, doctors determined Bryell's cold virus had attacked her liver and bone marrow, causing the aplastic anemia.
"They took her in an ambulance to Madison. They wouldn't even let me drive her," Schulz said. Bryell spent the next two months in the University of Wisconsin Hospital, in isolation because of her compromised immune system. She turned 3 in the hospital, not at a pizza party at Chuck E. Cheese as her mother had hoped.
Worst of all, there doesn't seem to be any reason Bryell was so susceptible to the disease. She had been a healthy kid. Even now she looks like a normal, chubby-cheeked 3-year-old. She loves Dora the Explorer and being held by her mom.
Bryell and her mom share a bond in their illnesses. When Schulz lost her hair, Bryell was the only person she allowed to see her without a wig.
"She was my little angel. She's the most mellow little thing," Schulz said.
It's been hard on Bryell's older siblings, according to Schulz. Hunter, 13, is overwhelmed by anxiety. Alyvia, 9, doesn't talk much about the situation but struggles academically. Ten-year-old Sydney, who Schulz and her husband Marty adopted from the former Soviet state of Georgia, asks questions about death.
"She's already lost one mother," Schulz said.
Bryell has been home since around Christmas but goes frequently to Madison for transfusions. Three times a week, a nurse from Monroe Clinic makes a home visit for a checkup and blood draw. Bryell wears a device on her arm that gives nurses easy access to a vein.
On Friday morning, nurse Amber Shelton sat down in the Schulz's dining room with a laptop and medical bag.
"How you doing? You doing OK?," she asked Bryell. "I brought you some Dora stickers."
Bryell was unmoved by the offer. She wiped a tear away as the nurse drew blood from her arm, then buried her head in her mother's chest.
In general, Bryell is happier at home than in the hospital, her mother said. She's no longer feverish, her medication is working and doctors are pursuing three potential bone marrow matches. Best of all, she gets to be home to play with her siblings, particularly Sydney.
"The room lights up when those two are together," Schulz said.