Miracle in Rome: 11-Year-Old Branson Declared Cancer-Free After Groundbreaking Treatment.1047
Branson Blevins: An 11-Year-Old Warrior on the Road to Healing
For 11-year-old Branson Blevins, life has been a battle from the start. Diagnosed with leukemia, he has endured months of grueling treatments that would test the courage and resilience of anyone, let alone a child. But Branson has faced every challenge with strength and determination, supported by the unwavering love of his parents, Donald and Nichole.
Branson’s journey took a remarkable turn when his family traveled to Rome, Italy, seeking a compassionate treatment protocol not yet widely available. In recent days, their prayers were answered with news that felt almost miraculous: Branson was declared cancer-free and successfully weaned off his ventilator. Nichole, his mother, shared the update with a mixture of relief, gratitude, and cautious optimism.
“Today, we met with the oncology team here in Rome, and we are overjoyed to share that everything is looking incredible and full of promise,” Nichole wrote. “Branson is recovering so well. Over the next couple of days, they plan to remove his full face mask and transition him to something smaller. His heart, lungs, and vitals all look great. He’s still getting a lot of rest as his body continues to recover from the heavy medications used during his 10-day coma, but the doctors are extremely pleased with his progress.”
Branson’s recovery has been nothing short of remarkable. After enduring a life-threatening battle that required intensive care, heavy medication, and a 10-day coma, he is now on the path toward regaining his strength. But the family’s journey is far from over. In just six weeks, Branson is scheduled to undergo a bone marrow transplant—a critical step to secure his remission and ensure the leukemia does not return.
Nichole described the procedure: “The plan is for them to begin the aphresis of my stem cells the day before the transplant, and it will be a live infusion, no harvesting needed. If all goes smoothly, recovery from the transplant will take about a month. That means… we could be coming HOME sometime before Christmas!” The thought of returning home filled the family with hope, a light at the end of a long, arduous tunnel.
The doctors in Rome have been clear about the stakes. Branson is in complete remission, and the transplant will serve to lock in this hard-won victory. The chances of relapse are estimated at 10–20%, but the medical team is optimistic, confident that they have found a path to cure. Nichole shared the excitement of the groundbreaking treatment: “This therapy was offered to Branson as a ‘compassionate treatment’… a last-ditch effort to save him, and IT WORKED. How amazing is our God?! The team here is passionate about opening doors to help more children worldwide, even though their country is small and resources are limited.”
Beyond the medical progress, Nichole emphasized the power of community in Branson’s journey. Families, friends, and even strangers have rallied around him, offering prayers, encouragement, and support. The doctors themselves were moved when they learned about the global support network Branson has built. “When I showed the doctors Branson’s support group and told them about the parents who’ve reached out with children battling the same diagnosis, they were blown away by the love surrounding him,” Nichole wrote.
Despite the incredible progress, the family remains cautiously hopeful, knowing that every step must be carefully monitored. They continue to ask for prayers—for zero complications, a flawless transplant, and the day when Branson can finally come home fully healed. “Please keep praying for our boy,” Nichole said. “We love you all so much and truly couldn’t walk this road without your prayers and support. Thank you for standing with us every single step.”
Branson’s story is one of courage, perseverance, and the power of love. From his difficult diagnosis to the innovative treatment in Rome, he has shown remarkable strength in the face of adversity. As the days progress toward his transplant and eventual recovery, the hope is that Branson will return home to his family, healthy and free from leukemia—a living testament to resilience, faith, and the miracles that can happen when the world stands together.
For now, Branson continues to rest, recover, and inspire everyone who knows his story. And with each prayer, each message of support, and each hopeful thought sent his way, he moves one step closer to a life filled with laughter, play, and the bright future he so richly deserves.
A Morning That Changed Everything: Pulling Life from the Edge.284
This morning hit me harder than anything I’ve experienced in years. I’ve pulled dead calves before. I’ve stayed calm while assisting older vets, using chains, accepting the loss as part of life. But today was different. Today, it felt like my heart left my body. I was completely overwhelmed, powerless against emotions I couldn’t control.
Last Thursday, our cattle vet had come to check Big Mama and start the AI process. Everything seemed routine—he palpated her, inserted the CIDR, and gave instructions. By Monday, I had followed through, removing the CIDR and giving her the shot, expecting a smooth process.
But this morning, something was wrong. While feeding the Corrientes, I noticed a stringy, bloody discharge from Big Mama. She seemed uncomfortable, uninterested in her food. Then, at 8:45 am, she started pushing while standing. My stomach dropped.
I called the vet’s office, but the person who answered wasn’t the vet. They said they’d relay the message. I messaged my husband, sending videos and pictures, knowing instinctively that something wasn’t right. By 9:05 am, Big Mama lay down. I was cleaning the horse stalls when she let out a deep, gut-wrenching moo. I rushed over and saw her water bag coming out.
Panic set in. We had no idea she was pregnant. The vet had checked her just last week! I was alone—no vet, no husband—just me watching this unfold. I sent a picture to my brother Brett, who said she might be aborting or going into premature labor. But that made no sense—we were scheduled to AI her tomorrow.
Then, without warning, she started pushing. By 9:10, she was lying down, her hooves barely visible. My mind flooded with everything at once: anger that no one noticed she was pregnant, fear of pulling another lifeless calf, happiness at being there for her, and heartache at seeing her struggle during what should have been her seventh smooth delivery.
Brett guided me over the phone, but I wasn’t prepared. No chains, no towels, no gloves. The pen wasn’t even clean. As the hooves appeared, I braced my feet and pulled as she pushed. Five, ten minutes passed—legs emerged, then the tongue. My heart pounded as I made sure the baby’s face didn’t get pushed back, which could suffocate it.
I clung to the slippery legs, praying, while Mama pushed again. Finally, I managed to pull the baby fully out, but then it got stuck. I urged Big Mama to stand, hoping gravity would help, and pulled once more. The calf hit the ground. I cleared its nose, adjusted its tiny body—and suddenly, it shook its head. It was alive.
I broke down. Fear, relief, exhaustion, and joy crashed over me all at once. I had been terrified of letting Mama down, of letting this baby down. I called my husband, sobbing. My mother-in-law came, and Brett’s wife, Heather, checked on me. I wasn’t okay, but the calf lived.
Finally, the vet texted: “If you hadn’t been there, neither Mama nor baby would have made it.”
That morning was terrifying, heartbreaking, and beautiful all at once. I felt every emotion possible, but above all, I felt alive—because I had been there when life itself was fragile and fleeting. I will never forget it.
