44 Days Post Yolk Sac Tumor Surgery: Tubao’s AFP Is Normal

As I sit down to write this, the warm breeze outside gently brushes against the windowsill. It feels like a hug—soft, comforting, and full of hope. That’s exactly how my heart feels right now. The constant worry that weighed on me for weeks is fading. In its place? A peace and joy I haven’t felt in a long time.

Today, I want to share our family’s story. It’s one of fear. Of patience. And finally, a victory we needed more than anything. This is the story of our little warrior, Baby Tu. And his fight against testicular yolk sac tumor—a rare malignant tumor no parent ever wants to hear their child has.

But today, we have good news to celebrate. I need to put it into words. To honor Baby Tu’s courage. To acknowledge our family’s perseverance. And to thank the medical team that stood by us every step of the way. This isn’t just a “good update.” It’s a milestone. A sign that our little boy is healing. And it all starts with a single number: 6.58.

June 8, 2024: 44 Days Post Yolk Sac Tumor Surgery, and Our Hearts Are Racing

June 8, 2024, marks 44 days since Baby Tu’s testicular yolk sac tumor surgery. For 44 days, we held our breath. We counted down the days until each follow-up. We clung to every small sign of progress—like a longer nap, a bigger smile, or a willingness to eat his favorite puree.

We also learned more medical terms than we ever thought possible. Terms like “alpha-fetoprotein (AFP)” became the center of our world. AFP is a tumor marker. It’s a simple blood test. But for families like ours—fighting pediatric yolk sac tumor—it’s so much more.

It’s not just a number. It’s a measure of hope. It’s a signal of Baby Tu’s strength. It’s the difference between lying awake at night, terrified, and closing our eyes, just a little more at peace.

On that June 8th morning, we woke up earlier than usual. Our hands were sweaty. Our hearts raced as we dressed Baby Tu in his favorite onesie—the one with tiny dinosaurs all over it. We drove to the hospital in silence. Each of us was lost in our own thoughts. We tried to stay positive. But we couldn’t shake the nervousness.

We knew this follow-up would include an AFP test. We prayed with all our hearts for a good number. We didn’t need a miracle. We just needed progress. We needed to see that Baby Tu’s body was healing. That the surgery had worked. That the cancer was retreating.

The Exam Room: Fear, Hope, and a Little Warrior’s Smile

When the nurse called our name, we held Baby Tu close to us. We walked into the exam room together. He looked up at us with his big, bright eyes. He had no idea about the worry in our hearts. He smiled. He reached for his favorite toy—a soft, blue bear. He babbled happily, just like any other happy, healthy baby.

In that moment, my heart ached. He was so small. So innocent. And he had already been through so much. But he was strong. Stronger than any of us could have imagined.

The doctor came in. He greeted us warmly. He sat down to talk. He knew how anxious we were. He had been with us since the beginning—from the day we got the diagnosis, to the day of the surgery, to every follow-up visit in between.

He took his time. He explained everything clearly. He never made us feel like our worries were silly or exaggerated. That’s the kind of doctor every family needs in a crisis. Someone who is not just knowledgeable, but also compassionate. Patient. Kind.

Then, he said the words we had been waiting to hear. Words that would change everything for us.

“Baby Tu’s AFP level is 6.52 ng/mL,” he said. He paused. He smiled. And he added, “The normal range is 0-7 ng/mL. He’s in the normal range.”

The Moment We’ve Been Praying For: 6.58, and Normal

For a few seconds, there was silence. I looked at my partner. We both teared up. We couldn’t believe it. We had to ask the doctor to repeat it. To make sure we hadn’t misheard.

6.58. Normal range.

Those two phrases felt like a weight lifted off our shoulders. Like a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. We hugged each other. Then we hugged Baby Tu tightly. We whispered in his ear, “You did it, little guy. You’re so brave. We’re so proud of you.”

To understand just how meaningful this number is, you have to go back. Back to the days before this follow-up. Back to Baby Tu’s third post-surgery check-up.

At that appointment, his AFP level was 8.52 ng/mL. It was a drop from previous numbers. That was good. But it wasn’t quite in the normal range yet. That small gap—just 1.52 ng/mL above normal—felt like a mountain to climb.

We tried not to worry. But it was hard. Every night, I would lie awake. I’d think about that number. Would it drop? Would it stay the same? Would it go up? Those questions circled in my head, making it impossible to sleep.

Patience Is Key: How We Got From 8.52 to 6.58

But the doctor calmed our fears. He told us something important. For children with testicular yolk sac tumor, AFP levels often drop steadily after surgery. Not in huge, dramatic leaps. But in small, consistent steps.

“Patience is key,” he said. “Take it one day at a time. Continue to care for him as you are. Trust that his body is doing the work it needs to do.”

His words gave us comfort. They reminded us that healing isn’t a race. It’s a journey. One that requires patience. Hope. And lots of love.

Over the past two and a half weeks, we threw ourselves into caring for Baby Tu. We followed the doctor’s orders to the letter. We made sure he ate a balanced, nutritious diet. Soft, easy-to-digest foods that would give his body the energy it needed to heal.

We fed him small meals throughout the day. His stomach was still sensitive after surgery. We gave him plenty of water to stay hydrated. We avoided any foods that might upset his tummy.

At night, we took turns staying up with him. We listened to his soft breathing. We watched him sleep. We checked on him often to make sure he was comfortable. We didn’t want to miss a thing—not a single whimper, not a single smile, not a single sign that he was feeling unwell.

We wanted to be there for him. Every step of the way. Just like he had been there for us—giving us strength when we felt weak, and hope when we felt hopeless.

During the day, we try to make things as normal as possible for him. We played with his favorite toys. We read him his favorite books. We sang him his favorite songs. We took him for short walks around the house, helping him build up his strength little by little.

We laughed with him. We cuddled with him. We cherished every moment we spent together. Those small, ordinary moments became our greatest treasures. They reminded us of how precious life is. And how lucky we are to have Baby Tu in our lives.

The Full Picture: From 166.6 to 6.58—A Story of Courage

We never expected a miracle. We never hoped for AFP levels to drop by half overnight. We just wanted steady progress. We wanted to see that number go down, even if it was just a little bit each time.

And that’s exactly what happened.

Let’s look at the numbers again. They tell a story of courage. Of resilience. Of hope.

After surgery, Tubao’s first AFP test was 166.6 ng/mL. That’s a high number. One that filled us with fear. But then, it dropped to 62.07 ng/mL at his next check-up. And now, just 44 days after surgery, it’s 6.52 ng/mL—well within the normal range.

Each drop tells a story. The drop from 166.6 to 62.07 tells of a small body fighting back against cancer. It tells of a surgery that worked. Of a medical team that cared. Of a family that never gave up.

The drop from 62.07 to 8.52 tells of patience. Of healing. Of Baby Tu’s strength. And the drop from 8.52 to 6.52 tells of victory—a small victory, but one that means the world to us.

This Isn’t the End—But It’s a Big Step Forward

I want to be clear: this is not the end of our journey. We know that AFP levels entering the normal range are a huge milestone. But it’s not the finish line.

Baby Tu still has a long road to recovery ahead of him. He will have more follow-up appointments. More blood tests. More check-ups to make sure the cancer doesn’t come back.

We will still worry. We will still hold our breath before each appointment. But now, we have hope. We have proof that Baby Tu’s body is healing. He is getting stronger every day. And we are on the right track.

To Other Parents: You Are Not Alone

To all the parents out there going through a similar journey—sitting in hospital waiting rooms, staring at scary medical reports, trying to stay strong for their children—I want you to know this: you are not alone.

The fear. The worry. The exhaustion. The hope. We feel it too. But please, don’t give up.

Take it one day at a time. Celebrate the small victories. Cherish the ordinary moments. Trust that your child is stronger than you know. They are fighting. And you are fighting right alongside them. That’s all you can do. And that’s enough.

A Heartfelt Thank You to Our Medical Heroes

We also want to say a huge thank you to the entire medical team that has cared for Baby Tu. From the surgeons who performed his surgery with skill and precision, to the nurses who checked on him day and night, to the doctors who guided us through every step—thank you.

You are heroes. You work tirelessly to heal our children. To ease our worries. To give us hope. We will never forget your kindness. Your compassion. Your dedication.

To Tubao: Our Little Warrior, Our Everything

As for Baby Tu—our little warrior—we will continue to love him. To care for him. To cheer him on every step of the way.

We know there will be more challenges ahead. But we also know we can face them together. We have seen his strength. We have seen his courage. And we have seen that miracles do happen—one small step, one small drop in AFP, one small victory at a time.

In one month, we will go back to the hospital for another follow-up. We will hold our breath again. We will say a prayer again. We will hope for another good report.

But until then, we will savor this moment. We will celebrate this victory. We will hug our little boy tight and tell him how proud we are of him.

To Baby Tu: You are our everything. You have taught us what courage really means. You have shown us that even the smallest hearts can hold the biggest strength. We love you more than words can say.

Here’s to more good days. More small victories. A future filled with health, happiness, and all the joy this world has to offer. You’ve got this, little guy. We’re right here with you—always.

Keywords: testicular yolk sac tumor, baby AFP normal range, postoperative tumor marker, pediatric cancer recovery, yolk sac tumor follow-up