POULSBO — Bob and Carrie Schmidt sat with their son Bobby at Children’s Hospital in Dallas, Texas, waiting for the results of a bone marrow biopsy performed the day before.

They followed their doctor down a hallway, walked into a small office and shut the door. The walls were beige under the dimly lit fluorescent light.

The room smelled of alcohol with an unnatural cleanliness. In the middle of the room under the overhead light was a brown leather exam table. A man resembling a 6-foot, red-haired version of TV’s Doogie Houser sat slumped, hands at his sides, looking uncomfortable.

Each second of silence drafted another ping of uncertainty.

Dr. Victor Aquino looked up over his glasses, took a deep breath and said, “I’ve never found an easy way to tell parents this …”

Bobby Schmidt was 3 years 3 months old. And he was very sick.

“It was Jan. 12, 2001 at 4:28 p.m.,” Carrie said. “It’s kind of one of those things you remember exactly where you were and what you were doing. I guess you could say I knew, I just didn’t want to admit it.”

They knew something was wrong on Christmas morning, when all Bobby wanted to do was sleep.

“What 3-year-old doesn’t want to get up to open presents?” Carrie said.

“We would call it his mystery fever,” Bob added. “It would come off and on. But something was not right.”

“He always complained of leg pain,” Carrie said. “He slept as much as our newborn. I kept telling the doctors there is something wrong.”

On Jan. 12, 2001, Bobby was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. He was given 28 days to go into remission before he would receive a bone marrow transplant. (They were living in Dallas at the time.)

“There was this weird taste in my mouth … it kind of tasted metallic in a way,” Bob said. “My heart started racing, I felt like I was going to be sick. It was just a pure panic.”

“For a few seconds, I don’t remember anything,” Carrie said. She recalled watching her son undergo a biopsy the day before. “My heart just fell.”

She remembered walking out to the waiting room to find her son.

“There was 17- and 18-year-old kids, down to little, little kids,” she said. “And they were all bald. They all had dark circles under their eyes, their cheeks were sucked in. Some of them were lively, and some, well, some you could tell were really sick …”

“We were told, ‘If he’s going to have any type of leukemia, this is the best type,’” Bob said. “The first day we had a 50/50 shot. For the first month we had a 75 percent shot … But things could have turned quickly.”

Chemo

Over the last 14 years, Bobby, now 18, has continued to defy the odds. He’s lost his hair five times, had two collapsed veins, escaped a car crash, and watched friends fall to the disease. He attributes his experience as not only an exercise in “command and conquer,” but the foundation for the rest of his life.

“How I thought about it was ‘command and conquer,’” Bobby said, “My body was trying to fight off what was invading it. The chemo was the good guys and they were trying to fight off the bad guys. It helped me, I think.

“I’ve lost my hair five times. I was platinum blonde at first, but every time I lost my hair it would come back differently.”

But it wasn’t an easy road to recovery for the Schmidt family, as Carrie said, “We don’t watch soap operas, we live one …”

Bobby began his chemotherapy treatments under the supervision of Dr. Aquino.

According to the Schmidts, Aquino — director of stem cell research and protocol for pediatric hematology/oncology in Dallas — encouraged an experimental program to aggressively attack Bobby’s cancer in the 28 days prior to transplant.

“It wasn’t what they would consider normal protocol,” Bob said. “It was the same meds but at different consistencies.”

Bobby had a regular chemo drip, chemo shots injected into his spinal cord, and chemo shots in both thighs. “We would call those our trifecta weekends,” Carrie said. “It was certainly cutting edge at the time, but it was a blind trial.”

Bobby had a different observation. “I was 3 years old, I was getting poked and prodded. I was mad.”

As Bobby’s rigorous chemotherapy sessions progressed, so did his loss of hair.

“I remember the first time a clump fell out,” Carrie said. “We invited our whole family over, and we had a head-shaving party. We all shaved our heads. I wanted to shave mine but he had a fit.”

“They also put him on steroids,” Bob said. “He doubled his weight in the first month.”

Carrie added, “He gained 50 pounds. He was pale white, chubby, and bald. Surprisingly, kids never said anything. But strangers would just stare.”

Bobby looks back on some of those uncomfortable times. “How I look, how I dress, there’s no point being a follower when being a leader is better,” he said.

Bobby went into remission on his 28th day. From the date of entering remission, Bobby underwent three more years of intense chemotherapy.

“We got very lucky,” Carrie said. “Most kids they don’t catch so early. It’s kind of like a fog, you’re just doing what you’ve got to do.”

Darry

As Bobby continued treatments, he met Scottie, a boy his age dealing with the same illness.

“He was three or four months ahead of Bobby on his treatment schedule, but they were the same age. Anytime when Bobby was in the hospital, Scottie was in the hospital too. It just worked out that way,” Carrie said.

“We would get together with the kids and do a collective movie night,” she said. “We would wheel one kid in their bed into the other’s room, and just take turns …”

Although Carrie recalled Scottie coming out of remission, things took a turn in 2003. Scottie lost his battle to leukemia at age 5.

“It was really tough,” Bobby said. “We had a lot of support but no one else could really relate to what was going on. At that point our immune systems were trashed, you just can’t fight anything off.”

“That was the scary part,” Bob said. “Seeing someone three steps ahead of you fall so quickly.”

“No one had ever had anybody personally affected with leukemia,” Carrie added. “Our biggest fear about Scottie was Bobby thinking it could happen to him too. He was depressed, but he learned at a young age he didn’t have time to be whiny and self-pity. In adults, it’s too easy for them to wait or say ‘I’m not going to do treatments.’ As a kid, Bobby didn’t have that choice.”

“At that point I made up my mind,” Bobby said. “They’re not gonna win. I’m fighting them.”

As Bobby continued to fight hard for his life, a collision with a drunken driver almost took that away.

“I had to go to the store to pick up Bobby’s chemo,” Carrie said. “Usually, he would always go with me, because it was an opportunity for him to get out of the house. But that day, Bobby decided to stay home and play video games with his dad … I was T-boned by a drunken driver in the driver’s side. He broke all my ribs on the left side, my cheek, my jaw and four teeth … He was going 70 mph.”

“It took the Jaws of Life to get her out,” Bob said. “If Bobby would have went with her, he would have died.”

Bobby said, “That was the day that I can say video games saved my life.”

As Carrie spent time recovering, Bob handled Bobby’s treatments. Shortly after, Bob’s mother, Joan Schmidt was deemed terminally ill.

“As Bobby was having his port taken out, she was having hers put in,” Carrie said. “He tried to tell Grandma Jo to fight and if she fought hard enough she could win, but she didn’t have the kind of fight.”

Grandma Jo died just over a year later, on July 10, 2004.

As Bobby continued to get stronger and healthier, he spent more time with family and friends. He developed a friendship with Darrion Lewis, a kid his age who lived a few houses away.

“Bobby was still going through chemo but we would have Darrion and his brother over,” Carrie said. “His mom was also really conscientious about germs. Both kids had asthma, so things like colds and cleanliness were very important to them too.

“Keep in mind, chicken pox is deadly, a cold could kill him. There were so many things he wasn’t allowed to do.”

But as Bobby continued to successfully complete his treatments, he was allowed to petition to play sports with Darry, his best friend. Things were more fun and light hearted.

“Darry was a social butterfly,” Carrie said. “Bobby was really shy, but Darry balanced him out. They were really good friends. And somehow they always played on the same team.

“They were always at our house, and they would always have so much fun together,” she said.

Then, in 2005, half of Darry’s heart collapsed.

“We knew he had asthma, but no one knew he had a heart condition,” Carrie said.

Darrion was placed on the list to receive a new heart, but he never received one. He died at age 8.

“He was on blood thinners” and had a brain hemorrhage, Carrie said. “There was nothing they could do … We were going to visit him, but Bobby caught a cold. He never got a chance to say goodbye.”

Quietly Bobby said, “That’s when the bomb hit me … That day I made a promise: I’m not playing for myself anymore,” Bobby said. “I’m playing for the both of us.”

The Vikings’ No. 4

Bobby Schmidt is now a 6-4, 220-pound senior at North Kitsap High School, where he just completed his final season as a tight end and linebacker for the Vikings.

Those that know Bobby’s story well know the significance of the number 4 on his football jersey.

“Darry’s number was 4, but that’s my number now,” he said. “I had his patch sewn into my jersey, but I kinda became a rebel in my spring football team last year. I put his number on the back of my helmet.”

For Bobby, who said he “wants to be a football player in the NFL and an oncologist on the side,” busy Dallas Children’s Hospital is an inspiration.

“I know what these kids are going through and I want them to know I’m here to help them go through it,” he said. “We got everything else from the doctors but we didn’t have that — someone who truly understood.

“I just want to play anywhere I can and get my master’s in oncology. But I really want to go to UW, big time, as much as I can.”

He added, “Something is coming. I just don’t know what it is. I have to change the world. I just don’t know how yet.”

The chances of Bobby’s leukemia returning are slim. And the Schmidt family is counting its blessings.

“God never gives you more than you can handle,” Carrie said. “We got through it. We’re a family … You might not have everything you want or need, but family is all you need.”