Tim Yu stands over his daughter’s cage-like hospital bed, shielding her closed eyes from the artificial lights. Her cheeks are puffy from the medication. She squirms as if she’s having a bad dream. A plastic tube is connected from the chemotherapy drip all the way to a vein in her tiny leg. Numbers move up and down on the blood pressure monitor. Time passes slowly.

Behind the thin curtains are the sounds of children crying and multiple televisions buzzing at once. Tim sits down next to his wife, Susan. Wearing bright orange visitor’s stickers, they stare at the digital machines. 

“There’s a lot of waiting. There’s a lot of silence. We try to be as normal as possible, but we’ve had to redefine ‘normal,’” Tim says.

Just five months ago, the Yus experienced the biggest miracle of their lives: Susan gave birth to triplet girls. But their excitement soon turned to panic when Elyse, the eldest of the three, was diagnosed with hemophagocytic lymphohistiocytosis (HLH), a deadly blood disease that strikes approximately one in a million.

Without treatment, the disease is fatal. The median survival time reported in various studies is two to six months after diagnosis. While chemotherapy and other medications can buy Elyse more time, a bone marrow transplant is the only hope for a cure.

At Childrens Hospital Los Angeles, Tim Yu holds his daughter, who was diagnosed with the rare blood disease HLH, while she receives her medication.

But the odds of finding a bone marrow donor match aren’t on her side. A sibling would be the first option, but her fraternal sisters are too young to donate and could also carry the disease. Because tissue type is inherited, there is an 80 percent chance that Elyse’s match will be Korean. Yet ethnic minorities are largely underrepresented in the bone marrow donor registry. Of the 6.5 million donors registered, 400,000 are Asian and only 50,000 are Korean.

Gazing at their fragile newborn girl, Tim and Susan say these numbers need to change.

***

The couple met at a church in Los Angeles 18 years ago. Tim was a college freshman. Susan was a high school senior. They married in 2001 and recently moved to Canyon Country, Calif.

For four years, they struggled with infertility. Susan tried hormone shots, artificial insemination — the works. As a final effort before turning to adoption, she underwent in vitro fertilization.

Finally, the Yus got their wish — and more.

“The doctor started mumbling something,” says Tim, 36, recalling the moment he saw three little heartbeats on the ultrasound monitor. “They looked like grains of rice beeping. It was shocking. The doctor said the chance that three eggs would take was one in a million. We thought, ‘This must be divine intervention.’” 

As part of chemotherapy, a number of medications must be shot into Elyse’s PICC line, an IV connected to her leg.

On Feb. 1, 2007, three babies entered the world: Elyse, Faith and Erin. They were perfect, doctors said. 

As they had anticipated, life became crazy. Susan, 35, would clear out the shelves of diapers at Target. Grandparents were on hand around the clock, working in shifts. The Yu house was filled with chaos, laughter and joy.