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Ashley Bandavanis doesn’t go to work much anymore. She only occasionally picks up a serving shift at the restaurant, telling herself it’s good to take a break from the house and the hospital, which are points A and B for most of her daily travel.

She feels better about the decision when people are nice. If a customer snaps

about an order, Bandavanis digs deep for patience. Forces a smile. Thinks,

But strangers have no way of knowing, and what would Bandavanis tell them, anyway? That life is precious and it’s unfair? That we should all try to be kind? That her 6-year-old is dying?

“I hate May already,” Bandavanis said, noting the date. “Radiation treatments end in May, and that’s the only shot we have.”

Dean Bandavanis, her beautiful and lively and extra-sociable kindergartner, was found in March to have an inoperable brainstem tumor. Diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma, known as DIPG, is a rare and devastating cancer — often lethal in a matter of months — that affects just 200 to 400 children in the United States each year. Less than 1 percent survive for five years.

“We had a better chance of winning the lottery,” Bandavanis said.

She and her husband, Dean, had been getting their youngest son treated for what appeared to be a lazy eye when more-ominous symptoms suddenly appeared. Little Dean woke up stumbling and drooling. “It was almost like he was drunk,” Mrs. Bandavanis said.

By the next morning, the Pickerington couple stood before a phalanx of doctors, therapists and social workers at Nationwide Children’s Hospital. “I’m so sorry,” someone began.

And with that, Ashley and Dean Bandavanis came faceto-face with a parent’s worst nightmare.

“It’s one of those where we have very little to offer,” said Dr. Diana Osorio, a neuro-oncologist at Nationwide Children’s. “We immediately have the tough conversation.”

Many families whose kids are diagnosed with DIPG at least want to try a clinical trial after finishing radiation, hoping that pioneering drug treatment will ease symptoms and grant their children additional months or years. But out-of-pocket costs can be high, even with insurance coverage. And for those who look to trials outside the country — the Bandavanis family might join one in Monterrey, Mexico Searching for answers

The belly laugh is still there. It bubbles up as Dean stretches a blob of slime, torments a stuffed animal, squeezes a banana out of its peel.

When Dean giggles, his family beams. Too much of the time, he’s not his old self. He would rather sit and draw pictures than socialize. Steroids leave his face badly swollen and his moods erratic. He is loving one minute, raging the next. Dean’s big brother, 8-yearold Keller, does his best to understand.

“He smacked me in the head,” Keller said quietly, leaning on their mom. “Don’t yell at him.”

Dean still has a handful of the 30 scheduled radiation treatments to go. He and Mrs. Bandavanis leave at 5:45 a.m. every weekday for the Arthur G. James Cancer Hospital at Ohio State University, where he

[TOM DODGE/DISPATCH] Ashley Bandavanis and son Dean play with Slime at their Pickerington home. Dean, 6, has a rare form of brain cancer and friends are trying to help the family raise money for possible treatment outside the United States. A clinical trial in Mexico has...

[TOM DODGE/DISPATCH PHOTOS] Dean Bandavanis in his kindergarten picture, before the brain cancer, known as DIPG, hit.

Steroids used in Dean’s treatment have caused his face to swell and his moods to become erratic.