GIRL WINNING CANCER FIGHT BUT PAL DIES.

Byline: DENNIS McCARTHY 

Someday soon, when Sabrina is stronger, Patricia Vasquez Hacker will have to tell her daughter that Rodney didn't make it.

But not right now. Sabrina's still too sick.

The sad news will make her cry, and that would be bad right now because tears and sadness are the last thing her weak body can stand as it fights to accept the bone marrow transplant that Sabrina received earlier this month.

She and Rodney Day had become close this past year at Childrens Hospital Los Angeles - a 12-year-old Latino girl and a 5-year-old African-American boy - each waiting for a bone marrow match to provide a shot at life.

As I wrote back in April, the odds were against them because the numbers were pretty bleak for all minority kids battling leukemia.

Of the 4 million people nationwide who have given blood for tissue typing in the National Bone Registry, only 340,000 are African-American, and only 355,000 are Latino, according to the American Red Cross.

Almost 3 million, the vast majority, are Caucasian, with the remainder Asian and Pacific Islanders, American Indians and multiracial.

Sabrina wound up beating the odds, receiving a bone marrow transplant from a Latino man on June 13.

Rodney didn't, dying one day earlier - on June 12 - without ever finding a match in the African-American community.

``He died at home and was a pretty sick little boy at the end, but he's in a better place now,'' said Lisa Wright, the American Red Cross recruitment specialist who walked the streets and knocked on doors in the African-American community trying to persuade people to be tested as a possible match for Rodney.

``His mom's holding up pretty well, but it's been tough,'' Wright said.

Rodney's mom - Jerusha Day of Canoga Park - is a beautiful young woman who spent just about every minute of her waking day trying to educate other African-Americans in this city on how a simple procedure - like a five-minute blood test - could save a child's life.

As she said to me in April in a quote that tears at the heart, ``Someday, I just want to stand on the street corner and scream: Listen to me, people - please.''

Not enough people did, but the brave fight her little boy put up until the end made a big impact on the heart of this city.

``There were over 300 people at Rodney's funeral,'' Wright said. ``To think that a little 5-year-old boy could bring us together like that is a miracle,'' she said.

One of those people at the funeral was Patricia Vasquez Hacker, who's own daughter would be receiving a bone marrow transplant the next day.

``It was a beautiful funeral, and we (she and Jerusha) talked for a little bit, but it's so hard,'' Patricia said. ``Sometimes, you just don't know what to say.''

What can two mothers say when one child dies and another gets a renewed shot at life?

This is an important week for Sabrina, Patricia says. If the transplant is to succeed, her white cell count should start going up right about now, and it is.

``We're all so excited today because it's over 300 for the first time, and that's what the doctors were hoping for by now,'' Patricia said Wednesday from her daughter's room in the isolation ward at the hospital where she will remain for another month.

Then Sabrina will go home, where she will remain in virtual isolation for six to eight weeks, said Armando Hernandez, the American Red Cross recruitment specialist for the Latino community in Los Angeles.

``Then, hopefully, after 3 1/2 to four months, everything will be fine,'' he said. ``After a year, if both sides are agreeable, Sabrina and her bone marrow donor will meet.''

But that's a long way down the road, her mother says. First, her mother has to break the news about Rodney, and that's going to hurt.

The sick kids and their parents, who spend long days and nights at Childrens Hospital Los Angeles hoping for miracles, grow close over the months, almost like a family.

When one dies, they all die a little.

They all want to stand on the street corner and scream out in frustration: ``Listen to me, people - please.''

It's just a simple little, five-minute blood test that could save a child's life.

You can reach American Red Cross Latino recruitment specialist Armando Hernandez at [phone] and, for the African-American community, Lisa Wright at [phone].