Calm

After three months of high stakes living, it feels like we are in a brief period of calm. I can tell because Pablo has been a pretty easy customer since coming out of the fog of anesthesia. As long as he's watching a movie, he's OK. I pulled him out of bed at around 8:30 a.m., and lifted him into the giant upholstered lounge chair that is issued to every room here. To Pablo, this chair is like a mansion from which he can survey his vast domain–a 1980s color TV set, a puffy air-filled hospital bed with a timer-activated night light on the underside, a water closet, and a stunning view of Griffith Park. This morning, the park filled our view. It sat there, quiet and still, with a dense layer of fog in its upper reaches. It looked like Hawaii.

The park is a huge part of our lives–the fun/play/exercise/re-creation part. I can't wait to reintroduce Pablo to that part of his life. As soon as he is able, I am taking him back to our favorite field of grass in GP to re-learn riding his bike without training wheels. We were on a total upswing with that when all this cancer stuff came up. Pablo getting back on the two-wheeled horse is something I'm looking forward to. His limbs have gotten longer and stronger in the past 96 days. He ought to have a better command over his bike and all his physical pursuits once he gets the all-clear from Dr. Mascarenhas.

I also know we are in a period of calm because Jo Ann gave herself permission to leave in the middle of the day–something she wouldn't have done the last time we were in-patient. She went with Dorrie and Helen and Carrie to do yoga at the Awareness Center. All aboard on the express Kundalini.

My Blood Bank appointment is in 15 minutes. I am scared of needles. Talk soon.