Pablo had a great night. So great, it's still not over. He's been sleeping since about 9:30 last night. He woke up only once, proclaiming, 'Papa! I need you over here!' I jumped out of my bed and ran to his side, asking what he needed. 'Can you move my pillow under my head?'
I was happy as hell to remove one of the hospital pillows and place on of his pillows from home underneath his head. It was a pleasure to provide Pablo with comfort that did not require medicine, a nurse or a CT scanner. The kind of comfort any parent could give any kid on any night–at home.
Throughout the night, I woke up countless times to check the monitor that shows his respiration, heart rate and blood oxygen level. By coincidence, it's visible in the mirror above the sink, so I didn't have to get out of bed to look at the machine. I just had to lift my head and look at the mirror. As long as I saw the undulating heart rate line in the uppermost field of the monitor, I knew he was OK.
Sleeping next to a cancer patient is something I've done for more nights than most people I know. I've got trauma around the simple act of sleeping next to someone who could be much closer to death than me. I'll go into that more on a later date, if at all, but let me say that it's impossible for me to just sleep and not wonder if they are OK.
Bottom line is that P had a great night of sleep. As I've been writing, he's been talking, breathing heavily and moving a lot. Sounds like he's having a gooooood nightmare. This could be one of the most 'normal' mornings Pablo has had in the past 105 days. As weird as it may be, I am thoroughly enjoying listening to this.
It's got to be a good sign....
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