Pablo Pancake Palin-ed

Many people are waiting to win the lotteria. Or for the second coming of Jesus Cristo. Mick Jagger's waitin on a friend. And John Mayer, the great guitarist and BlackBerry spokesman, is waiting for the world to change.

Here in CHLA room 429, bed B, we've been waiting for something a helluva lot simpler: for the word 'food' to reunite with the name 'Pablo. ' He hasn't eaten in six days. Six long days and many many tearful 'I'm huuuuuuunnnnnnnngry' episodes later, and our wish has been granted, and I am running (as I type this) down to the cafeteria, to get the following order for Pablo:

1. Pancakes
2. Jam (no syrup!)
3. Yogurt
4. Orange juice

What makes this diet change super sweet for us is that we didn't even see it coming. Seriously—we thought P's digestive tract would have to be a lot more active before he'd see real food. But, our doctors conspired this morning, and Palin-ed us. (Palin: the sudden introduction of a heretofore unknown person, object or fact into a seemingly stagnant scenario, as in "Sarah Palin, the Great American Patriot and Politico, deserves your vote for VP of the United States of America.") Pablo couldn't have been happier. The dude was pretending not to listen to our nurse as she told us the news. But a giant smile gave him away. His eyes lit up. Man, I will NEVER forget that smile. The innocent precious happiness in his eyes. Moments like that recharge my faith batteries. Seeing Pablo's smile and that brightness in his eyes and face is his spiritual self winking at us, letting us know he's OK and he is not going to lose this battle.

I know all that because our lovely nurse came in and said Pablo could eat his favorite food. I've gotten good at spotting high forms of energy. And I don't second guess them. Second guessing is for people who have the time to guess again. Me and my family, we don't got time for that. We have learned to just believe.

We spent the morning getting to know our new friends in the radiation oncology lab. We'll get to know that team very well. Pablo starts a 12 day radiation course on Monday. For reference, we had done 12 weeks of chemo leading up this in-patient run, and we know almost every nurse, doctor, receptionist up in the Oncology Clinic.

Today, Pablo was sedated in the test lab (a mini version of the radiation room he'll be in for his treatments). The team made a mold of his body, which he will be placed in for his rad treats. He will be knocked out for each of the treatments. This is good, even imperative, cos P has developed anxiety during this long stay in the hospital. He'd never be able to have his body bound in the giant mold, with the massive radiation machine whirling around him (it looks like the robot man on the cover of Queen 'News of The World'). While he was out, they placed clear medical tape on his chest and abdomen, and drew reference lines on his body. In addition to his scars, tape sutures, blisters, cables and sensors, Pablo's front elevation now looks like a bombardier scope. It's kind of cool. Kind of freaky. If we'd have started at this part in the story, we'd be mortified. But, having ramped up to the bombardier body, it's somehow not a big deal. By the way, on adults, the lines are actually tattooed on the body. We have many friends who'd need white tattoo lines cos their bodies are already covered in colorful ink.

Lastly, Pablo will get the first injection of the new course of chemo tomorrow. This course is 24 weeks of five drugs, in higher doses and frequency than the prior 12 weeks. I am going to ask Jo Ann to write a post detailing all the drugs and details. She is on point with that stuff way more than me.

At home, the playroom is progressing. Our friend and designer Arianna Sabra has kept the job site moving (while planning her wedding AND nursing her little baby girlee). She has seen Pablo grow up since redesigning the downstairs of our house over three years ago. So creating a fun space for Pablo to be in while he kicks the crap out of cancer is a deeply personal job for her. Friday is the target finish date—good a** news, cos we are hoping to drive our little baby boyee home that same day! (Fingers crossed.)

More later....