Happy Monday

Pablo slept like a baby last night. Sleeping in the same bed with Pablo is a wonderful thing—he always has a foot or a hand on me and Jo Ann. Such a simple sign of his love and need for us. Even when he is zonked out, totally asleep, his hands and feet make this connection. I have never known love like that before meeting Pablo.

This morning, he woke up on his own, and crept up the stairs as quietly as he could. I was in the front yard fetching the morning papers when he made his move. I looked inside the front door and saw a large top hat gliding though the foyer. Underneath was our pale and skinny little fighter, setting up to scare his Papa. Even though I knew what he was up to, I walked into the living room and allowed him to spook me out. We laughed our arses off. Now, THAT'S a great way to start any day.

So far, everything's going great today—all that food he ate last night stayed down. The cherry fro yo he ate while watching 'Maggie and the Ferocious Beast' stayed down. It feels like Pablo is shifting into the next phase of his recovery. It feels like he is gaining ground in this strange game of chemotherapy, the magical cocktail of medicines that destroys fast growing cells in order to save his life. An hour of good news and retained food feels like a month of good days to us at this point.

When we see Pablo smile and jump around, we know that he is in the boxing ring, ready to hit his cancer square in the jaw. Hell, he could hit me square in the jaw. As long as he keeps that smile and that pep in his step, we are on the right track.

OK, gotta run.