Jo Ann and Pablo went to CHLA oncology clinic today to get a blood draw. As expected, his blood numbers aren't going to be in the right spot for chemo this week. We are aiming for Monday admission to CHLA. That means we have another weekend at home. And that doesn't suck.
Pablo was in a great mood all day. I called him on Polly's phone on my way to a lunch meeting. I was walking down nasty Hollywood Boulevard, a cacophony of buses, street hustlers and squeaky wheels that never get grease, booming and shrieking all around my open ear. But I could hear Pablo crystal clear. He was laughing into the phone in a way I've never heard. To hear him happy makes me happy. It makes Jo Ann happy. When we are away from P, hearing him laugh over the phone puts a noticeable calm over us. It makes Polly happy to put him on the phone when he is in this kinda mood. It's like being the bearer of good news. Except the news isn't news—it's just that joyful emotion.
When I got home this evening, Pablo was laying on top of Jo Ann, as if she were a lounge chair. He looked huge in his patterned button-up shirt and faded jeans. The chemo and radiation and constant shots of meds surely are not slowing his physical growth. They aren't supposed to. But something seems counterintuitive about it all: if you are pumping someone full of drugs that kill fast growing cells, how does that person's body continue to grow...and grow...and grow? I don't actually want to know the answer to that. I just know that the growth is evident to the naked eye. And it's great.
Jo Ann is talking about taking P to Disneyland on Thursday morning. She and Dr M are going back and forth on email about the pros and cons and what types of rides he could go on. I hope it can work out. Pablo enjoyed going to Universal Studios back in December. He'll lose his mind at D-Land. He loves it there. Of course, the drive is treacherous. But whatever—so is chemo.
Speaking of treacherous: the Apple Photo Booth pics above were taken by, well, my laptop, under the control of Mr Pablo. The dude has become a master of the effects on that program. He sets it up to do the warped-face gag and doubles over in laughter with each click of the virtual shutter. We took about 60 pics tonight. He was teary-eyed, hyperventilating, gasping for air as our faces contorted on the screen. We figured most of the filters made us look like opossums and raccoons. Gnarly nighttime animals that eat our cat Dauphine's food outside the kitchen door.
What do you think?
OK. I'm like Freddie Mercury in '78: my bike is calling me....