When he's like this, it's a reminder that, yeah, he is going through something extreme and grueling and unnatural. The way he carries himself—smiling, busting out of the seams with energy, observing and relating—it's easy to gloss over the seriousness of what he's enduring. It's not that we pretend or avoid the weight. It's a give and take situation: Pablo is having a good hour or a good day, and we all ride that wave with him, and allow ourselves to have a good hour or a good day. I've said this before: he's like the lead singer in a rock band: everyone's mood follows his. Unlike the rock star analogy, Pablo (or any cancer kid) deserves such attention + mood duplication.
Jo Ann got dressed this morning for the first time since Saturday. She looks great, and I have to believe, is happier than hell to get OUT of this house. She's feeling better, but not fully back to her normal energy level. I wouldn't try to convince you that going to a children's hospital with your child for any reason could be a relaxing experience. However, the blood transfusion is routine to us now. And it is the easiest thing we do at CHLA. Not too many moving parts. They access P's port, do a blood draw, order the blood, activate the blood drip, check on him every 20-30 minutes during transfusion, and in three to five hours, it's complete. The parental unit(s) can hang and read for much of that time. Still, I feel for my better half. I'm sure she'd much rather spend her first day out of the house at some place more fun.
At least I get to go to the office and talk on the phone.