ICU

Sometimes all we can do is hold Pablo's hand. Even with the most insane medical technology in the world wired up all around Pablo, he craves the oldest comfort in the world: holding Mommy or Papa's hand. Not sure how good the photo is, but you may be able to see the petichae (tiny red dots) stippled all over his hand and arm. That's from the zero platelet and white blood counts.

The fever is still on. It won't go away. Within the realm of Pablo's day, he has calmed down, and is stable. He is trying to fall asleep but the nurses and docs keep coming in by the handful. And there are beeps going off all the time from any one of the six machines pumping fluids and meds into him.

We hope things will calm down by 6 p.m.

Jo Ann's mom Patricia is flying out from Houston tomorrow morning. I am 99% certain that I'll cancel my business trip to London - was supposed to fly out Saturday for five days. I leave 1% on the table cos part of me dreams of P waking up in the morning and laughing. Altho we KNOW he will pull through this, there's not much reality to support the 1% plan.

Tony is still here. He's been with is for hours. When the nurses wheeled P's bed from the ER, Tony carried all of our suitcases and bags, allowing Jo Ann and I to flank the bed and hold P's hands. Tony and I signed up to be one another's brothers a long time ago. I'd say he's kept his end of the deal.

Peter's wife Brie brought tacos for lunch. She has a friend bringing a picnic basket to us full of home made dinner. Peter's on tour with his band Eulogies, sick in a New York City hotel room. We've kept in touch all day via email. And so many of you have been emailing, texting, Twittering to us. We know we have many, many rays of light heading our way from all over the world.