One More Week

Well, technically, only 4 more days, but we won't know anything for another week. On the 30th, we will celebrate one year of Max being off the cyclosporene. This will be a really big deal. If he doesnt' relapse within a year, I guess that his chance of relapse is much lower. (I know, I keep saying this.) I can't believe how much I am concentrating on this date. How much I worry about it. I will feel so much better on Friday after he has had his blood test. This is going to be a long, long week. I was starting to worry about it as early as last Monday. I was considering calling to see if they could get us in on Monday instead, but then the kids both got sick, and Max even got a fever, and not only do I not like to take sick kids into a place with a bunch of kids on chemo with shot immune systems, but I would rather his body has a little more time to recover, so I left it for Friday. I can tell I am already worrying, though. It isn't a conscious thing, more of a feeling of low grade, in the back of my mind stress. I am sure it will be fine, but it doesn't make it easier. Friday can not come too soon for me.

That's What He Thought?

Last night, there was a mosquito in Max's room (the first of many, I am afraid). Max was pretty concerned about it, because he didn't want it "eating my blood" so I killed it before tucking him in. This led to him asking why mosquitoes and ticks "eat people's blood" (I really didn't have a good answer for this), what they drank, why they had the same thing for breakfast, lunch, dinner, snack, and dessert, and other lovely nighttime conversations. Then, he asked me why sometimes he gave his blood to other kids and why sometimes other kids gave their blood to him. It took me a minute for this to sink in. All this time, he has thought that when they did blood draws, we were taking his blood away to give it to other kids. I explained to him that the blood was put under a microscope and looked at to make sure it was healthy, and so that the doctors could count to make sure he had enough of the different kind of blood for him to be safe and healthy. I told him that daddy and I did sometimes go and donate our blood, but that we are bigger and have more blood and we do it by our own choice. That people can decide to donate their blood to help people who need blood because their body isn't working right or because they were in an accident or something happened where they needed extra blood. I told him that if he ever wanted to give his blood for other people to use, that he would need to be bigger to do that, and that we would never, ever do it without his permission. He seemed happy with this answer.

I never had a clue that he felt this way. I wonder what else he thinks that I haven't discovered yet.

How Things Change

I ran into someone from Miss Ellen's class and Playgroup today. I used to see her regularly before Max got sick. Her daughter is a bit younger than Max. She is an oncology nurse at Children's Boston. When I first heard what she did, I thought that it sounded like a terribly depressing place to work. I couldn't imagine doing it. But, now that I have spent so much time in a pedi hem/onc department, I realize that it really is the opposite. Yes, children die, and that is awful and I still do not know that I could deal with that over the long term, but, at least at MGH (and she said the same about Children's), it is an amazingly upbeat place. Kids who are obviously very ill often seem so strong and upbeat. The doctors and nurses are wonderful, but it is really the kids that amaze me and so often make me smile there. Kids just amaze me.