Over the last few days my brother's family from Kansas was visiting. Tara and I were so very happy that they made the effort to come out. Our kids particularly enjoyed their cousins, as they provide such fun playmates. Together they create such wonderful memories for all of us. Their departure this morning left us to a home town Thanksgiving, after which we'll settle into what we hope will be a long stretch of routine.
Henry was very relaxed and happy during their stay. He's feeling so much better. The treatment for his swelling after leaving the hospital recently was simply fluid restriction, but steadily over the last week he has lost the weight that came on so quickly. He's not been allowed to drink more than 16 ounces of fluid daily but has been urinating far more. It's strange to watch. At his heaviest he weighed a little over 60 pounds. He's now down to just below 48. He's looking so much more normal, no longer drawing stares from people when we're out. The puffiness around his eyes has diminished significantly with the help of a wedge we placed under the head of his mattress to keep gravity working for him instead of against.
At the same time, we've been slowly reducing his steroids, his appetite has been steady. Tara and I have the distinct feeling - and we don't mind - that he's really enjoying eating again. That's a pleasure we're just not about to deny him.
Henry cannot begin his next round of chemotherapy until his platelets begin recovering. We chose this situation to make our first use of Hospice services. Perhaps I'm being unreasonable, but sitting holding Henry, listening to him scream, while an unfamiliar nurse digs for a viable vein in his hand, is just not something I can handle very well. I guess I'm of the mind that his short life should have as little discomfort as possible. So I gave them 60 seconds and then politely asked them to pull it out, realizing that now tomorrow we'll make the trek to Baltimore to have a 45 second procedure. The nurses there are so artful, expert and complete with the way they handle these delicate situations with the kids. It will be familiar, it will be routine and it will take most of the day. But I'd rather keep him comfortable.
Recently I've seemed to notice a maturity and calm about Henry. He's very trusting of Tara and I. He no longer fusses much at inconvenience or changes of plan. He's grown to enjoy coloring, painting, and games that before he wouldn't touch. He seems laid back and happy, laughing far more than either Tara or I can remember. This combination is at once, immensely comforting and fulfilling and devastating. We're beginning to see him grow into his next phase of life, a confident, curious, interesting, talented and smart little boy. After years of babying, tantrums, little sleep - then chemotherapy, procedures, radiation and the hospital - we're able to develop a more mature relationship with him. He's polite and articulate. He's a pure pleasure to be around.
Sometimes things you say as a parent come back to get you. I'm fond of reminding my children that it's important to be grateful for what they have, instead of worrying about what they don't. This Thanksgiving, I'm content and grateful that we're all here to enjoy one another.