boring/beautiful

I know I've been super-inconsistent in my posting lately.  I sincerely apologize because I know there are people out there who depend on the blog to let them know how Fionn is doing.  Well, you can rest assured that no news is always good news on our front.  And lately...lately we have been in the glorious situation of having NO NEWS.  Fionn is doing great.  He is a normal 5-year-old boy.  He is the boy with the blond curls.  Not the boy with the cancer or the bald head.  He has tons of buddies at school.  He is thriving.  Flourishing.  We are boring.   It is thrilling.

We had our monthly clinic appointment today at 1 pm.  For the first time on the way to the hospital, Fionn complained about going to clinic.  "Mom, I'm missing recess, lunch and free choice time," my new kindergartner said with a frown from the backseat.  This is coming from my kid who adores the hospital.  Worships his doctors.  Craves the food (yes, we ate lunch there today).  It is his home away from home.  A place that he has been known to pine for when we are not there.  A place he has several times refused to leave even when his counts were actually fine to go home.

But a funny thing is happening as we spend less and less time at the hospital.  It's becoming less like a second home and more like a...well, a hospital.  Dr. Shalabi told us this would happen.  She said that she feels both happy and sad when this happens to her patients.  Mostly happy, of course, because of what it means for the child.  But sad for the loss of the relationship.  I totally get that. 

Everything looked great at clinic.  We were "in and out" in 2 hours which is record time for anyone who regularly visits our oncology clinic at Children's Hospital.  Fionn's counts were great, despite his runny nose and mouth sore (both of which mean he has some sort of bug which usually makes his counts plummet).  His doctors said he looked great.  He is gaining weight and height like it's his job.  And I guess it kind of is.  Ha.

Being at the hospital today was a bit strange though.  Walking to the cafeteria, I felt the ghosts of the last year following me around.  It was a little weird.  Here I am walking hand in hand with my seemingly perfectly healthy little boy with his full head of hair, and I can literally see a slide show of past moments that have been lived here.

The emergency room where we first rushed with Fionn in our arms.  (Side note: I will never look into that ER waiting room without picturing Fionn sitting there, vomiting into that god-awful pink bowl.) The elevators where we rode up to ICU with Fionn once he was diagnosed and needed immediate emergency dialysis for his failing kidneys.  The surgical waiting room on the 2nd floor where we waited with a wailing, hungry, miserable Fionn as he waited to get his port placed in his chest.  And of course, the 4th floor, where we first began to fight Fionn's cancer.  Those long, well-lit hallways at 4 East are part of my soul, I swear to God.  Oh, the many, many tractor rides we have taken down those long, well-lit hallways. 

It's all so clear.  These moments.  They are part of me.  Part of our family.

But now I walk through the halls with a smiling, healthy boy who is doing karate moves every so often in the hallways when he thinks no one is looking and saying "Sound the Octo-alert!" at random times.  Anyone passing by might think we were just visiting this place.  They wouldn't know that we have history here.  That our son was saved here.

But we know.  And we are forever changed.  And I'm okay with that actually.  Most of the time anyway.

I'll post again soon.  Thanks as always for keeping us in your thoughts and hearts.