Each night before Mae goes to sleep, she makes a wish for Phoebe. She always says that she "wishes for Phoebe to come home" and recently she has added, "for Phoebe to get better and better" to her wish. Now when she wakes up in the morning she asks, "is Phoebe coming home today?". It is enough to slowly break my heart because each morning since Phoebe was admitted, Jon or I have had to say no, Phoebe is not coming home today. One day, she will be home. Mae misses her baby sister and also often comments on how much Phoebe loves her. She will say "Phoebe loves me the best", which is probably true. I look forward to the day when they can be reunited, and we are hopeful that this long hospital stay is our last. That these next weeks are the last weeks that I will have to say - no Mae, you can't see your sister today.
It is day -7 and all is well. As I write this, a sleeping Phoebe is receiving the second of six infusions of chemotherapy for today. I can't help but think how "normal" all of this has become. That to watch Phoebe receive so much chemotherapy no longer makes me anxious and worried - it is just a step on our road towards the cure. That is all.
As for Phoebe, she is happy, playful and active. Today for the first time ever, she managed to pull herself up to her activity table. She has been handling her feeds well and has even eaten a few crackers. This is a good sign that she is still feeling well and I am relieved. I worry often that all of this is too much for Phoebe, that being back in the hospital would cause her to be sad and depressed, and so I am happy to see that although i'm sure she is missing Mae and life at home, she is still doing her thing. Joyful Phoebe Rose.
The next seven days will bring much of the same - chemotherapy, visits with Mae in the fishbowl, and juggling life back and forth between the hospital and "home". We are hopeful that we will continue moving along on this very smooth path ... we are almost there.