He never got the memo.
We got the results of Tuesday's bone marrow biopsy, which in December had shown the leukemia was back for, presumably, the last time.
Back then it measured in at 0.7 per cent of the sample.
This week it's 0.07 per cent.
That's not a typo. He has one-tenth the amount of cancer now than two months ago.
Why? Shut up. How? Be happy. Our doctors are as astounded as anyone else.
Their best guess is that the graft versus host disease that was considered our last gasp attempt at killing the remaining cancer actually did start to work, just a lot later than anyone expected. He got those final infusions in October, remember. And he did get GVHD, but when his bone marrow started recovering so did the cancer. For a while, at least.
The fact there still is cancer prevents the doctors from completely reversing course and suggesting he's no longer going to die. As long as it's in his system it will eventually grow back. But why it would be going away? He shows no outward signs of GVHD and he's not even on any steroids to suppress it anymore.
All we know is what we see, and that's the same two-year-old we had at Christmas. He's more likely to cry if he doesn't get his way, but we've decided that's not because something is wrong. It's because he's two.
The oxygen test we did came back with results that require him to be hooked up at night, but not during the day. His nose doesn't run 24/7 anymore so we think he's finally rid of the pesky virus he had for about four months.
Cautiously, the doctors at the Alberta Children's Hospital are switching gears. His blood counts remain low so in a couple weeks he's getting a stem cell treatment from the same donation used for his bone marrow transplant last year. This time there won't be any chemotherapy to reset his blood; we just want more of whatever is happening.
We hadn't bothered with the tumours in his brain given the prognosis, but next month he'll get another MRI. The new presumption is they're going away too.
I should be falling to the ground crying in joy. Instead I'm just tired and confused. We've been trying to wrap our heads around coping with an impending death. Living each day without thinking ahead. Now we have to consider the future again.
It's time to let a little hope back in.