Forget about it.
This week's tests show the cancer is back, and it's worse than ever. It's in his blood, where it hasn't been in months. In his bone marrow it went from 0.07 in February to seven per cent now. That's 100 times more cancerous cells.
The miracle is over. The hope is gone. Again. We're back to where we were at Christmas, and have to keep telling ourselves we're so lucky to be at Easter at all.
He wasn't a happy camper these past couple days. I chalked it up to a lack of sleep - he doesn't rest well on long car trips - but the call today from our primary doctor and nurse also informed us the tumours in his brain are enlarged too.
Whereas three months ago they measured at about 25 per cent of his brain, now they've increased to 35 per cent. One theory for him being more grumpy is simply headaches as the pressure builds up there.
Tylenol and more oxygen are two early steps we can take to make things easier for him. But we were also given morphine. That's right, when your kid is in palliative care they can just prescribe the stuff like it's candy. We hope not to need it soon.
In December we were also given what's called a green sleeve. It contains our official plan for his end of life, including a do not resucitate order in case something bad happens.
We'd put the sleeve in his diaper bag in January. Last month we took it out and filed it away, hoping we'd never need it since he was somehow defying the odds.
It's going back in the bag tomorrow. And we get to start planning his funeral next week.