I don't know what the end looks like. I guess in some respect we've been ignoring the inevitable this month. Pretending that things weren't worse and continuing on as we had after the bad news in December.
But he's still happy. He throws things to the ground with glee, loves calling people on the phone and talks to them in his usual series of squeaks and giggles. I think he's walking faster than ever and he's even picking at some food for the first time in months.
And then we get news like today, telling us the cancerous blasts of cells in his blood are up to 14 per cent. Eventually it'll get high enough that his organs will start shutting down. It's a matter of time.
Why haven't we written in three weeks? We're both exhausted. When I have time to myself I space out. I think it's as much cumulative as anything; after nearly two years of this it's bound to be.
Every three or four days he's in Medicine Hat Hospital, but it seems they are screwing something up each time he's in. Yesterday he was in for eight hours as they failed to have a band on his wrist when they took blood, and had to re-draw it. The last time he was in, the platelets hadn't shown up from Calgary and had to be driven in via taxi. Everyone apologizes but nothing improves. The system is failing him.
The three of us went to a special cancer fundraiser Saturday night. Duel it for the Ride was in advance of Corrie and David Dale taking part in the Ride to Conquer Cancer, a cycling event that happens every year. There were piano players, singers, a mentalist, silent auction items and more than 300 people who raised $15,000. Corrie shaved her head, then members of her family did.
We went expecting Dom to get tired at his usual bedtime, 8 p.m. But he kept dancing, playing with musical instruments, asking to sit on their bicycles. Walked around the whole place visting strangers and smiling. We finally got home at 11:30 p.m.
They say kids are incredibly resilient, but when they crash, they crash hard. He was asleep within minutes of getting home.
Is that what awaits his life, too?