Phin, Phear, and Phinding a Rhythm

Hey Phin phans! Dustin here.

Sorry if I seem a little tired in this one. It's been almost two weeks, but I'm still getting used to the new routines. It's like the motions of our lives have fallen into a kind of celestial rhythm. At least, that's how it seems to me, and how it must seem to our kids. We see them in shifts now since the hospital only allows two visitors and it always has to be the same two. The girls receive our dusk as Phin receives our dawn in an endless cycle. And like the sun and the moon, Neesha and I now rise and set in opposition to one another, seldom sharing the same sky, and never for long.   

Medical Updates

Phin organizes the beads he earns for
accomplishing treatment-related tasks.

Chemotherapy is finally tanking Phin's energy levels, just as the doctors predicted it would. He doesn't feel like doing much of anything lately, and he's sleeping more frequently and for longer durations. The bleeding is still a thing, and so is the vomiting, but overall, his spirits are still up, his attitude is still positive, and his moods, for the most part, are still good. 

There was a scare several nights ago during an infusion of platelets. I didn't realize anything was happening at first. I'm still learning how to recognize the cues in leukemia world. It was like the moment in a play when you notice that the entire cast is onstage at the same time, and you understand that the sheer number of characters present indicates something important is about to happen.

One minute, Phin was happily watching an episode of Wild Kratts, and the next, his teeth started clattering, his temperature shot up, his pulse raced, and suddenly every nurse on the floor was in his room and the lead nurse was phoning down to the attending physician. All of these people were in their places before I even noticed anything weird going on with Phin or his vitals.  

We still aren't sure if Phin had a reaction to the platelets, to the new chemotherapy drug that was added to his treatment that day, or to the leukemia. Whatever it was, it made for a scary scene while the team tried to figure out what was happening with Phin and what to do about it.  

Phin On the Daily

The hospital has a courtyard that's been converted into a playground. Phin says it's boring because there's nothing to climb on or slide down, almost as if the place was intentionally designed to minimize risk and prevent injuries. But boring or not, it was nice weather today and we convinced him to go just to get him outside a little. 

A child life specialist led us there and gave Phin a bubble pan and a wand. In his current state, with his messed-up blood levels and chemo and cancer coursing through his veins, Phin gets exhausted pretty quickly. After about 10 minutes, he asked to sit down on a bench. Then he threw up on the sidewalk. One of his nurses was summoned to help return him to his room. 

"No," Phin said, pointing to the puddle of vomit below him. "We have to clean that up." 

"We'll take care of it," the nurse said. "Don't worry about it."

"No, no we have to clean that up now," Phin said. "It will be bad for the animals." 

"The animals?" asked the nurse.

Phin nodded, shuddering that convulsive nausea shudder and wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

A towel was retrieved, the puddle was removed, and the safety of local wildlife was restored.

But before that happened, Phin enjoyed a solid ten minutes of playing outside like he used to do. I'll close this entry out with some shots of him having fun.