Christmas in July for Phin

The patient all snug in his bed with visions of
 animals-with-Santa-hats frolicking in his head.

In normal life, I've always loved a good theme--Senior Seventies night, a Mean Girls party, Av's HP birthday party and Obelia's "Bow" (hairbows and bowties) parties spring to mind as some of the most epic ones, but I've lamented the lack of "theme" parties for Phin. It's not because I didn't want to throw him an epic "party animal" theme party, in fact, we'd planned to have his third birthday party at Oatland--even booked the date--when Covid struck and we were all mandated to stay home (I called Oatland on the off-chance they'd let us come anyway, but they're total rule followers, which, if I'm being honest, I am, too). But between Covid and cancer, Phin has spent about seven months outside of our home in the "real world". 

Read that one again:

Only, at most, seven out of approximately 61 months of his life have been spent outside of our house--going to school, playing with other kids his age, kicking a ball on a soccer pitch, and just being a normal kid. Wow, right?

So when I rolled up to the Pediatric Special Unit wing on Tuesday to swap out with Dustin, and was told by one of our favorite nurse's--who just so happened to be wearing Christmas-themed scrubs--that the rest of the month had been declared "Christmas in July" month, you better believe she had to say no more before I began calculating: 

1-how many Christmas decorations I could uncover from the depths of our "holiday decoration closet" in the less than 24 hours I'd be home next, 

2-how many Christmas decorations I could manage to inconspicuously cart into the hospital in one of the little red plastic wagons in the lobby, and 

3-how many actual decorations I could put up in his room before they declared it a legit "safety hazard" 

A surprise visit from sisters, cousins and Aunt Sara!

No Christmas is complete without lights and a tree.

Phin was tired today upon my return with my cart full of decorating goodies--almost too tired to have a very quick outdoor visit with his sisters and cousins (who drove all the way from Florida to surprise him), but when we got back to his room, we were reminded that Santa Claus is coming tomorrow and he told me, before falling directly back to sleep as soon as I lowered him back into the bed "Mama, we really need to get to work". Far be it for me to disappoint so without further adieu, I present to you, Phin's Christmas in July wonderland.

Big Monkey Johnny ready for Santa.

Phin decorates a snowman for the Playroom.

The stockings were hung...

He's currently sleeping in his Christmas pajamas with his Christmas blanket and his Christmas Hippo (who, for the record, sings "I want a hippopotamus for Christmas" while wearing a Santa hat), but as he lay down for the night, after sleeping most of the day, a helicopter chopped its propellers outside our window, lowering itself onto the helipad just a rooftop away in our line of sight. I pulled the shade up to see it descend, its red and white lights flickering as it did, and said "Look, Phin, that helicopter is landing up there! Do you know what it's doing?" In his chemo-induced, sleepy-five-year-old-voice, eyes fluttering shut in the glow of the Christmas lights he whispered, "Maybe it's bringing Santa Claus." 

And for a minute, in the glow of the Christmas lights, and the cheer of the decorated room, under different circumstances, I could've believed that outside it was cold and that vision of red and white in the distance was really a sleigh. I turned away from the window to the tick-tick-tick of the IV hydrating my little boy who'd fallen asleep before I could say, "Or maybe it's saving a life."