September ...not exactly a mouthphul

Hey there, Phin phans!

Phin's been up to more stuff this September than stuffing his mouth full of marshmallows...

...but he's also got a clinic visit in a couple of days, so we're going to hold off for a bit on posting a long update until we get those numbers back. 

Stay tuned, and thank you, pham!

Phin's Phirst Remission Anniversary

Hey there, Phin phans! Dustin here with an update on Phin for August. It's been a long time since we had a photo-based update here, and we took a lot of photos this month so let's do this! 

Phin had to go into the clinic at the very beginning of August for his bimonthly checkup and bloodwork, and this time the trip included extra stops for additional scans that were a part of the arm of the study Phin was enrolled in when he began treatment. It'd been a while since Neesha and I had seen him all hooked up like this. Definitely brought back some memories, but we managed to get through it. Phin was a champ. 

Medical update: Everything looked good! He posted the most boring, normal-looking numbers we've seen since we arrived in Leukemia Land back in March of last year. He put up some blood counts that would absolutely put you to sleep. Of course, we were practically doing cartwheels when those popped up. Remission is holding!

In a month when Barbenheimer captured the zeitgeist, the only movie on Phin's radar was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem. Phin has been mainlining all five seasons of Nickelodeon's 2012-2017 turtles (of which I, admittedly, am also a huge fan) endlessly, so this new Seth Rogen relaunch had its work cut out for it, but Phin gives it two big green mutant thumbs up! Cowabunga!  

When Phin was in treatment, the spotlight was constantly on him, and most of the time he couldn't even be there for his friends and family when they had their celebrations. Now, though, he gets to be a part of the crew when it's time for others to shine. Here he is with his fam sending off his cousin G on her last first day of high school. Go G! 

Phin and his sisters got to hang out with their buddy, Carson, at Fun Zone this month, courtesy of Camp Sunshine, an amazing Georgia nonprofit that supports childhood cancer patients and their families. Phin met Carson last year around the holidays at another Camp Sunshine event, and throughout the year the organization has helped them stay connected through the cool events it hosts.    

(You're probably like, Is he wearing the same TMNT shirt ... again? He is, dear reader. He is indeed.) Here's Phin and sisters with longtime family friends, the Yochs, at what would become Phin's first sleepover. More good times with good friends. More memories. More milestones. 

Phollowing in his sisters' phootsteps, Phin enrolled in theater camp at the Savannah Children's Theater. He's been a co-star in his sisters' at-home productions for most of his life, and an audience member at their shows for nearly as long, and he's excited for his onstage debut! 

It's been a busy month, but the main theme that we tried to keep in focus was remembrance. We wanted that to reverberate through everything we did. A small thing we did to show this was to send some lunches for the patients on the unit with the utterly phenomenal Cure Childhood Cancer on the anniversary of the day Phin left the children's hospital, which last year on August 17. On that day, Phin and Aspen rang the bell, and the confetti flew, and they left the pediatric oncology unit after months of treatment where they met lots of friends and overcame incredible obstacles with the aid of many helpers. We have not forgotten the friends we made, or the friends we lost, whose names are engraved on our hearts. We have not forgotten how close we came to losing Phin, or how far he still has to go. Nor have we forgotten the many people who helped us. We have not forgotten the people who work in the children's hospital, or the care and comfort that they provide, or how the ears that listened to Phin's heartbeat might very well have heard the soft patter of earth on the lid of a tiny coffin mere hours before. And we have not forgotten that there are others who have gone into treatment after us--other Phins and other Aspens and other Mileses and other Myleses and other Kashis and other Carsons and other Lilys and other Seths--each the most remarkable person you will ever meet.

Lastly, to mark the one-year anniversary of Phin's remission, I celebrated by getting my first tattoo. It's an interpretation of the Phin Phans emblem that we all know and love, which was given to us by Terri Foote in the days following Phin's diagnosis. We have rallied around that symbol for a year and a half, and I will never forget the way it lifted our spirits when we'd see it in traffic or on our friends' profiles, in our time of darkness, when hope was flickering. Marcus Dove at Kustom Hustle suggested a slightly more fierce-looking shark and designed it using elements of the original. I love how it pays homage to the logo but also adds just a tad bit of edge!

Phinishing Summer, Starting Phirst Grade

Hey there, Phin phans! Dustin here with an update on Phin for July. There's a lot going on next month, since August is when Phin goes in for his bimonthly blood draw, as well as for a battery of tests and scans required by the chemotherapy experiment in which he was enrolled. Plus, August 17 is his first anniversary of ringing the bell and coming home, and you can bet we'll want to pause and reflect on that. But for now, let's get caught up on what Phin's been doing this summer!

Everyone who's reading this with a functional immune system, take a moment and let it know how much you appreciate it. Without it, stuff like bug bites, scrapes, and contact with dirt, sand, and untreated water would all be a lot more problematic. One of the biggest threats to people who have cancer besides, uh, the cancer, is infection. This time last year, that was all we could think about. Even after Phin left the hospital, we tried to be super-cautious. His immune system got rocked so hard through his chemo admissions that it took months for his counts to look normal again, and we heard many tragic stories of kids who had their cancer on its heels but then got taken out by germs that they would have been able to fight off if they'd only had stronger immune systems at the time.  

Needless to say, it had been a minute since Phin played at the beach or went in the ocean. This month, however, he made his return. His grandparents live very close to the beach, and Phin spent about a week earlier this month hanging out there with his cousins and other relatives for his grandmother's birthday. He spent his days digging in the sand, boogieboarding, splashing in the surf...basically just living his best life.  

I might be burying the lede here, though, because none of that would have been as cool if he hadn't learned how to swim this month! He made progress back in June, but in July, he got it. Not like, fight-a-riptide got it, but "got it" to the level that now it's no big deal when a wave picks him up or slaps him under. In the pool, he's advanced to the point that if he's dropped into deep water, he can swim to the side and climb out. This is a small victory, sure. But it's kind of like him getting to play at the beach because he has an immune system again. It's one more thing that he gets to do that we don't have to worry quite as much about for the moment. Something bad could still happen, but that's not as likely now. Any excuse not to worry quite as much, I'm for. I know I'm usually all about the hypervigilance because it's been my jam since this all started, but listen, this regular vigilance thing is just amazing. It's like, the same bold alertness flavor, same subtle notes of wariness and concern, but without the sparking wire of panic buzzing right between the teeth. 10/10 highly recommend!

Anyway, to get back to what's been going on in July, Phin's Granny is known for doing a whole lot of adventures and activities on her birthday week, and this year Phin got to be there for it. Kayaking...pirating...minigolfing.... He was in it to Phin it!   

 

Also in July, Phin lost his first tooth! I'll let him tell it. 

Finally, Phin started first grade this month...which, I know, it's still July. Let me just say that my generation would never have stood for this when we were kids and we 100% would have burned this whole mother down at the mere suggestion of going back to school in July, but apparently this is where we are now, and one day these kids will have to explain why they hung their heads and took it instead of answering the call to revolution.

That said, though, Phin had a really great first week at school! Here he is with his sisters (and Neesha) on day one. We're hoping it's going to be a good year! 

Medical Updates

None this month. Stay tuned, though. 

Thanks, Phin phans. 

  

 

Phin's Newphound Summer Phreedom

Welcome back, Phin Phans, as we wrap up month ten of Phin (and Aspen, if you're wondering) in remission. Saying or typing that will never ever get old.

And what a month this has been! Phin and his Pepop (my dad--Neesha here, btw) spent their first actual birthday together since Phin's third birthday. The last two years they've been doing battle with their own respective forms of cancer but this birthday they blew out their candles together and in remission. The birthday celebration was for them, but it felt like it was as much for the rest of us, as well.

With his newfound summer freedom, Phin wanted to do everything, make up for all the fun he couldn't take part in last summer. Because he missed his sisters' shows last summer, he wanted to see every single performance this summer; because he was in the middle of a soccer season when he was diagnosed with cancer last year, he wanted to return to the pitch this year. In the spirit of this, he attended soccer camp the first week of June with his oldest sister, then caught every performance of Frozen Jr. to cheer on Obelia that weekend.

Two weeks later, he attended almost every performance of Avonlie's. He only missed one because the same weekend Av performed in Lion King Jr., Phin's good friend Miles turned six, too. (June is a pretty special month, right?)

He and Obelia also attended Oatland Camp. It was at about day two of that, as he climbed into the backseat during pickup he asked, "How many more days do I have of Amazing Animals camp?" 

"About three more?" 

"But, Mama, why didn't you sign me up for more? For the whole summer? For every week?" 

To absolutely no one's surprise, he loved it. In our defense, you can only sign up for two weeks at Oatland's summer camp. Next year we will most definitely be signing him up for the max.

Phin is also, to his dismay and occasional delight, learning to swim. He can kick and paddle with impressive strength, even managing to keep his head completely out of the water as he swims from the middle of the pool where he can't stand to the side, screaming the whole way that he "wants to hug Mama" because, let's face it, who wouldn't rather hug their mother than stick their face in the water when one really hates putting one's face in water? 

He hasn't broken his swim instructor's will to keep teaching swim just yet, so we're hopeful he'll be face-in-water swimming before the summer ends.

Seeing Phin in water like this is another thing that never gets old. A year ago today, Dustin had just returned to stay with Phin in the children's hospital to tag out Aunt Seale (forever our hero!) after spending a week in quarantine, I was on my second week isolated at home with his two then-Covid-positive sisters, and it had been almost 90 days since Phin had bathed with anything but antiseptic wipes, much less taken a bath with actual water or been submersed in a pool. Such was the level of caution we needed to observe to maximize his odds of survival in his immunocompromised state. For a boy who hearkens to the siren songs of puddles and water balloons, it was a time of great austerity.

But now, look at him back in the water. Look at him go!

Phin also got to catch up with his buddy Miles, who also celebrated his 6th birthday this month. Miles arrived in the children's hospital for his first round of chemo as Phin was starting his final round, and the two were next door neighbors last July and August. Their treatments are different (Miles was diagnosed with ALL; Phin was diagnosed with AML). The kind of treatment Miles has to do is spread out over several years. He was shaking off the effects of a spinal tap when we rolled up to his birthday party, which should tell you just about everything you need to know about the strength and resilience of this individual. Phin had a wonderful time helping him celebrate. It's always a good time when they get together. 

Also, big congratulations to Miles and his brother for earning their orange stripes in karate this month. Awesome job, guys!

Finally, at the end of June we were honored when Rik Zortman, the humanetchasketch™, and his wife, Lisa, visited, and Rik ran Phin's name on the streets of Savannah. Rik lost his three-year-old son, Armstrong, to brain cancer in 2009. Since then, Rik has honored Armstrong's memory by running the names of others affected by cancer, using GPS to trace the letters in the path Rik runs. He has spelled names in all 99 counties in Iowa and in two other countries, and now he is out to do all 50 states in the U.S. Meeting Rik and Lisa was an absolute delight, and it was extremely cool to be a part of what he's doing. Phin was absolutely thrilled when he saw his name. Check out the news story about it here. 

And if you'd like to request a name for Rik to run, you can do that here.   

Medical updates:
There are no medical updates to speak of this month. Phin's next scheduled clinic visit is at the beginning of August, just after school starts again. 

Phin's Phinal Month of Being Phive

Hey there, Phin phans! Dustin here with a quick update on Phin for the month of May. Let's get it. 

Peepop and Phin on Mother's Day.

Longtime phollowers of this blog will recall that Phin and his grandfather, "Peepop," Neesha's father, have a very special bond. They also have a lot in common. They were both born on June 1st. A year ago, they were both undergoing treatment for cancer (Phin for acute myeloid leukemia, Peepop for multiple myeloma).

This year, they're both in remission. 

Phin's remission is holding, but at only 10 months off treatment, he's got a long way to go before any of us can breathe easily. Peepop's remission is contingent on an ongoing regimen of maintenance chemotherapy.  

But from the moment Neesha's father was diagnosed in June 2021, through Phin's diagnosis in March 2022, and beyond, we have prayed for essentially just one thing:

Time. 

I sometimes wonder if "Please let us have more time" might somehow be involved in every prayer, but I confess that this is not my lane. Nonetheless, for both Phin and his grandfather, on our knees, we asked for more time. 

We received more time. 

Tomorrow, our two birthday boys plan to go out to eat at their favorite Indian restaurant (Himalayan Curry Kitchen in Richmond Hill – try the Vindaloo!) with the rest of the family. There, they will both probably get their faces melted off by spicy sauces and laugh, and later we will sing to them as they blow out candles and make wishes and make the absolute most of their time together. Between covid and cancer, this will be the first birthday they have spent together since Phin turned two.

Medical Updates
Phin had his regular bimonthly clinic visit on May 30 – "bimonthly" as in every two months, not "bimonthly" as in twice a month ... I feel like we deserve more than just one word for both meanings, right? Do better, English language. 

Anyway, he went to the clinic appointment that he goes to every 60 days, and the counts from his blood work at that appointment were fantastic. Phin was right in the normal range for white blood cells, red blood cells, hemoglobin, platelets – everything except neutrophils, which have been a little low consistently. Even those were higher this time, though. According to these labs, Phin's blood looks great. 

Phin rolls up to the clinic with birthday
cupcakes for his hospital pham.

And what a relief! A couple weeks back, Phin had a sudden loss of appetite that lasted a few days, followed by a parade of other symptoms like fatigue, nausea, and diarrhea – red alert status in this household. That's the drawback of longer stretches between Phin's blood draws. When Phin was in-patient for those five months in spring and summer '22, we got daily lab reports on what was happening with his counts because they drew blood from his CVC every morning. Now, we have to navigate using other stars. So when we notice any changes in his appearance or behavior – especially symptoms that in any way resemble the ones we remember him having just before he got diagnosed with leukemia – our fingers start twitching toward the panic button. 

Imagine our joy when Phin's eldest sister started blasting out of both ends a few days later. O! how our hearts sang as what turned out to be a regular old garden-variety norovirus laid each of us low in turn and the walls of our home echoed with a symphony of splatter sounds of ballistic vomiting and involuntary low-viscosity defecation. And while it's true at around 3 a.m. on my second night of trembling on the bathroom floor I developed a detached indifference toward my own survival, I still found comfort in the recognition that, for Phin, this was only a stomach bug, nothing more.    

Phin On the Daily
I think I've painted enough images with words for one post. Here are some photos to tell the story of what Phin got up to in May. 

Phin could hardly wait for the pool to open
for the season. Last year, his CVC line and
vulnerability to infection prevented him from
entering the water. He's making up for that now.

Bike day at school! 

Phin's first time at the go-kart track. 

Hanging out with Uncle Coire during his visit.

Asleep with Slothy on his
final night as a five-year-old.

April Showers

April has been a month that saw the return of holiday traditions and the continual effort to transpose new memories over old ones. 

We spent Easter in Charlotte with my (Neesha here!) brother Kiran and cousin Sri. Many Easters over the years have been spent at this heavenly bachelor pad to our north where “the uncles” delight their nieces and nephews with a hundred (almost, some years) egg hunt in the backyard, a brunch with a menu of their choosing and s’mores every evening. This year, we celebrated Obelia’s birthday by seeing a touring production of Aladdin ahead of the Easter festivities, as well, and got hooked on the show Ted Lasso. 

Phin and I had a simultaneous spring break the week after Easter, so we took an impromptu trip down to the Jacksonville Zoo where we spent the hours from 9:40 a.m. to 4:40 p.m. exploring every inch of the zoo as if we’d never been there before when, really, the amount of times we’ve gone are uncountable. I intricately documented this trip through photos and sent them to Dustin along the way. 

You may remember the last time Phin visited the zoo was with Dustin mere days before his AML diagnosis. This is one of the most painful memories for us to think

back on from last year. When we map out Phin’s progression of symptoms this and a birthday party three days before his admission are the most telling ones: fatigue, lack of appetite, pallor, increased whininess…they’d come to a head and even though he wanted to enjoy—and did, as much as he was able—his experiences, the cancer had caused too much discomfort for him to really love the time he had there. Dustin remembers carrying Phin through most of the zoo, getting him a snow cone he never ate. But this year he ran through most of the zoo, ate everything I handed him as he went, only stopping three times: once to ride the train, once to eat a full lunch and once more to sit in the water at the splash pad (if that even counts since he spent a whole hour playing in the water there, too). The photos worked like a salve over the painful, guilt-ridden memories from last year. In time, I believe, there will barely be a metaphorical scar where last year’s memory resides.

April has been a month that brought us insurmountable joy in every moment we have our family at home living a prototypical “normal” life. It has been a month of continued gratefulness.

But April has also been a month of loss. Cancer claimed the lives of two people we loved—our neighbor Tim and a three-year-old patient, Ace, who was sometimes inpatient with us while Phin went through treatment.

Tim was diagnosed with cancer about four months before Phin. When he heard about Phin’s diagnosis he was angry alongside so many of us, but celebrated his victories as if they were his own. I vividly recall Tim passing by our house one rare day between treatments when Phin was home and outside in the front yard playing. “It’s so good to see him running and playing. Kicking cancer’s ass,” he’d said, as if Phin’s fight were truly his, too. Tim had the most incredible spirit of generosity—buying our girls out of Girl Scout cookies and taking orders from his whole office to increase their sales. And the most beautiful flowers cascading down the second story balcony of his porch. There is not a resident in our neighborhood who won’t miss him.

We met Ace during one of Phin’s month-long admissions. When he wasn’t feeling well, Ace traveled in a wagon, but when he was feeling well, Ace traveled in his dancing shoes, often stopping in the middle of the hall to get down and, boy, could this little cutie get down. Phin always wanted to play with Ace or get his attention with some crazy antic so he could hear him giggle. When he’d arrive back at the hospital for an admission he’d say “Do you think Ace is here, too?” Often, they’d have a dance party at the nurse’s station to whatever music an obliging nurse would put on. Phin loved Ace. It was impossible not to love Ace. It is impossible to imagine him gone.

Ace and Phin at the Camp Sunshine Christmas party November 20, 2022.

We’ve talked to Phin about these losses—gently and delicately. He remembers Mr. Tim and
following around Mr. Tim’s dog one afternoon when we swung by to help with something. He remembers Ace and the snowball party, and dancing, and when I told him Ace had gone to heaven now he said,
“He was just a baby.” 

Here is a link to the GoFundMe page Ace's aunt set up to help his family cover funeral costs.

April has been a month of showers.

Diagnosiversary

Hey there, Phin phans! Neesha and Dustin are both coming at you with this month's update. Let's get it!

Phin with his classmates watching the
fountain turn green for St. Patrick's Day

Neesha: March 29th marked one year since Phin's first chemo treatment. The day before that was one year since his central line placement. March 25 was a year since they named his leukemia: AML and March 23 was the day "leukemia" was spoken into existence. 

Dustin: The day that Phin was diagnosed and the days that led up to it last spring have been discussed already in this blog (which just had its first birthday–wild!) here and here, as well as elsewhere here and here. That period has been pretty well documented, I think. 

Neesha: As the anniversary of Phin's diagnosis neared, so many little things reminded us of last year before he was diagnosed: Phin got a bruise; Phin got untraceably sick; Phin was more tired one day, more lethargic another, not hungry... All the little things that added up to his unlucky diagnosis last year seemed to be piling up again, though, admittedly, on a much smaller, much more scrutinized scale. I dragged him to Dr. Behm and, although I was substituted in for Dustin’s role last year as the attending parent, the date and visit felt familiar to us both, I’m sure. I suspect we both felt a similar kind of relief when his finger-prick blood work revealed a series of “healthy, normal” numbers.

Dustin: [Narrator voice] They did.

Neesha and Phin at bedtime

Neesha: But the reality of his one year diagnosis anniversary loomed large. For at least one day, a week before the actual anniversary, I couldn’t shake the sense that some riptide awaited us just ahead on March 23. I couldn’t stop thinking about how innocently we’d lived our lives before the worst happened, and the anniversary of that worst was inching closer with each day of March. I sat on the couch in our living room, sent Dustin and the kids off ahead of me on a camping trip with our friends and watched the entire fourth season of You on Netflix, only leaving the couch to begrudgingly let the dog out or shuffle myself across the living room, still in my fuzzy pink bathrobe and flannel PJs, to the bathroom, until I’d seen it all. If you’ve seen season 4 of You, you know this was an intentional act of desperation. It was good, but none of the You seasons is good enough to sit through 7.5 hours at once. If you know me at all, you know 1-I never actually watch TV much (this is why I leave the movie and TV references to Dustin), and 2-Sit? For 7.5 hours? Me? Bwahahahahaha.  

Dustin: Phin’s Uncle Coire put this feeling in terms I could understand with a Back to the Future reference. So much of what’s happening right now feels eerily familiar, like we’ve been here before. It's just because the air and the light at this time of year remind us of the most horrific scene of our lives. We wake up like Marty McFly in a world that seems familiar but changed--hopefully for the better, but it may still be too soon to tell. When little things like the ones Neesha mentioned started happening again–and even stuff like Phin joining a soccer team like he did just before he got diagnosed last spring–it really started to creep us out, like we were Marty, running to that mall parking lot just in time to watch Doc get gunned down again. We spent this whole month hoping it’d go differently this time around, like we’d get the reveal of the taped-together note and the bulletproof vest. 

Neesha: Switching back to You, I guess watching Joe murder off (SPOILER ALERT) a series of unsuspecting, largely elitist (why is it always the rich?) Londoners worked its magic, though, cus, by day two, my (and the dog’s) bags were packed and we were off. Camping with our friends, it turned out, was exactly what I needed. When we came back, Dustin decided to make it donut-rain on the pediatric oncology nurses to commemorate Phin’s diagnosiversary.

Dustin: The evening before we did that, Phin and I were walking to the field to see his sister Av play soccer. 

“Tomorrow is kind of a special day,” I said. “It’s one whole year since the day you first went to the hospital for cancer. One year since you met all your friends there. Can you believe it?”

Phin didn’t say anything. 

“Since it’s a special day, maybe we could go and visit your hospital friends before school. Maybe bring them some donuts. I bet they’d like that. What do you think?”

“So, then I’ll have to do it all again?” Phin asked quietly.

“What? No! No, buddy, no. No, you’re better now. We’re just going there to say hi. You don’t have to stay this time. Don’t worry.”

Phin still looked worried.

“Dadda?” he said. “Will I get to have a donut, too?”

“Definitely.” 

Phin and his hospital pham 

“Yay!” he said, and he raced ahead with excitement and joy.

Neesha: Then we decided not to just spread the donut wealth on our favorite oncology nurses, but to turn the day into a celebration of Phin and his incredible spirit, and in celebration of everyone we encountered that day because getting through this past year has been a communal act, not a solitary one. We showered donuts on Phin’s unexpecting classmates and teachers, the front office staff at his school, our SVA family (who welcomed me back to the classroom this January, which I’m now realizing I may not have mentioned yet)...if we didn’t see you that day, please know you were–and continue to be–thought of and celebrated in our home every day, with or without the receipt of a celebratory donut.

Dustin: Phin was super happy when he came outside at pickup time that day.

“How did it go?” I asked.

 “Great!” Phin said. He said that everyone liked the donuts, but also that his teachers let him announce that they were doing morning recess (I suspect because we kind of upended that morning’s curriculum with those donuts–sorry!). 

He continued. “I said, ‘MORNING RECESS!’ and everyone came up and hugged me! I felt really proud of myself!”

I’ve thought about that a lot. Sometimes through all of this, it’s been hard to find words to convey our emotions. When I’ve talked to Phin again about how it felt when his classmates came up and hugged him last week, he’s used that same phrase–proud of himself. But I don’t think he means it like we typically think. He isn’t proud of himself because he’s accomplished something. It’s not about anything he thinks he’s done. Phin doesn’t really think in those terms, and certainly not about his cancer. What he means is that when his classmates came up to hug him, he felt proud to be Phin. It made him feel accepted. He felt like he belonged. 

Phin chilling with his oncologist

Medical Updates: Phin hit the seven month mark. He has been officially off-treatment since mid-August, which–one oncologist told me–is actually when they begin to count his remission date from, as well. So he is officially seven months in remission. Early March, Phin had a bout of the stomach bug, which we were unable to find a source of transmission from and no one else in our home got it, which, of course, was the reason I dragged him back to the pediatrician for a look-see. I covered it above, but he’s good and we did end up discovering a classmate also had the same affliction within the same time period. Redemption for my anxious mind that now needs to have a reason for why my cancer child is sick instead of just rolling with it, like we usually would.

Phin’s blood work is a thing of beauty, despite his allergies messing with his eosinophils. 

Phin preparing to get blood drawn

One striking new reality we have is how relatively unphased Phin is by sickness now. I don’t know about you or the kids in your life, but for the kids in mine–vomiting is a pretty traumatizing experience filled with crying and drama and sometimes misses that need to be cleaned up. This is true of all kids in my personal mental history, but for Phin, when he was sick this month, it was just like another part of life that happens and you deal with it before wiping your face off and asking for some toast while heading to the sink to clean out your mouth. His experience with vomiting is vast. He’s kind of an accomplished puker and could probably give classes on it, but it’s striking to see his level of expertise in such a small child. It’s a fragment from his experience that he’ll carry with him. Artifacts like this litter our lives, Phin’s especially, like stark reminders that the past is not buried that deeply and can emerge again at any moment.

Phin On the Daily: Phin brings up his time in the hospital frequently. He hasn't forgotten the friends he made there and the many people who cared for him and helped save his life. He wishes he could still play with his nurses and Child Life buds every day, and occasionally, when we cut him off on popsicles or tell him to shut off his shows because it's past his bedtime, he tells us how much he'd love to be living in the hospital again instead. And sometimes we try, as gently as we can, to remind him that he was gravely ill and in mortal danger then, and also that he wasn't allowed to leave. But most of the time, we let it slide. His memories of the ordeal that began a year ago are bathed in rays of golden sunlight, and the pain, the tears, the blood, and the terror are fading away.

Training wheels–disengaged!

On our camping trip with our friends, the Talarcyzks, we took the training wheels off Phin's bike–something inconceivable to us half a year ago, when his platelet count was so low that a scraped knee might have led to horror-movie levels of bleeding and left him prone to infections he couldn't fight off. Phin has normal platelets now, and he's been putting them to work! He crashed his bike over and over, but now, instead of bleeding out, he got banged up, slapped on some bandaids, and rode on.