...in this case, is NOT the oncoming train.
That mystical, mysterious pathology report was given to us by Dr. Comcast this morning. Well, more precisely, it was given to me, because The Wife was at work and The Boy was sound asleep in the special chair / carriage thing in which he was riding.
It turns out that the pathology report merely revealed that both tumors were "treated Wilms tumor" - meaning, the same tumors that we knew and loved and were already treating with chemotherapy. The cells showed changes due to chemotherapy, which is what we hoped to find. Translating a bit, this means that the tumors were not new, resistant, or different stages than what we had before.
So, while the results are still going to out on the national Wilms network, we are not currently expecting an immense change and / or intensity increase in his chemotherapy. I'd be shocked if there weren't another drug or two added in, don't get me wrong - but this is better than it could have been.
As I told my brother, some times it really sucks to have a vivid imagination and a plethora of inner creativity.
The Boy and I had a sausage party at the hospital last night - no wimmen, thankyouverymuch. Girls have cooties. It went surprisingly well, considering that he was initially irritated that he couldn't nurse in the middle of the night (he hates picking hairs out of his teeth). He got over that quickly and didn't want the bottle of milk that I offered him several times in the night.
The ultrasound was 8AM this morning, which means we left our room at 7:45. They unhooked him from his tubes, leaving just the port access. The ultrasound was fairly painless - he was more irritated that strangers were touching him than anything else. Afterward, the nurse said, "Take your time getting back - we don't have to hook him back up until his antibiotic at 10." So, he and I got lost for a little while.
We went up to the Connelly Center on the 8th floor, which is a nice library / media center for the kids at the hospital - from babies to teens. They had a bowl of fruit there, and The Boy tore into the grapes like he was on a mission.
(Cue the Blues Brothers soundtrack: "I'm on a mission from G-d.")
When he was done with the grapes, he endearingly held onto the last half-grape that I had given him for the ride down the elevator. We walked a bit before settling on a seat in the middle of the atrium area of the 4th floor, where we shared a bagel and some other stuff before he fell asleep and Dr. Comcast gave me the status report.
When he woke up, we finished lunch, had a bottle of momma milk and changed into some new clothes. Now, we're both sitting in the crib. He's napping (sort of) and I'm blogging. His face is pressed into my chest, and his right foot is alternating between resting on the crib bed, resting on my leg, or kicking us both. Whatever.
Second best news: if the ultrasound doesn't show fluid buildup, we're going to go home!!!!1!!!11!!1!