We're in the clinic right now. Counts are good, so we're just waiting for a room. This can take hours. It has already taken hours, and will take more.
Wet eyes today. First, early this morning, when we stopped at the counter downstairs to get a pink-doughnut-with-sprinkles for Little Warrior. All of a sudden, her hair didn't just look thin -- it looked "cancer thin." Wispy and almost bald. And I could tell from the sweet and solicitous looks of the adults around me, they saw it too.
And just a little bit ago ... we were on the elevator. There was a big boy of probably about 10, wailing. As his parents carried him off the elevator, LW said, "Poor boy. Poor boy."
A friend of ours, whose daughter is in remission from relapsed Wilms', had her scans yesterday. She gets results today. We're in a different section of the oncology floor. I figure, if I see her (which means she walked back to our section), it's good news. If I don't ... it wasn't.
Whisper up a little prayer, wouldja?