I feel like I started this blog to tell everyone about Hope and her journey, and somehow along the way it's turned into a tale of my journey. I'm sorry about that; I'm not a big fan of memoir. Maybe Hope and I have both regressed back to that infancy stage where we have a hard time remembering where one of us ends and the other begins...
But today I want to tell you about Hope. How she changes people wherever she goes. How the life she brings into elevators and waiting rooms startles unsuspecting strangers. How today she charmed a therapy dog named Lewis.
The Child Life Specialists at Hopkins periodically have therapy dogs visit the kids in the "Great Room" that's right next to clinic. Hope and I stopped in while we were waiting for her lab work to come back on Friday and met Lewis, a beautiful Chesapeake Bay retriever. They played ball and posed for photos. She refused to leave until he was on his way out too.
I'm kicking myself for not having the presence of mind to record an amazing dance party Hope initiated in her favorite pizza place a couple weeks ago. She was on her way out carrying a teetering pizza box in front of her, when Pharrell's Happy started playing over the restaurant's speakers. She immediately starts bouncing and then turns on her heel back to a more open spot for her full-on boogie. Two women who were ordering while this was happening, spin around and start dancing with her. Hope points at me, Nanna, and Quinn, and issues the command, "Dance!" Little bald cutie with a face mask and a pizza box, grooving to "Happy." It was like the feel-good movie of the week. As the song neared its end, we conga-lined it out of the restaurant, with one of these strangers leading the way. How was that not a viral video that landed us on a network morning show?
That's what she does. She lives this life fully present in every moment and invites us all to join her. (OK, sometimes the "invitation" is a a tad dictatorial.)
In my darkest moments I think that at the end of all this she has to be OK, because the world could not keep spinning without her, the pain of losing her would crush more people than could be counted. It's impossible.
But most of the time I just revel in her and the joy of being with her. And wonder at how she has taken all of this in stride and continues to do great.
She got her last dose of Peg-asparagase Friday. Her chemo next Friday is the last of this phase. Maintenance is real, and it's coming soon.
