All of the support and fund raising efforts by everyone really do make a difference for us.  It is so wonderful to go to the grocery story, buy food, and not stress about next week!

Rene's over here in Vancouver enjoying one of his new hobbies: being a fan of the Wiggles. Today he stood in front of the big screen TV at the Ronald McDonald house and danced around as if he'd never stopped walking.

On the topic of dancing, it sounds like "Come Play for Rene" is going to be superb.  Luis and I are surprised and honoured that the Esquimalt Legion is donating their venue and that Vinnie Taylor, Maria Manna, The Chick Wagon Band, and the Novamatics are willing to add their talents to a special event just for Rene!  Thank you all so very much.

When Rene was first diagnosed with the kind of cancer he has the doctor ordered a bone scan so that she would have a base-line of exactly how much cancer was in his bones and where it was located. 

She explained that the scan of a cancer-free body would show nothing except maybe a feint outline of the bones.  Rene's scan shows his whole skeleton except his feet!  It's almost overwhelming when we think about this. Without letting myself go down the road of fear that the chemotherapy won't be able to destroy all of the cancer cells, it's just amazing how much pain he was handling. 

At the end he couldn't walk, but probably the month or two leading up to that he was already suffering lots of pain and like a typical, practical four-year-old, just kept on truckin'.

Luis wasn't fooled and knew that Rene didn't have a bad flu.  When Rene quit walking, he read about hernias and appendicitis on the internet.  I was a bit slow on the pick-up in that regard. Still, neither of us could imagine anything worse than the usual could have entered Rene's physical body.

In fact while he could still stand to walk a little, it was his eyes that really spurred me on to get a diagnosis. I looked in his eyes one evening and they were so haggard. Even though he really wasn't saying, "it hurts" very often only a person in extreme pain could have that look in their eyes.

Rene finished his second cycle of chemotherapy yesterday and we are back at the Ronald McDonald house playing and trying to eat healthy food.  Since his "counts" (that refers the numbers of the components of his blood, such as hemoglobin, neutrophils, and platelets) are still "up" (meaning he has some ability to move oxygen through his body, fight infection, and clot blood) we went for a ride on the train in Stanley Park and a walk around Beaver Lake. It was hard to tell him he couldn't play on the play structure near the train, but he decided to be flexible about it.  He knows his "owie" is serious business. 

On the trail around the lake he kept getting out of his stroller and racing with us. He even got us all to play "duck, duck, goose." What impressed me about it is that even though he is tired to the bone and is still in the process of recuperating his muscles (his lower extremity was almost totally atrophied from not being able to move from intense bone pain caused by the cancer) he still insists on being himself. 

Being himself means being active. Running is one of his favourite activities and cancer doesn't change that.  Rene's view of himself is as a healthy, active, joyful person and that's who he is - no matter what! 

I'm counting on that part of him.

Rene and my husband coming back from the play room.  (Guess which parent stayed the night with Rene?  Luis looks a little sleep deprived.)

Rene is connected to the machine on a pole most of the time when he is in the hospital.  This is his second round of chemotherapy.  I improvised a holder tied around his chest so his "lines" would be up off the ground and out behind him where he can't get his feet tangled in them.

I'm really glad Luis is here too, because it's hard to play hockey with Rene in the play room AND follow him around with the pole all at the same time!

Photo of the machine taken by Rene.

Sometimes when I'm alone I feel like I might start crying, but the tears stick on the inside edges of my eyes. 

Then I think, why cry anyways? Rene is fine. He's playing with his father while I'm having "time to myself." Every day he's eating, laughing, and sometimes even being a pain.  He's so fine, he can play hockey in the play room while hooked up to a medical tower hung with tubes and bags of medicine.

There's really no point in throwing myself a pity party.