Normal home day

Nothing much to report. Normal home day. I had to take Joshua's temperature a couple of times. If he has a headache which he did today, I have to check his temperature before he is allowed paracetamol. If it's 38 degrees C I have to take it again in an hour. If it hasn't gone down he has to go straight to hospital. If it's 38.5 degrees C first time round he has to go straight to hospital without a second check. Thankfully all has been well and we haven't had to move ourselves from the couch. (We do move occasionally to stock up on food). Due to the risk of infection, when we are not at hospital we tend to stay at home and avoid other people. It turns out it is surprisingly easy to stay at home and not do much. Josh and I have enjoyed watching lots of movies and lots of episodes of 'The Middle'.

Josh has had a great week. Despite his blood results he has felt better this week than since his initial diagnosis in Cairns. He hasn't been napping or even resting in the day and goes to bed after me (actually not that hard). I think this time around he has been better than after his last cycle of chemo.
Thank you for everyone who has been praying for him and me this week.

We live in a funny cancer bubble - dealing with it every day ourselves and meeting other cancer families and cancer professionals. It's strange to think that out there in the rest of the world, there are lots of people without cancer. For some reason you tend to think that people with cancer are somehow different, even when you have become one of them, but then you realise that we are all just the same. Just people, some with cancer, some without. All just doing a day at at time and dealing with what comes our way.  Good health that we often take for granted is a real miracle. Come and sit in the lobby of the Lady Cilento and watch the children go by. You see all sorts, all ages, all races. Tiny babies with tubes coming out of everywhere and nurses following with oxygen tanks, bald heads and pale faces, small heads with huge scars, wheelchairs, crutches, bandages, smiling faces, tearful faces, angry faces.

In some ways you can get used to anything and even cancer becomes normal. The normal conversation is no longer the weather, but which cancer does your child have, how long have you been here, when were they diagnosed, how long do you expect to be here. Mostly the prognosis is good but the stories are not always happy. What do you say to a mum who says the doctors have run out of options for her 6 year old? Quite sobering. It leaves you with a lump in your throat and lots of questions.