The boy is home again and nearly all the way back to being his normal chatty, active self. He still seems a little scrawny to me and maybe a bit more tired, but it is crazy how quickly he has bounced back from how sick he was at the hospital. He’s back at the Lego table and making requests for ice cream and Legos and also, maybe, Mama, some Star Wars Legos?

While he was there I struck up a conversation with another mother. Her son, a one year old, has been in the children’s hospital for 118 days after being diagnosed with a rare form of cancer at five months old. She’s hoping he gets out in a few days during a break between chemo sessions.

She seemed matter-of-fact and resolute about it and though I know that the well being of children isn’t a zero sum game, I felt a moment of embarrassment of how crazy ridiculously lucky I am, that my kid had like the best possible hospital scenario going on (something short, non-life threatening and treatable) when her baby is so sick.

I don’t know what to do with that feeling of good fortune. Just whisper “thank you” to the universe and keep playing Legos, I guess.



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