No official news yet. We are meeting with Jeff at 5 o’clock since he’s working in the PICU today, and I am getting increasingly nervous. I’d been feeling pretty good, mostly because Austin wowed us by taking a few steps and eating a plate of mac and cheese! Did I mention how tough he is? He was thrilled with the applause he received from several doctors and nurses when he announced that he’d farted, which is a good sign he doesn’t have an ileus. Wait til he poops — we’ll probably throw a party! (Oh, there will be much work for me to undo all he learns at the hospital. . . )

So I was feeling good, heartened by one doctor who thought we might get to go home tomorrow or the next day. But then I talked to Jeff and heard something in his voice, a hesitancy or nervousness or something. I’m probably reading too much into it; he is working in the PICU after all and dealing with lots of families on the edge of disaster. I just need to wait. It is strange to think that he and the pathologist in Washington state and various doctors tucked away in offices scattered throughout the hospital know the fate of my child and I just need to wait.

I keep recycling old lines from our first round with cancer, but this one, taken from a Carepage posting on September 11, 2007, as we awaited pathology results after the horrifying growth of Austin’s primary tumor, keeps popping into my head:

“Don’t even know what to wish for. But wishing nonetheless.”