There is something so innate in each of us that wants to know we are not alone. We crave commaraderie, companionship, kinship ... whatever it is that reminds us we walk our unique journey alongside others. Forrest's little four-year-old mind is no different. I've heard this peer support described as a "communion of hurt." However you want to describe it, it's been vital to Forrest to know he is not the only one going through this as he strives to understand & accept what is going on. So here he is doing procedure after procedure yesterday to Hopper the Frog, mimicking each action of the drs & nurses hovering over him. ...Telling Hopper it's going to be ok, Forrest has to do this stuff too.

We spent over nine hours yesterday at DeVos Children's Hospital surrounded by children all in the same boat: an impossibly tiny infant, a couple still-precocious toddlers, a handful of quiet teenagers, a 10-yr old Italian cutie pie who could speak no English but went around with a remote-controlled whoopie cushion & a video camera gleefully yelling "YouTube YouTube!" as we cheered each successive victim. Infusion days we are in a big room filled with pods: a couple chairs, a little table & a TV. There are privacy sheets each can draw, but most are left open & the smiles and tentative small talk welcomed. There are spaces for maybe 15 patients; many days they are all full. The kids usually have fuzzy, patchy heads & grey complexions, most are subdued, & the parents always look tired. But there is somehow still the feeling that we're in this together. And the knowledge-laden shared smiles help. They really do.

Forest got some big heavy drugs yesterday. He has a PORT now- an implantation below the skin on his right pec muscle that goes straight into his heart. There is an access needle & a tube that hangs out of it delivering drugs. He was a champ when they "accessed" the PORT for the first time. Later in the day, though, we had a mishap. The tube got caught on the footrest & yanked severely, partially dislodging it. His screams of agony made my heart drop. It took 3 adults to hold him & 2 attempts to "re-access." Later, it was Hopper's turn. Communion of hurts, I guess.