Not much to update as far as Amos' medical condition or a diagnosis today. Papa Phil Johnson has arrived to help out, and the name of the game now is just trying to get Amos to chill. He has been really fussy with side effects of morphine, steroids, and the like. We are gonna try to switch him over to dilaudid, which is a similar pain killer to morphine. However, dillaudid is administered in smaller doses, which we hope will help give him some relief from the side effects of larger doses of morphine. So far the morphine seems to be coming up short of comfort. Also, as the doses increased, his discomfort from the side effects seemed to be more of a problem then the pain. He is scheduled for another CT scan today to observe any changes in the lymphatic tumors throughout his torso, and to see if they are affecting his bowel functions.
^Papa Phil and little Amos, just working on some chilling.
^Amos' general disposition when he is not super pissed.
^My cousin Jenny Haas has a classic story she likes to tell about me when I was a little guy obsessed with my Superman pajamas, and especially the cape. I used to fly around the house with my cape pretending to be "a bird, a plane, no Superman!", or as Jenny adds in dialect, "Thoooperman!". One time when she was babysitting my big brother and I she had to use my cape a collateral in negotiating my behavior. She told me that she flushed my cape down the toilet. Apparently, my reaction was just too heartbreaking for her to handle and she quickly caved to my unrelenting cuteness. Therefore, when these Superman pajamas showed up at the hospital for Amos from Jenny and her husband, Lance, it brought a smile to my face, and also served as a rather fitting metaphor for Amos.
^In the grips of battle.
^We really miss Amos' little smile, but this generally stoic disposition is actually relief to the alternative super upset and uncomfortable attitude. It breaks my heart to see him this way. As I talked about before, I really just miss my bouncing little boy. However, if he can win this war, then one day he will be back to his natural tendency to hoot, holler, and squawk at his dear old dad in excitement at the adventures of the day. I look forward to that, and keep it close to the vest for motivation.
^As I return to working night shifts at the airport, it is hard to be away from him knowing that he is suffering. Strangely, the work is a welcomed distraction for me, but as the sun sets I can't help but get nostalgic for the past when he was such a happy little boy. I believe in the photographer's metaphor we often use in shooting skiing as sunset and sunrise being the "magic hours". They have a way of not only offering up the best photographs, but the best chance at perspective and reflection through beauty in life in general. Even while hard at work on the ramps and taxiways its significance does not fall lightly upon me. This whole ordeal has given me a huge dose in perspective as well as life's lessons. I don't think Christine or I will ever be the same, but I also don't think that has to be a bad thing either. Amos has been a blessing to us everyday of his life. No matter the outcome of his ordeal we have learned, grown, and been enriched by him by unmeasurable leaps and bounds. He will always be the sunset, the sunrise, the "magic hour" of our lives whether he lives here on earth for a hundred years or only one.
