Mount Timpanogos Courtesy cjane

Emma and I are still here in Utah. You know it was never my goal to live in Utah. Being born and raised in Idaho required you to have a small disdain for the Wasatch Front. Not that I didn't love to visit and not that I didn't love many people known as Utes or Zoobies, but I was perfectly happy in my own little zion (and they say Utah is zion?! Please~!)

However I am enjoying many Utah advantages. I am minutes away from Gateway Plaza (I love, love, love the Apple Mac store) and Trolley Square. I can grab a Cafe Rio pork salad every day if I wanted, but what's the point... it's not home!

Many of you have asked for our address in Utah (pathetic that I have an address here). Emma does love letters and getting mail here at the hospital. It really boosts her day and we hang things all over her room. So anytime you want to drop her a line, feel free:
Primary Children's Medical Center
c/o ICS Emma Gibbons
100 N Mario Capecchi Dr
Salt Lake City UT 84113

I am happy to report that for this weekend this will (most likely) not be our address.

After transfusions and medications and lots and lots of prayers, her counts finally came up. The ANC (absolute neutrofil count, don't know if I'm spelling it right) has to be between 1.5 and 8.0. Since January 26 it has basically been non- existent, AKA zero! Well a miracle has happened and today it is up to 2.2. Also, she hasn't had any Tylenol in two days and has kept her fever at bay. I talked to the doctors and they expect her to go home early Friday. This would really bouy her up as she has to be back on Monday 2/9 and a few days home would do her soul good.

Thanks for all of your prayers. Keep them coming. I'm trying not to jinx things, but I really hope to be home this weekend.

Thanks for everything.
-Lana

HOT

I am hot. Not H-O-T - hot, but hot under the collar, steamed, spicy, on fire.

Sometimes I have these moments that it really hits me that my daughter has cancer. Leukemia sounds so much better, less threatening, however they talk around here like she has cancer. Whatever the crap that means. Anyway, often in my head I validate it by repeating, "Emma has cancer." "My daughter has cancer." "Remember you've heard of cancer, you have it."

I know we are not the first to experience these things, but I really feel ripped off.

Right now Emma has a sore on her bottom the size of Grenada (you know a small country). This is something she should have to experience only at an older age and only after she's pushed a small, living human being out of her (which won't happen anyway). Do I sound bitter? I feel bitter. I am bitter.

I feel like hitting something. Maybe tomorrow I should go work out at the Jewish Community Center (free membership to all parents who have a kid with cancer). If only my legs would work after sleeping on this dam (ha, ha I spelled it wrong, doesn't count) faux leather couch. Has it only been two nights here? For the love!

Right now Emma is getting chemo called Methotrexate (google that one). It is bright yellow and makes her pee look like limeade. I will never drink limeade again... ever! She has to pee this out every two hours. It is toxic. She gets drops put in her eyes every three hours. You know, because the drugs could make her go blind. Nothing big. Stop the Madness!

I could go on and on because this was not my plan.

Did you know He talks to me even when I'm angry? He loves me and has a greater plan.

I will trust. It's soooooooo (remember when we wrote "so" like that in jr. high? ex. I like you sooooooo much) hard. H-A-R-D, hard!

The greater plan He has for me... I don't know, but I know Him, and that's enough.

Of this I testify.

Goodnight (or is it morning?).

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