Well, we are back at home. Got in Sunday afternoon about 3:30 PM.

We left Colorado Springs on Friday morning. We were in no hurry to rush home, so we meandered through the Rockies and Western Colorado first. We checked out Aspen for lunch, went up to Glenwood Springs which we could see ourselves going back to, and then spent Friday night in Grand Junction. Saturday we hung out in GJ and took Emma to a children’s museum, called the DooZoo, where she was able to play around for a few hours. This was needed for her and for us. I skipped a block over and tried out some brews at the Rockslide Brewery and the girls joined me for lunch.

Next stop was Telluride. We had never been there since it isn’t really on the way from anywhere. We all loved it. The prices are ridiculous, but the mountains, slopes and overall aura was awesome. We will be going back again someday.

This morning after breakfast, we bee-lined home through the Painted Desert. There is no “nice” way to get home from Durango or the Four Corners area, so we just shipped donkey to Flagstaff.

I know I sort of dropped off of the internet face of the earth early last week. We had a computer in the waiting room at the VA hospital in Denver, as well as a lot of down time, so I was able to keep everyone in the loop. Here is a quick guide as to what had happened:

Zach had been sent to the E.R. (8/4/03) with a very rare blood and tissue infection that no one is real certain of how he contracted. The bacteria was eating away at his skin and spreading throughout his body. It was progressing at such an alarming rate, we were called by my parents to rush to Denver on (8/6/03). We left at 11 am and got there at midnight that night. At that time he was barely conscious. He was on some heavy doses of morphine and an antibiotic to kill the bacteria. Because of his weakened state from the chemotherapy the doctor’s did not have much confidence he would last long, neither did any of us.

Thursday morning (8/7/03) we walked into a kid that was sitting up and talking to us. The doctor’s moved him out of E.R. because there really wasn’t anything else they could do to help him. We were expecting this new room to be the place where he was to die. It was room 100 on the fifth floor. We were impressed with his recoil but not reassured that it was going to be permanent. He began hallucinating, which the doctor’s had originally warned was a side effect of the bacteria. Other’s thought it was the morphine. I thought it was the mind preparing the body to go, like I have read it to do in books. The one big plus was that Zach was laughing and joking just like the old Zach. It was the personality that I had not seen since February, when he visited us while we were moving.

Friday (8/8/03) the doctor’s began to talk about him going home, where he will be most comfortable. We weren’t sure if it was the hospital’s way to get him out of their bed, or if he was really capable to doing it, or if it was the hospital’s true concern for him to be in a more comfortable location. We grilled the head doctor who is an oncologist and an hematologist, ironically enough. After over an hour, we all decided that this was going to be the best thing for Zach, that we have absolutely no idea how much time this would buy him, but at least he would be in a familiar and pleasing location.

We held out through the weekend and then Monday of last week, the doctor’s said that Zach was good enough to come home so Abbie, Emma, and my two cousins that were visiting (Anne and Kate) all jetted down to the Mountain Home to prepare it for his medical needs.

Zach was transported by ambulance to the Mountain Home mid-day on Tuesday. With him came the rest of the crew that had been camped out in Denver (Kristi, Mom, Dad, and Kristi’s mom, Debbie). The Woodland Park hospice was involved and came up later on Tuesday. They have been a fantastic help for my family for getting all of his medications and needs squared away.

Abbie and I just did whatever we could to help out, but by Friday, we figured we were just getting in the way and needed to head home. Nothing should be changing real immediately, but what is immediately considering the current situation??

What is the current situation? Well, let me see.
Zach will not be able to continue with the chemotherapy unless his white blood cell count miraculously increases. This most likely will not happen because the steroids he has been taking since April greatly reduce the white blood cells. The steroids are the only real reason he is still functioning fairly well. The steroids prevent the brain from swelling and taking away what coordination, senses and muscle control he does have. He will be on them forever. Because of the steroids, he has acquired chemically induced diabetes and requires daily insulin shots. He is on oxygen 24/7 but at this point is taking in enough fluids to avoid having an I.V.

The bacteria are still in his system, but at bay with the antibiotics, which he also will be taking forever. There was talk of having the dead tissue in his leg surgically removed, but with no positive prospect that he would survive such an operation, we decided to leave it be unless his health improves to a point that it makes sense. The morphine he is taking is helping him handle the painful wound on his leg. This is where the “comfort” issue is the greatest priority. It must be redressed everyday, which Mom, Dad and Kristi are becoming experts at doing. The wound makes mobility a tough issue, but they have gotten a lift that is helping them get him to his wheelchair at the house.

Zach is where he wants to be. He is alert and doing as well, if not better than anyone ever expected.

With the tumor being untreated, there is no telling how much time he has left. We all just hope it is as painless and as peaceful as possible. My parents and Kristi are doing everything in their power to assist him and make sure he is comfortable. Right now, that is all that we can ask for.

We persuaded her to take a “good, long nap” in order to allow her to get “a really big surprise.” It worked. She slept for two and a half hours last Friday.

Our vagueness of the surprise was for good reason; one small monsoon could of ruined all of our plans. Then we would have to quickly think up something else fun to do. But the weather was on our side. The rainstorm came early and at 6:00 pm it was cool, yet sunny and nearly cloudless.

Every Friday in the summer, the city business owners of downtown Flagstaff put on live music and an outdoor movie (weather permitting of course).

We arrived and set-up our chairs and Emma’s Winnie the Pooh sleeping bag. We then listened to an angry man singing “children’s songs” which showcased tainted near-sighted perspectives of recent U.S. history and historical figures. The kids danced and played to his strumming guitar, while I sat and wretched at the lyrics. Next was a pizza and the sunset.

On Emma’s and my return from the restroom, we approached the area where the movie screen had been lowered and was presenting the opening song and title to “Beauty and the Beast.”

“Booty anda Beet, Daddy! Booty anda Beet!” the girl on my shoulder’s screamed like a teenage girl in a flashback of the Ed Sullivan Show.

We got some drinks and popcorn and settled back into our squatted area.

The “surprise” came off without a hitch and our little girl was ecstatic. With her greasy popcorn bag gripped firmly, she glowed like a prom queen. She bubbled with bottom tapping sit-dancing and would occasionally and graciously turn to us and beam her smile. And at least a couple of times I felt her warm, soft hand gently caress my leg in loving appreciation.

My thoughts wandered from the film, to my love for my child, to my upcoming baby and then to my brother. My brother, who most likely will never experience this exciting joy and pleasure. As the crowd sniffled and cried over Belle and the Beast’s spoken love, I wept comfortably in the dark for my brother.

Leaving the community event, I was filled with overpowering emotions. They were the same flooding emotions I felt the minutes after I discovered that we had a healthy baby girl; filled to the rim with love and affection for life. Only this time, on this night there was a distinct aftertaste of bitterness.