Last night Paula and Wren flew to Vancouver to be admitted at BC Children's Hospital for one week of antibody treatment. Chloe and I stayed behind so that she could continue with school and I could get a bit of work done.

Wren has been slowly building energy during the last three weeks. The past few days have been truly remarkable: she has been running all around the place and talking non-stop, full of jokes and funny games despite having the start of a cold. Last night Paula called from the hospital where they were getting settled in the cancer ward and Wren was still talk-talking away some time past 10:00 pm. They didn't sleep until midnight.

I am hoping that the antibody treatment will not set Wren back too far and that she is able to continue building when she returns home next Saturday morning.

Before they left on the plane, we had to change Wren's dressing, flush her lines with heparin, and administer an injection of GM-CSF (granular cell stimulating factor). These are painful procedures that most kids resist. Wren lay on the purple couch, her head on Chloe's lap, while I removed the old dressing and Paula cleaned Wren's CVC, the tubes that pass through her chest to her main veins. We all hovered lovingly around little Wren while she bravely tolerated the procedure. Paula carefully replaced the dressing and I flushed Wren's two lines with heparin, something we do twice a week. Then I cleaned Wren's encephalon (a subcutaneous port in her thigh) and injected the GM-CSF. She grimaced, but did not cry. Such a strong and brave little kiddo. I could tell that Chloe was deeply moved by Wren's pain tolerance. Then Wren asked "Dada, why you give me owie knee?" And I tried to explain that I was giving her medicine that would make her all better.  In a circle of dim light, we went through this painful ritual with quiet purpose, a moment filled with much love.