Blue Fish

Killian crashed hard this morning from the steroids. He was very blue, the kind of sad that makes my stomach feel like I've swallowed butterflies. Even in the face of good news, this drug-induced depression snatched him out to sea. He's reassured that it's temporary, so he might behave like a native undertow expert and not struggle. He doesn't fight it, he's sleeping now. It's like fortune fish that curl up because your hand is either warm or stay flat because your hand is cold - no great mystery. "We know this happens, like clockwork, don't be alarmed," said Dr. Fox. It doesn't matter what we know, what we can rely on because we just want that freakin' fish to curl up for good luck. Maybe it's just me, I do tend to fixate. Confession: I'm playing Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes online. It's replaced my daily online ritual of checking my horoscope because I don't want daily insights -- however vague and unthreatening -- I want kiss-the-Blarney-Stone-four-leaf-clover luck. There was the time when Killian finished his first year of chemo and it was his 12th birthday party and a black butterfly with hints of electric blue at the tips of his wing landed on my boy's head and sat there for the longest time. Undoubtedly a sign of luck. Then there was the time we were headed into the City for Killian's second major jaw surgery and I looked out at the February, gray scramble of dead branches and brush and on one lifeless bush sat 5 brilliant bluebirds. Also a sign. The week he was born, there was a shower of shooting stars so close and so numerous I thought he was set for life. I made so many wishes for him that night.

So, it looks like we'll be going home a little early - good news. We are done with this stay already.