Aug 21 932pm (Scott)
For the first time this summer a thunderstorm dumped giant desert rain drops on our neighborhood. We stood outside under cover of the entry way and watched as Lincoln repeatedly ran into the downpour, screamed with joy, and ducked back under cover. The kids were mesmerized by the thunder rolling across the foothills, and we all soaked in the sudden burst of humidity. Other than the funny bald head of a joyful three year old, this was just another ordinary, or maybe miraculous, summer afternoon. 
We haven’t seen rain since the spring (when we saw quite a lot). It’s late August already and the summer’s end is getting close. Time has flown by; it’s been more than half a year since Maya’s diagnosis.
Today I looked across the table at her during lunchtime; the white cabinets behind her created enough contrast that suddenly I noticed new fuzz growing all over her head.
I said, “Maya, your hair is growing back.”
She took her time chewing her food and asked, “What color do you think it will be, daddy?”
“I hope it’s purple,” I said.
Maya looked thoughtful for a moment and said,
“I hope it’s blue.”
This whole thing is far, very far from over. And I suppose with the stress of delayed intensification I may now be slower to recognize such an undeniably hopeful sign as peach fuzz appearing on my little girl’s head. We told her it would happen eventually–we did that so she wouldn’t worry about her appearance. But I’m not sure I ever thought about convincing myself she’d grow hair again one day.
Maya is doing great. She’s strong, stubborn, and sometimes calm. She doesn’t doubt her own strength ever, and she doesn’t doubt the support she has in this fight. We are so thankful for the progress Maya has made, for her medical team, our family and friends, the anonymous champions, and, from everyone, the collective love of life that has sustained and propelled us.
Wednesday we go back to the clinic. If the labs are sufficient we’ll move on to interim maintenance II. This is a repeat of interim maintenance I, so we know what to expect. It’s still chemo, but it’s very nice to think about putting DI behind us.
Thank you all for your care, support, and love.