The first time Trenton had to have his platelets checked was on December 20, 2008. He had 10,000 platelets. Over the next year, he would dip to as low as they count (3,000). His little bruised body, huge blood blisters and that stupid blue helmet will forever be engrained in my memory.
But today the doctor came back and said "let's play the guess the number game!" That's always a good sign, you don't play games to say your kid is sick. I guessed 90,000 knowing he's been doing well. Nope, 200,000. I almost fell out of my chair. He sent us off with a word I've been praying to hear; cured.
He may still dip down over the next couple years, but we no longer have to go to the dreaded 7th floor of Children's Hospital. I can let him ride his bike and get a bunk bed and not worry, well, quite as much.
As we walk away (hopefully for the final time), I still see other kiddos with way worse illnesses and pray that they all get to hear that magical word too someday. I thank God that I never had to face what those parents are facing and that Trenton has always felt pretty good. He's oblivious as to why we're so happy, and that's ok. He's just looking forward to that bunk bed.