I AM Bobbette Ross.

"...And we'll all float on okaaaay. And we'll float on okay." This song has been playing in my head over and over and over since I woke up. I think maybe I was thinking about Gideon's floating hospital medication he was about to have, had, and then felt the effects of for awhile after. So, that chorus has been stampeding every other thought dancing in my noggin today.

Gideon hopped into that hospital bed like he was strapping in for a carnival ride this morning. He immediately asked for his "delicious air," aka oxygen tube in his nose. He told me it feels like the wind at the beach. He really did. After he got his port accessed, he kept saying, "I'M READY FOR MY SLEEPY MEDICINE!" And he was. His little eyes danced with excitement and he was grinning in anticipation. I never-ever-ever am ready for the sleepy medicine. I am never ready to watch his spinal fluid drip-drip-drip into test tubes. Whenever the tubes need to be traded and a drop goes unused onto the sheet, I cringe and blink my eyes shut to block out the wasted drip of precious Gideon rain. I want to cup my hands and collect this fluid like it is the one last drip of holy water left to purify the world. I feel like a crazy person when I notice this about my thought process, but it's there.

I must say: NURSE MICHELLE NEEDS TO GET ON STAGE! Hear that, Nurse Michelle?! You have a gorgeous voice! Gideon, I think, was digging being your backup singer as you serenaded him to sleep once the sedation process began. I found myself listening to her and getting carried away with her tune instead of watching the needle as it found its way into the base of Gideon's back. I think maybe she was singing for me even more than Gideon. It was my own version of soundwave medicine.

Once Gideon was knocked out, and the procedure was finished, I had to find a new way to get him to LAY FLAT! So, I got out his drawing book and we made these smiley-face sticker guys, as seen above. Gideon told me what to draw and in what color, and I doodled upside down so that he had the full view of my drawing in action. I felt like Bob Ross as I described every crayon stroke in a quiet, om-like voice that would keep medicated-crazy-eyed Gideon calm. "See how I am coloring the hat red, Gideon? I will just shade it in niiiiiice and slooooooow. I hope it turns out how you want it." We even made a happy rainbow. He wanted to be a rockstar with blue hair, and I couldn't blame him, so there he is: a yellow-faced (not from jaundice, just from being sunny), blue-haired hero.
(TANGENT: Did you know I've always wanted blue hair? Yes, I think this obsession began when Barbie and the Rockers came out and one of the back-up singers, Dana, I think, had a big blue puff in her hair and I wished her entire hair was blue, too. I have been dreaming of it ever since.) Gideon is his mommy's boy, that's for sure!

We started steroids today, and his numbers were good enough that we were able to STRENGTHEN his chemo. I am choosing to think of this as an accomplishment and not in the sense of more toxicity in his body. Cancer, be gone! "We'll all float on okay..... Sometimes life is okay... Good news is on the way!"