Moments after I sent the last message, Kinsey's Aunt Ann called up the stairs to say her fever was back up to 103.8. Such is this roller coaster which I told a friend reminds me of one I rode in Louisville once, indoors, in the dark. You never know when it's going to drop or turn or jerk upward suddenly. That's the thrill of it I suppose, but I didn't really like it. Yet this slower, longer version makes me long to get on that one again. Kinsey and I rode a ride together last September at Disney World called Tower of Terror. You ride up in an elevator type compartment and it takes you into pitch darkness and then suddenly, without warning, drops you 17 stories. But it's not over. It raises you back up part way and drops you again and raises you farther the next time (making you think it's over) and drops you again. And again. Kinsey kept her head in my lap throughout. Immediately after she said, "I'm glad I rode it, but I don't want to ride it again." She has since changed her mind and talks about a return trip (her wish for the Make-A-Wish Foundation she will get when she is well enough) and another ride on the Tower of Terror. She and I will ride it again, and it will seem like a walk in the park.
She has not had a fever since yesterday morning and seemed to feel very good today. She has even had a few (very well) visitors: Mr. and Mrs. Nadolny, Ms. Pressley, and Ms. Grandjean. She was thrilled with the company and attention and even danced with Ms. Pressley to Rocka My Soul. Audrey says, "Fresh meat." I guess we do get a bit boring for her (although she and Jillian spread out all their animals and dolls and have a "camp fire" frequently and they pretend the doorbell is ringing and it's several of her friends. Six visited today, all from her school and all in her mind).
She has enjoyed many of your emails and has written back to everyone I think. She talks. I type (and I simply type exactly what she says whether it makes sense or not). She has been keeping a sort of audio journal and tonight she started a written one. She gets tired easily as writing for her is still a challenge as she makes her letters slowly and many words must be spelled for her as she writes them (but she's not even in kindergarten as most of you know). Anyway, her journal begins, "Hi. My name is Kinsey. I have this thing called Aplastic Anemia. This disease is something that hurts your blood. We've been fighting it for about a month. I have to take all this yucky medicine. The worst is cyclosporine." Then she told Audrey she was tired and could she do more tomorrow. Audrey said, "Sure."
Jillian and I ran some errands today to pick up flyers and Fed-Ex them, and to order a safety-oriented playground for the back yard with funds we do not yet have. I learned from my boss (Ms. Pressley): "Build it and they will come." Anyway, Jillian (who has cabin fever a bit, too) asked to stop and eat, so we did. We were in this Japanese fast food place all alone and I started to eat and she said, "Something missing!" I looked at her and she said, "Blessing!" We have always said a blessing at the dinner table at home but not usually out at a restaurant, but as we were alone, I said, "Okay, you say it." She said, "God bless this food and my family. Thank you for letting Kiki (what she calls Kinsey) come home and for starting to make her better. Please bless those who are less fortunate." Then she looked up at me and smiled this huge smile and said, "I did it all by myself!" (She usually needs a little prompting). It was really the first time she'd created her own blessing with words out of her own mouth. I was very proud of her, and proud, too, that Kinsey still emphasizes the "those who are less fortunate" part and doesn't even always mention herself. I told someone the other day I know there are certainly those who are less fortunate. No doubt about it and I count my blessings today more than ever. Yet I can't help but feel that group we so often pray for did shrink significantly of late. And yet, mornings like this one when I wake up and realize my face is cupped in Kinsey's hands, I think no one is more blessed.
I told her I was writing this email to all of you tonight. She is very flattered that so many people want to hear about how she's doing. She asked me to give you all a message: "I am going to the clinic tomorrow. Please hope and pray for good numbers. Thanks. Love Kinsey." Yes, please do.
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