It's Not Delivery . . .

It's not really DiGiorno either, but it is pizza! Michael's first official meal since entering the hospital two and a half weeks ago is PIZZA.

For most of these days, the mucositis has made any activity in his mouth and swallowing incredibly painful. We've all been pressing him to eat or drink something . . . popsicle, pudding, ice cream, yogurt, applesauce . . . anything. To this point, he has refused. They began giving him IV nutrition when his body weight decreased by 10%. (I certainly don't recommend the "Bone Marrow Transplant Diet," but it works!) We've just been waiting for him to indicate that he was ready to try eating again. When I left yesterday, he quietly asked if I would please bring a pizza for him today. All I could think was that beneath all the tubes and pumps and meds still lies a crazy, junior-high aged boy.

So today I baked and wrapped his favorite frozen pizza. I proudly carried the still somewhat warm pizza through the parking garage, past the information desk, up the elevator, and down the halls to Michael's room. The puzzled glances and clever comments didn't matter. I'm wearing my pizza delivery girl badge with honor!