The lab report on Dad's protein levels is in, and the news is very encouraging. When Dad was admitted to the hospital in February, they were at 3.73; thanks to the chemo, they have dropped to .91. (Apparently, when a myeloma patient hits 1, doctors start treatment. So while this new count is not completely normal, it represents a huge improvement for Dad.)

Mom and Dad are back in their quasi-domestic routine at the hospital. Dad has decided to brave the hospital food (should you find yourself admitted to HUP, our man on the inside says take a pass on the collard greens). Dad sounds good, like his old self--really a world of difference from a month ago when he could hardly muster the energy to talk. He has started to feel the intestinal effects of the chemo, but nothing too extreme, and his spirits are good.

Even the climate has been home-y: the hospital room has been quite like 225 N Easton in winter (i.e., arctic). Now, Mom and Dad are not completely literal-minded about re-creating their home environment: they'd been turning the thermostat up, but to no avail. The heating vents were blowing super-chilled air, despite the thermostat reading 85 degrees. Dad had to wear a knit cap, ski goggles, and mittens (well, not mittens). Yesterday the maintenance guy came and said that, obviously, in order to get the thermostat to function, you have to turn the heat side down and turn the air conditioner side up to the desired temperature. Reason aside, the room has since become much more comfortable.

The plan is still to release Dad on Sunday. Thanks for checking in and praying. God hears.