Ready? OH-KAY!

BE! AGGRESSIVE! BEE! EEE! AGGRESSIVE! B-E! A-G-G! R-E-S-S! I-V-E! Metaphorical, my sweet ass. When I cheer? It works. Jamie's white cell count jumped from a point-5-whatever-it-is they're-measuring to a 4-point-whatever-it-is-they're-measuring. The magic number is 1-point-whatever-it-is-they're-measuring. So, in my mind, that's starting with 500 little infection-fighting-thingies and needing 1,000 little infection-fighting-thingies and getting 4,000 little infection-fighting-thingies. Take that, you aggressive chemotherapy molecules racing through my husband's veins, randomly knocking off bad and good cells. We grew some good ones back. I may not have much (any) talent in mathematics, but even I know four kicks one's ass. YEAH!