On the one hand, having The Boy's numbers too low to get chemo means that we won't have to go through Diaper Hell this week. On the other hand, not getting chemo this week means that next week - which was supposed to be a testing-only week - I'm going to have to take a half-day from school on Thursday to get him chemo. Gripping hand, I'd rather him stick to his schedule because I want the surgery and the accompanying tests to happen sooner rather than later.
Extra bonus points if you can identify the "gripping hand" reference. Hint: obscure science fiction novels.
The Boy's got a strip of diaper rash up his bum that is - seriously - tomato-red. It must hurt and itch like a fiend. I get that "not-so-fresh" feeling just by looking at it. Not surprising - yesterday, he had, like, six little tiny poops. Since he has no immune system to speak of, it is not shocking that that bacteria took quick root and went to town on his skin. Poor, sensitive little dude. He yelled at me - rightly so - when I changed his diaper (twice) this morning because I wasn't gentle enough with the rash area. Sigh.
Thinking ahead, I'm sure he's going to love that I'm blogging about his butt. But, that's life. I've spent a lot more time looking at The Boy's junk (meaning, diaper area) than I've spent look at my own. Eh. Whatever.
Rain all weekend might mean an easier marching band schedule for me. I could use it. Stress is a killer.