I did drive to the hospital today and spent some time in the Valerie Fund Center with my wife and The Boy. Turns out, if you read the comments to the last blog section, that the counts were horrendous - no white blood cells to speak of, except for immature ones that aren't doing a great job keeping him healthy. We've spent the rest of the day and night entertaining The Boy and taking his temperature every 20 minutes or so. It was at 99.3 for several hours; the minimum needed for them to suggest admitting him to the hospital is 99.4.
So the question arises: is the fever the endgame of The Boy fighting off a cold, or is the continued fever (48 hours and running) showing us that he can't fight off an infection? They did pump him full of antibiotics while they were wrestling with the port clogging issue. At the end of the night, before he fell asleep, his temperature seemed to be dropping - it was down to 98.7 or 98.9, depending on which result you trust.
Thankfully, he doesn't go to a daycare center, or he wouldn't be going in for a few days. Instead, we'll see what happens tomorrow morning. Now, who keeps him home or takes him to the hospital? The Wife took chemo two weeks ago and is supposed to take him to chemo this week. I took him to the center in the crisis two Fridays ago, to the doctor's on Tuesday and to the MRI on Thursday. She took today to take him to the hospital. Man, this sucks: there's no good answer to that. I hate missing this much school. Maybe she takes him tomorrow, and I do chemo on Thursday - particularly considering that there isn't much of a chance that he'll actually receive chemo on Thursday.
This is what's frustrating. Every day is completely unpredictable. Every thing he does, every thing he feels, is a question mark. It's really quite agonizing and stressful for us - and that makes it worse, because I feel guilty about getting upset and depressed about it and not paying my attention to The Boy. It's overwhelming.
My wife has really taken today's events hard. She expected that today would be a quick in-and-out: show up at the center, take some blood, run the counts, and send us home with a set of care instructions. Instead, they were at the hospital from 9 until 4 and sent home with nothing remotely conclusive to ponder. There's nothing we can do to plan for tomorrow, or Wednesday, or Thursday. For someone like me, who is an inveterate planner, that's torture, pure and simple.
Plus, I haven't done any work for my choruses, or for school, or around the house. Wonderful.