It's just the stroke of midnight, and I'm sitting in the computer room, listening to the ESPN Baseball Today podcast, waiting for my brother to call me back and waiting for the diapers to finish in the washing machine so they can be moved into the dryer - and so I can go to bed. Tomorrow morning, I'm going to go to the hospital and relieve The Wife - she'll go home for a few hours to rest and recouperate, then come back and take over. Since The Boy is eating absolutely nothing except for breastmilk, it makes more sense for her to stay the night.
The Boy's fever is dropping, but not steadily. It hovered around the mid-98's all day, which means the mid-99's. That's high, but not incredibly so. Every once in a while, though, the temperature would spike. He's still got that cough, and his blood numbers are absolutely horrendous - a hemoglobin count of 7.1, which is REALLY REALLY low. At 3 o'clock this afternoon, they wrote a prescription for him to receive a blood transfusion. The blood arrived at 9 o'clock tonight. Sigh.
The early indications about Tuesday's CT scan are worrisome. Basically, Dr. Doolan is concerned about the spots he sees on the left side, where the prior surgery was. We know that there was something there - some inflamed lymph nodes or something. It was going to be removed in the surgery. Since the MRI two weeks priot to the CT, those spots have apparently grown.
That's not good.
With luck, it's just the inflamed lymph nodes and / or some type of infection. That's easy to deal with. The issue, if it's a tumor, is that his histology goes from favorable to unfavorable, which means a more aggressive form of chemotherapy. We'd be looking at one extra drug, minimum. (Considering what three drugs are doing to the poor kid, four seems to be bad news.) Depending on the type and formation of the new tumor (if that's what it is), we could be looking at more extreme measures.
So, Dr. Doolan wants to go in NOW and scoop everything out. Except for the fact that, right now, The Boy wouldn't respond well to a major surgery. They have to wait until he's healthy enough - and has good enough blood counts (his absolute nutraphil count is, like, nada) to survive the operation.
Right now, in addition to the blood transfusion, he's getting a medication that will supercharge his bone marrow to produce more white blood cells. This is a good thing, long-term. Hooray.
Our oncologist said that, if everything goes perfectly, The Boy could have his operation as early as Friday. Gut instinct says early next week.
I want this surgery over with now.
How am I? ugh. Depressed. Angry. Exhausted, emotionally and mentally and physically. Concerned and worried about The Boy beyond imagining. Worried about my wife. Worried about my job. Worried about doing an acceptable job, at my job. (Although, ego aside, 67% of me is still better than 100% of most people.) Wondering why the holy f&&& this is happening to us, wondering what we did to deserve this, wondering why G-d's plan for me has me following an exceptionally difficult, strenuous and treacherous path.
I'm not hungry, though. My nieces cooked for us, and I'm stuffed with these great little muffins and cakes and chickens and other food. MMMmmmmm.
The Boy has no clean pants left, though. That's what I need for tomorrow. Clean diapers and clean pants.