This weekend's treats, etoposide and carboplatin, were given without any fanfare or extraordinary events. Friday morning admission, Sunday evening release, and we were home by 7:00 last night. No worries, no problems, save for a little bit of nausea and vomiting yesterday, which is going to happen with this particular form of chemotherapy. Whatever.
That doesn't mean it was easy, just easier than, say, our first inpatient chemo on Thanksgiving that wound up with me in the emergency room. This time around, it involved scrubbing down his toys and his playmat once or twice per day and not allowing The Boy to play off of the playmat. It involved asking - and demanding - that any person who entered the room wash their hands before touching The Boy, and that any visitor take their shoes off or put on shoe covers. It was constant attention and vigilance. Whatever. He's worth it.
Last night, we came into an interesting quandry. It is actually dangerous for The Boy to sleep with The Wife when he is immediately post-chemo. Most of that stuff will cross the placental barrier and affect the fetus. So, by prior consent, last night was the time to introduce The Boy to the concept of sleeping in his own bed.
...except for the fact that we had to change his diapers (and wake him up) every two hours. Which meant that the hour that Grandma and Mommy spent getting him calmed down and asleep in his bed had to be repeated at midnight and again at 2. D'oh!
At 2, it took an exceptional time to get him back to sleep. Not surprising - I'd be pretty cheesed off at being woken every other hour for a diaper change, also! The Wife finally got sick of it and asked Grandma to take The Boy, which she did. Remembering back to June - consider that we were reintroducing him to the crib approximately five days before his diagnosis - it took about five hours, total, for him to get through the night. It was about an hour and a half at 8 or 9, another hour at 10, another hour at 12, etc. The difference? It was a weekend, we weren't tired from having spent the weekend at the hospital, and I was the one that was responsible for the baby while my wife was doing work-things. Plus, he wasn't as loud at 10 months as he is at 16.
(The kid's got a set of pipes, let me tell you. He doesn't seem to have his father's breathing issues, and he's got his mother's vocal power AND my temper.)
Don't get me wrong - I'm not taking credit for the ease of the hospital stay. I didn't get there until 6 on Friday, and I took The Wife home at 9. On Saturday, we got there at 10 and were chased home by the weather at 4:30 or so. On Sunday, I arrived at the hospital at 5:30 and took everyone home at 6:30. So, this was entirely Grandma and Mommy.
What was I doing? A little of this, a little of that. On Friday, I napped after work and worked on the computer for a bit before leaving. On Saturday, we slept in (first time in a couple weeks for me), then were snowed out of the hospital. On Sunday, I had mass in the morning, and I did lots of housework so that I could avoid watching the stupid Giants get whupped by the Eagles. I wasn't exactly sitting home and picking my nose, but I wasn't sitting in the hospital either.
This week's schedule: dinner with a good friend tonight, visits by brother- and sister-in-law this weekend, counts on Friday.