Turns out, the Tumor Review Board never even got around to discussing The Boy's radiation possibilities this week. Sigh. If that was the case, then why didn't they tell our doctors - and why didn't we find out about this earlier? That's just annoying and inconsiderate. I mean, it's not like we have to move OUR ENTIRE LIFE to Livingston for five days at a time or anything.
Whatever. What's done is done. The Boy will be at the Valerie Fund Center tomorrow at 9AM for counts. Assuming his counts are acceptable, he will be admitted and chemo will be drawn. This weekend is the five-day, the cytoxin and the etoposide. Grandma is driving to the hospital from Pittsburgh, bless her heart. Grandpa will meet The Wife at the VFC at 9AM to help out.
Biggest deal? Getting the stuff from the car to the hospital room. Here's what we're bringing: the big red suitcase with The Boy's stuff in it, a plastic container with the floor mat in it, the laptop & novels, The Boy (very important) and a change of clothes or two for the adults. All that stuff, while carrying a baby, is difficult to manage. It is also nice to have another adult present when assembling The Boy's floor mat, iPod setup (there's a great cord that plugs into the iPod, the television and the power outlet so he can watch "Goodnight Moon" five hundred times over the weekend - thanks, Uncle Apple!) and room setup.
They bring a bed in addition to the crib. The Boy is supposed to sleep in the crib, but he doesn't. He sleeps in the bed with whichever adult is present. It solves lots of problems, considering that he associates the crib with blinding, searing pain.
Part of me hoped that they'd skip this weekend. Call me selfish. I wanted a walk to the diner & breakfast with him on Saturday morning. I wanted a walk to the comic book store together tomorrow afternoon. I wanted dinner with Uncle B & Aunt L on Sunday at our house.