We're Still Flying

Today marks the halfway point in Jayne's first treatment.  This is the last night that he will have to endure 4 injections one after another, with nurses and pct's coming in every twenty minutes to change his IV, check his vitals, and administer prophylactics.  This is his hump day, once he wakes up tomorrow morning, he'll be that much closer to finishing this first go around.  Not that all is sunshine and roses for the wee tyke.

His platelets dipped further last night so he will be getting a plasma transfusion in the afternoon.  His hemoglobin is holding steady, meaning that his blood is carrying plenty of oxygen to and carbon dioxide fro.  That also means that he won't need a whole blood transfusion, for now.  They've taken him off the allopurinol, indicating that the uric acid the leukemia has been producing  has begun to slow down, decreasing the likelihood that he will have kidney stones develop.  Ever the optimist, I'm taking that as a sign that the chemo is, in fact, doing its job efficiently.

On that same note, however, it is getting more difficult to put him down for his nap and to get him to eat at what used to be his normal times.  Part of that, surely, is the screwed up schedule the hospital stay has put us all on.  Most it, though, can be owned by the chemotherapy.  The benadryl and zofran help his nausea which, in turn, helps him sleep better.  Better but not without the occasional bumps in his somnolence.  Surprisingly he is sleeping more through the night since we started his benadryl, going so far as to even cooperate with the nurses when they check his blood pressure.  Usually this process takes three or four goes before an accurate reading can be acquired.  Nighttime Jayne, however, requires only one pass before giving up acceptable numbers.  He still sleeps through his eye drops, for the most part, and is generally well rested in the morning when we all wake up.

One of his favorite things to do is to sit.  While he is ever so close to holding himself up sans support, he still prefers the comfort of sitting in one of the few chairs we have for him.  To his great delight we managed to bring one of his chairs to the hospital which has allowed him new vantages and even more angles at which to throw his toys about like an insolent chimp.  He enjoys being able to watch the activity, or lack there of, in the room with the same field of vision that most of us take for granted.  He doesn't have to twist his neck 180 degrees or be content with what is just over my shoulder as I pat him on the back.

One last adventure to describe ere this comes to a much deserved close.  Part of the protocol with having an IV, especially under the circumstances of chemotherapy, is that the line has to be changed every seven days.  This is for a myriad of sanitation reasons and to ensure that the integrity of the line isn't compromised from overuse.  A standard part of this, for chemo patients, is that while the line is being changed, everyone in the room, patient included, needs to wear a mask, just to err on the safe side.  And so, in parting, I give you these gems:

Thank you to everyone who has contributed, in some manner, to rectifying Jayne's ongoing predicament.  Our family owes you all a great debt of gratitude.