Yesterday was a whirlwind of hurry up and go. It started out with Shay and I being informed that Jayne had an ANC of 203 and that our AML doctor was more than willing to get us out of the door. So, with the prospect of not having to watch the same three movies ad nauseam and eating something that was actually made with my own two hands, we immediately began to emulate giddy schoolgirls, so much so that I had to change into my kilt to make it authentic. After the excitement wore down a little, it dawned on us that we would have to do something nigh on insurmountable: move out of this small room that we had been living in for a month. It is surprising just how much stuff you can accumulate in that amount of time, what with the uncertainty of just how long you will be there, the generosity of those around you, and the realization that even the nurses, who wear the same thing day in and day out, might look askance on you if you start to do the same.
With the task before us, and an assurance that all we really needed to have happen was for Jayne's prescriptions to be filled, we started packing everything we had gathered into our nest. We used the bags and backpacks we had brought but also improvised, using several Target and JC Penny bags in lieu of luggage (neither of which is a sponsor). We placed his toys, which I believe they may all be part rabbit, because I'm fairly certain we only brought two when we first arrived and ended up with about a thousand, into a cardboard box. We checked and double checked all over the room, finding every last bit of proof that the room had once been occupied and stowed it away. Having been satisfied by our thoroughness, we hired a mule and a sherpa to lead us down to our car, both heavily laden with our burdens, from the summit of our imprisonment to the base camp that was my van. In reality, though there was mention of a mule of some sort, we were forced to scale down our aspirations of Edmund Hillary, and settle with a Radio Flyer wagon. It took several trips to finally square our protracted lives into our escape vehicle, but it was good exercise and helped us stay busy instead of focusing on our impending release.
But our insurance was not prepared to let us leave quite that easily.
They didn't bar our way intentionally, but there was a question of clearing Jayne's anti-nausea medicine with them, which involved our people calling their people and walking them through exactly what had gone on, what was needed, and why. It was long process, or so I imagine, as it took about three hours to get word from our nurse that she could finally call the pharmacy and have them fill our prescriptions. Then we'd be free.
As that took an hour or so to actually do, we sat in our empty room, Shay trying to nurse Jayne to sleep, me checking and triple checking the room just to make sure. We did this while listening to our book, the Bands of Mourning (great book, you should check out the series; also, Brandon Sanderson is not a sponsor of ours... but if he wanted to be...). When Shay went to fetch our drugs... Jayne's prescriptions, she was sent back empty handed because the slip for the oxy-codone wasn't signed. Cue another fifteen minutes of waiting. On attempt number two, it was a success and we finally had everything we needed to skedaddle. The nurse went over his medication schedule, his heparin flushes that are to happen each day, and the general rule on what should cause us to immediately return to the hospital prematurely. My initial thought was a cold day in hell, turns out it is a prolonged fever. You say tomato, I say tomato. They may be spelled the same but, trust me, the pronunciation is different.
And so, at about six fifteen, we walked down that long white mile, waving to the nurses who had come to fall in love with Jayne, who was wearing his tiny medical mask, and hoping that no one would decide that the joke had run it's course and tell us to get back into our room.
On the drive home, he fell asleep.
It feels good to be out of there, it's nice to be able to play with my son without having to keep an eye on his IV stand. There were no interruptions last night or this morning so that a PCT could come and check his vitals, no beeping IV pumps, and, above all else, privacy. It's a bit jarring not to have random people walking in and out of the living room. We were even able to take the wee tyke for a walk outside today. The sun was good for him, especially since it is nearly impossible to find liquid vitamin d in all the usual places. The morning's activities put him in a ripe mood for a nap, so after some benadryl (as a prophylactic against anything that may have been floating around in the air) and some much needed milk time, he now lays, swaddled in his soft elephant blanket, dreaming of ceiling fans, bright lights, action movies, and nurses.
It's good to be the king.
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