For those of you who are wondering, Jayne is fine. He didn't present any symptoms from the mix up yesterday and his ANC actually went up. It was 13 yesterday, today it is 14. Progress is progress, even when it's taunting you. We've had the doctor come in to tell us that he will be starting his antibiotics again in the afternoon, encasing him, once again, in the sticky pink armor against infection.
With his ANC appearing to be on the rise, everyone is starting to gear us towards our eventual exodus, short-termed though it may be, from the hospital room. We have a list of the medicines he will be taking during his parole, a chest mannequin was brought in so that we could practice changing his dressing, and there is a stack of papers accumulating, all written in verbose medical jargon, about exactly how not to screw up while we are away from professional help. It's fairly reassuring because we might actually be getting out of this place.
And just in time, too. While Jayne was catching up on some tummy time this morning, he managed to pick himself up to his knees on his mat, ready himself, and then actually managed to propel himself forward with his feet and pick up his hand. He would have actually pulled it off, had he not been holding a toy in his other hand. Instead of mobilization, he lunged forward, performing a halfway barrel roll, landed on the mat, and then rolled on to the blanket around his mat. He looked surprised, not necessarily at landing on the unpadded floor. I don't think he knew exactly what he was doing. Afterwards, however, I could see the gleam in his eye, equations, charts, graphs, and toy pianos ghosted in front of his eyes and he started to rock back and forth, getting ready for another attempt. Then promptly put his face fully into the blanket and began to eat it. Ah, to be a baby, where even failure is adorable and applauded.
Another thing that I wanted to bring up is that, since we are getting to the end of our first stint, we are coming upon, logically, our second round of treatment. This means that he will need another bone marrow aspiration to determine how well his body, in concert with the chemo, is killing the malicious cancer cells. If it appears that there is very little or no presence, then he will have two similar treatments ahead ending with a much more intensive round at the end. This is called the low risk outcome. Its opposite is, clearly, the high risk outcome. If he is high risk, he will receive the intensive round of chemo next and, most likely, a bone marrow transplant. This is the thing that Shay and I have been asked about nonstop and, up to this point, we haven't really had an answer either way. But to err on the safe side, anyone who wants to get themselves tested, by all means do it now. United Blood Services offers a bone marrow testing and enters you into the database. I'm unsure if there is a fee attached to this, it's changed so many times in the recent past that it's best to just call and ask or, if you're not a troglodyte, go here. There is also Be The Match, which is specifically for bone marrow matching and donations.
If you don't want to have to go through the process of getting an aspiration (I have it on good authority that they are very uncomfortable), there is another way that you can help, should you feel helpless in the face of Jayne's adversity. He has consumed... been given a fair amount of blood and platelets in his stay here and it looks like he is going to be using more in the coming months to keep his levels up. Hospitals and ERs always need blood, of any type, so going out and giving blood with Jayne in mind is one way of feeling more physically involved, should your psyche need that. You can also choose to give platelets, or plasma, which would actually be helping out in an even greater capacity. The process does take longer and it does leave you feeling a bit more drained than the average blood donation, but platelets are always in demand and the amounts in storage are always needing to be replenished. Maybe hum a little bit of the "Hero of Canton" while you sit there.
In whatever capacity you choose to help out, it is appreciated, even if it won't directly benefit Jayne in his struggle, it could help some other family, some other child, in his name. I know that Shay and I appreciate all that we have received from strangers who never knew Jayne existed when they decided to donate their precious fluids. They are part of the reason Jayne is still healthy and strong. So thank you, silent sanguinators, oh happy hematological heroes, you helped save my son's little life. To those about to rock, we salute you.
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