A better 24

This morning Steven was sitting up in his hospital bed when I opened my eyes, "Hey Dad, can I play the ipad? ... And I'm starving! Can I have breakfast?"

Awake, alert, and appetite. All good signs this was to be a better day than yesterday. Later in the morning he downed two donuts.

His methotrexate levels this morning were low enough that he could have his first blood transfusion. That definitely helped bring a little life and color back into him too (though I think the donuts worked better :) ).

My favorite part of the day was when we made our trek out to the fresh air in the "courtyard" area of the hospital. Steven said to me as we walked down the hallways, toting his IV pod along, and wearing his breathing mask, "I haven't really seen any other sick kids here." This was a little surprising to me. We passed a few rooms with open doors, "Ah, now I have." he said, as if feeling a little more like he wasn't alone. Maybe we need to get out in the hallways more.

When we made it to the courtyard, there happened to be a nerf football lying there. We played catch for a while. Steven was his old self. We looked for life flight helicopters. When it got too cold we went back in.

My parents came to visit us later on, and his other Grandma is with him tonight.

The rest of the day was spent in good spirits. I'm hopeful his methotrexate levels will take a dive tomorrow.

I felt a bit guilty though as I left the hospital. I get to go, but he has to stay, perhaps two more nights. He's a trooper!

A rough 24

Rob is at the hospital with Steven tonight. Steven has had a rough go of this round. Last night he was throwing up worse than he ever had. This was supposed to be the easy chemo!!! What happened? Not only that, but he isn't clearing the methotrexate as fast as he has in the past. My Easter-at-home dreams are slipping away. I won't give up hope yet, who knows what the morning will bring?

I hope it brings a methotrexate level low enough that he can have a transfusion tomorrow. I suspect that his low red blood cell counts aren't helping our situation here. Maybe new blood can solve some problems. I tried to help him do homework this morning, but he had such a hard time concentrating, he was even crying. It broke my heart because he cries so rarely. So we stopped homework and I gave him the Ipad. Somehow he manages to concentrate on that.

And then there is me. I'm not a big crier either, but today has been rough. I can't go 20 minutes without breaking down into tears. It is so hard to see him suffer, and so hard to see other people suffer. It's going to be an Ambien night for sure--my mind is racing over statistics and treatments and the future and the present.

The highlight of my day was taking the girls to the hospital to see Steven. They loved seeing the place we always talk about--"at the hospital." They even got to see the life-flight helicopter land out Steven's window. As we were getting ice from the ice machine, Laura said, "The hospital is so so so fun." As she said this, a bald and sickly little girl about her age was pulled past her in a wagon. I don't think Laura saw, but the contrast just struck me and I cried, again. I don't think "fun" is the word I would use.