Grady has been sick for a week. A week of hell. A week of charting temperatures and not eating and tepid baths. A week of four hospital visits and two blood tests and very little sleep. Grady's fever is gone, which is a good thing, and his blood work was satisfactory enough that the doctor was comfortable sending us home yesterday, which is a very good thing, and for now I'm just trying to remember to breathe and work my way down from the state of perpetual panic I've been in since Friday.
We're dealing with two issues: his urine and blood keep growing staph and his neutrophils level is critically low. We're playing the waiting game right now. Tomorrow (hopefully) or Wednesday (more likely) we'll find out if his latest blood work shows staph (the doctors keep telling us that staph doesn't make sense and it's likely the result of contaminated samples but correct me if I'm wrong, three for three is NOT GOOD ODDS AT ALL, you filthy filthy hospital.) On Friday we will take him for more blood work to check his neutrophils level. We can't do anything right now but wait. I am not a good waiter. I'm a doer. Except there isn't anything for me to do right now except fret. That buzzing noise you hear? Is me doing all the fretting.
I'm very lucky to have my older sister. Turtle has done all the necessary Googling so I don't have to. She's told me the good bits and told me to stay away from the bad bits. It has taken Herculean strength but I've managed to stay away from the bad bits. I'm lucky to have good friends who offer to bring us food in the hospital and lovely Twitter and Facebook friends who hold us in their hearts and don't laugh at me when I ask for healing (hippie) vibes. I'm lucky that Gus is at home and even though things aren't very good at all right now they're not horribly bad either.