Switching gears here, rather dramatically. We head into the hospital tonight for Austin’s CT scan tomorrow. It’s been almost three months since his last surgery and this is the natural next step. Mark and I expect that this scan will be clear, mostly because the surgeons were just in there and removed everthing they could see. If some cancer cells were left behind or some new tumor is growing, it won’t be large enough yet to even show up on a scan. Remember, that most recent tumor took nine months before we saw it and even then, it was too small to clearly identify without three more months of watching followed by a biopsy. So we’ll be pleased, of course, if this one is clear, but it won’t make us think we’re in the clear. It’s the next scan or two, those that will happen in December and probably March of next year, that will really give us the answers we need. If those scans are clear, then we’ll breath easier. That will be the time to celebrate.
So we’ve already dropped Braedan off at his cousin’s for a sleepover and have a normal and full day before heading down to the hospital after dinner. If Austin behaves in his usual fashion, he’ll scream bloody murder for the sixty seconds it takes to insert the IV into his hand and then will drag me one-handedly to the playhouse immediately afterwards for some make-up playtime. He’ll be hooked up to IV fluids all night and the scan is at noon tomorrow. Another six hours of fluids and some follow-up kidney function tests after that and we should be home by dinner.
Unfortunately, I forgot to mark this particular scan on Mark’s calendar and he has a trial starting tomorrow! Ooops. Oh well, I’ll stay tonight and my dad is going to give me a two-hour break in the morning. If I get a good (enough) sleep, I’ll use that time to go to my favorite pilates class. If I’m too exhausted, I’ll just head home for a quick nap. Then back for one more day in that parallel universe.
Braedan brought one of his glittery wishing stars with him for his sleepover and we have another packed in our bag to hang from the hospital room ceiling. They’ve worked so far . . .