Adrift

This morning I was back in the hospital.  It all felt really familiar.  But this time I was waiting for Shaun to come out of anesthesia, and not Brendan.  (I guess the routine colonoscopy isn't the best part of turning 50 :)  

It was great having the BEST nurses!

Brendan, meanwhile, enjoyed playing at home.

 Since Shaun had to rest, he and Brendan enjoyed watching some old westerns together. . .

 And eating popcorn and jello (respectively). . .

 Riley came for blood draws at 2 p.m.

Then the call came from our care coordinator just before 5 p.m. -- "Brendan's blood counts are up:  ANC - 1.1 (1100), Sodium-138, Platelets-133,  Hematocrit- 34%, white blood cells-2.1"  Cue: Sigh of relief!  Then I heard, "Blood draws are done."   Gasp!

I felt I had been set adrift.  Our lifeline had been cut.

Did I know I would feel this way?  No.  What did I expect?  Excitement?  Euphoria?  Exuberance? Not sure what I expected, but I certainly didn't expect a panicky feeling.  Thoughts like, "How will we know how Brendan is doing? " ran through my head.   "Who is going to tell us what to do?"  Having the doctors monitor Brendan and check in with us twice a week was a great comfort, and it took a lot of the responsibility for caring for Brendan off of our shoulders.  

Without any more chemo treatments, Brendan's blood counts won't be compromised anymore.  There is no more reason for Brendan's blood counts to drop.  Thus, there really is no reason to check his blood counts regularly.  I just wasn't prepared for that.  I somehow thought blood draws would go on and on. . . I don't know how long I thought they would go on.

It sounds like Brendan will be re-checked at clinic 6 weeks from his last chemo treatment.  They are hoping by then that his bone marrow is "healed" and they can re-visit the bone scans and other imaging and "see" what is going on in there.   Until then, we are on our own.

Brendan automatically puts up his arm to get the blood flowing faster.

Today, in the mail, Brendan received his "Make-A-Wish" key to the wishing well.  He will need it when he goes to the Wishing House to make his wish.  (Which should happen near the end of April.)

 This afternoon Brendan and I finished reading "The Giver."

 But since quiet can't seem to prevail at our house for long, the teasing and tickling began.

 I'm sure, (like everything else) we will quickly adjust to no blood draws.  They have just become such a part of our lives for the past 5 months.  Who knew that returning to "normal" would be just as much of an adjustment as learning to live with cancer treatments?