Well the big laugh of the day was discovering the Disney filter on Snapchat, and Kip was full of laughter seeing himself transformed!
The general bloody-hell-ing continues however.
So in the last post I updated you on his operation to take out the central line and port we’d relied on for the giving of medicines. He had a cannula in his right hand for the administration of intravenous antibiotics (watch me show off the big words, I’m a nurse you know…) but by Thursday that had stopped working and become very uncomfortable for Kip. We had to take it out (more like I had to take it out because I’m the Dressing Whisperer apparently) but, with more antiobiotics required, he had to have another one put in on his left hand.
That was not a happy procedure; two medics and myself holding his arm super still as the needle went in, a small puddle of blood on the bed, lots of tears and a very unhappy little boy. The simplicity and convenience of the central line was harshly apparent as we struggled further to get medication into him in a pain free manner. Spoiler alert, we couldn’t. Every dose was uncomfortable with a scratching pain that really distressed Kip. At one stage he even took over the syringe to see if he could do it in a way that hurt less, to no avail.
Kip’s fevers continued into the Saturday morning but by the afternoon they stopped. With the promise of h*** if we had 48 hours below 38 degrees, and we fantasised about immersing Kip in an ice bath for the weekend.
On Monday, a phalanx of physicians came in to review and determined we could go home that afternoon. Cue packing, cue organising transport, taking out the cannula, dealing with the tears, reassuring Kip, remembering to unplug all the electronics, collecting medication and we went home. Kip was full of joy seeing his Granny, Grandpa and beloved big sister Millie.
Tuesday was a pretty good day at home, some fun activities but we could see Kip still recovering from something, a bit of lethargy and tiredness as one would expect.
Then in the early hours of Wednesday morning (today) he spiked another fever.
Now we used our zero-plumbing privilege and gave him a dose of paracetamol before deciding to call the clinic in the morning. They called us in, and the procedures began.
Kip had to have bloods taken, which was another distressing needle encounter, and be swabbed all over in case of Loathsome Diseases (all negative). We agreed to stay in but not start antibiotics unless he got another fever.
Which he did, about an hour later.
Cue another needle for blood cultures, and a bed back on Ward 19 where all this Stem Cell Transplantery began back in January.
So far we’ve avoided having another cannula fitted (after, I admit, a fairly robust discussion on the merits of hammering him with IV antibiotics) by arranging for a different antibiotic to be given by injection into his thigh. Kip is as thrilled with this as you would expect.
I’m now sat typing this on The Chair That Is Not A Bed about ready to collapse into a sleepy phantasy of where it all went wrong. Whoever choreographed this dance is clearly drunk.