Phin's Phirst "Off-Treatment" Ailment

Well, it happened. Of course it did.With three kids, two who are in school, it was bound to and we thwarted it so many times across these last five months, I knew our luck had to be running out. But I will say this: I am incredibly grateful that the inevitable happened now--when his central line has been removed, he's been out of the hospital with rising counts for more than a week and after I asked a million questions before our discharge in anticipation of this very thing--than if it had happened mid-treatment. There are no small gifts.

Phin is sick.

Both of our girls have been diligently wearing their masks. In fact, they're frequently the only ones wearing masks in their classes at school or among groups of friends. Less than a full week from the date of Phin's bell-ringing, I got a phone call from the school nurse to come pick Avonlie, who had a sore throat, up from school. I immediately thought: And so it begins. The news of Av's sore throat was especially problematic because the kids had talked us into a sleepover the night before so all three had been crammed into one bed: Avonlie, Obelia and Phin. When I picked the girls up from school, Obelia--under pressure to pay close attention to her body--confessed to also having a sore throat that she had chalked up to not drinking enough water. 

Commence all the "waaaaah-ing" emojis, of which this is my favorite: 

Sorry, Gen Z-ers. I know emojis are as
"out" as my skinny jeans and Elliot Paige are these days.

By now, I'm pretty proficient at locating and using the nearest Urgent Care these days, so braced with the info that both of the girls' sibling set of close friends at school had strep, I stopped at the nearest Urgent Care and had them tested: negative. Next up, I hit them with a Covid test: also negative. Last stop, an appointment at their pediatrician--Coastal Pediatrics--the next day where all their negative tests were confirmed and we were sent on our way with a prescription to help fight whatever was making them both sick.

Side note: The Coastal Peds appointment was not short of excitement. Obelia, who appeared to be feeling perfectly fine--so fine it never occurred to me to even see if she had a fever--and was seeming to rather enjoy her day off from school (snacking, eating, playing, watching movies, reenacting old photos...), had a surprise fever when we arrived, and Avonlie, who was feeling visibly terrible but registered no fever, threw up in the doctor's office. As always, the staff at Coastal Pediatrics (who were also the unfortunate bearers of Phin's initial bloodwork that sent us to the ER for suspected leukemia five months ago), were extraordinary. Most people don't love going to the doctor, but I always leave there feeling distinctly loved, cared for, validated as a parent, and like I've just had a lovely visit with an old friend. Love you guys (looking at you this time Katie and, always, Dr. Behm).

Obelia reenacting a photo from 2018 about
twenty minutes before her appointment at Coastal Pediatrics
where we discovered she had a fever. 

Despite our best efforts, and Phin's immune system's best efforts, by Friday--the day after his sisters had returned to school--Phin began to develop a fever and we could no longer hold out hope he'd somehow evaded their ailment.

Up until this point, Dustin and I had been full of bravado, spouting off things like: "The doctors wouldn't have sent him home if he couldn't fight something like this" and "The doctor did say that we treat him as we would any normal non-cancer kid if he got sick, even with a fever above 100.4. It's probably no big deal." Slowly, as his fever climbed, the bravado gave way to uncertainty when I'd repeat the doctor's words and follow them up with: "You heard that, too, right?" Before long, I had pulled a chair about six inches from Phin lying on the couch and was zapping him with the forehead thermometer every two minutes and alternating every five minutes with the armpit thermometer while he slept (he's been training for this kind of poking and prodding while he sleeps for five months). I called the oncologist. Twice. When the clinic returned our call, they assured me that Tylenol every six hours was the way to go; they'd tell our on-call oncologist to keep him abreast and we should just carry on as we were doing. "He's technically "off-treatment" now," the nurse said. The words "off treatment" have been echoing in my head ever since.

In this house, no one battles sickness alone, says
Phin's faithful companion, Sundae.

So we did. For the next two days, Phin's temperature fluctuated, depending on how recently he'd received Tylenol (they advised to only give Motrin once a day since no one knows his exact platelet count, only the count from the day of his discharge, and Motrin is a blood thinner--something we don't need if his platelets are already low) from a cool 98 to as high as 103. The first night, I camped out on the floor in his room armed with a bottle of Tylenol, ice water and a damp cloth for his head, which he truly hated. We eventually both ended up back in mine and Dustin's bed. The second night--last night--our AC unit went out so he and the girls slept in our room with all the fans we could find blasting to keep them cool. Dustin and I slept downstairs in the living room. And at 7:30 a.m., I awoke to the pitter-patter of Phin's feet bounding down the stairs. My stomach clenched, fearful of what horrible misery he'd come to tell me he was feeling, preparing to whisk him off to the ER and more capable hands than my own.

"Mama," he whispered, his wide eyes level with mine. I reached my hand to his forehead. "I want special milk." He was cool to the touch. As cool as the glass of oatmilk I was about to get up to pour him.

He's been fever-free all day. Still sniffly, but, otherwise, okay. 

Phin and his pet ants

If you're wondering if this experience made me feel like a first time mom all over again, the answer is a definite, resounding YES! 

I can't speak for whether Dustin grew anxious, too. If he did, he didn't show it. We tend to subconsciously achieve a yin-and-yang in that way. I can say that I'm relieved this is almost behind us. I'm not glad it happened. I know we couldn't have prevented it forever. I wish he'd had more time to build up his immune system but...what I hope we are all thinking here is this: he may not have the healthy immune system the majority of us have, he may have had this bout of sickness worse than his sisters did, but he is successfully fighting it off without major intervention and his immune system, however weakened it may be, is doing that all. by. itself. Praying hard that these everyday ailments are the only ones he'll ever have to fight again.

Next clinic appointment: 10 days away. Hoping for a quiet, no-update-post-necessary span of time until then.