The Princess and Bo Peep have left, their "slumber party" with Little Warrior having been a welcome distraction for her.
A couple of hours after they left with The Husband, LW finished up one of her chemos and suddenly began breaking out in what looked like mosquito bites but, of course, weren't. No breathing problems, but her lips swelled and got a little purply.
Mama doesn't it like it when her chicks change color.
So, an allergic reaction to the chemo, etoposide, which is known to cause such things. No breathing problems, though. Tomorrow, we'll talk to the doctors and decide what to do.
Meanwhile, they hit her with both benadryl and hydrocortisone. She's sleeping now.
We are on a different side of the building than we've been the last couple of times. From here, I can see the other hospital we go to, the one for radiation. (Note to self: schedule followup appointment over there.) It seems strange to me that I can see it. I don't know why. I guess because hermetically sealed in here, it seems like outside isn't real, that it's just a backdrop someone has painted on our windows.
Our hospital has a small playground, and I can see it from here. We've been here since Thursday, and I haven't seen a single child in it. Not one. I thought about getting a pass for LW to go, then thought better of it. She has to stay on IV, and so it would be a "don't do that," "Be careful," "No!" sort of endeavor. I mean, how do you go down a slide with an IV pole?
Buildings, buildings, buildings here and cranes, cranes, cranes. An empty shell of a building that is being redone. A giant hole in the earth that is becoming a parking garage.
Nothing to see here, folks. Move it along, move it along.
I have friends, Cancer Parent Friends, in other cities and states. Some are at hospitals with beautiful views. One has a gorgeous view of the ocean.
Maybe it's better to have this view. Nothing to taunt me, to torture me. Outside, it's hot, and sticky, and there's nothing beautiful to look at.
I still wish I were out there.