Well that was unexpected.
Really though, we should have seen it coming.
Dom's blood counts began to jump up on the weekend. Since he hasn't yet had the bone marrow biopsy necessary to decide when and how the second round of his chemotherapy will proceed, the only logical thing to do is let him out.
Out of the hospital, that is.
Yes, this afternoon Trish and Dominic's grandparents are packing up room 1111 at the Alberta Children's Hospital and moving to her parents' house in northwest Calgary for the next few days.
This is where I claim to be sad that I can't help. Truth is, I got lucky on this one. There is a lot to move out of that room. It's well organized, which Trish is amazing at, but that just hides the truth of the situation.
When you're loved as much as Dom you tend to accumulate toys. Electronic toys, stuffed toys, toys that defy description; all wonderful and appreciated but some jammed so far into the bottom of a bin their cries for attention cannot be heard.
Snacks. Clothes. Cleaned tupperware containers that once contained oodles of delicious lasagna. I suspect they'll find things they forgot they had.
Perhaps the hospital folks make people leave every once in a while just for the cleansing effect of a good purge. One nurse told me they once found a moldy fruit when cleaning a room. That's past gross; it's actually dangerous for the kid with a compromised immune system.
We could hypothetically come all the way home to Medicine Hat, but realistically Dom will get the bone marrow biopsy soon and needs bloodwork taken before he can have the biopsy. And once the biopsy results are in, he's just going right back in for a long stay with the next round of treatment anyhow. It's easier to just stay near the hospital. Maybe they'll come home the next time he's discharged.
One of our new friends told us on Facebook that the first discharge is the scariest from the parents point of view, but pretty soon you're looking forward to it. We've grown to love our team and the hospital so there is definitely an aspect of fear, but it's also a tiny pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel. There are more good days ahead.