House arrest

Trish went out to a barbecue tonight. I'll head out to a celebratory party tomorrow for one of our cancer unit friends during which his dad will shave his head as a fundraiser.

But Dominic isn't going anywhere. Doctor's orders.

Last week's tests came back positive for a minor virus. The fact he didn't have to be hospitalized because of it is a sign his immune system is maturing, but it does mean we have to be a bit more careful with what he's exposed to in public.

On its own the virus didn't prevent us from making small trips. Trish took him shopping and we had every intent of bringing him to the parties, even though he wouldn't be allowed to interact with other kids.

Then we went to Medicine Hat hospital for a routine blood test this week. Since he's still on a low dose chemotherapy once every three weeks until September - part of the treatment for his post-transplant lymphoproliferative disorder - there's a chance his counts could go wonky.

Wonky is exactly what's happened. His white blood cell and neutrophil counts (the ones that fight infection) came back dangerously low, similar to the levels he had during his four rounds of chemotherapy which ended months ago.

So the chemo is working to keep any PTLD at bay, but to the detriment of his brand new immune system. And that means he's stuck at home for the time being.

If it weren't for the tests, you wouldn't know there was anything wrong. He's still not eating enough but that's not the end of the world. He's happy as always, walking around the house, kicking balls and climbing stairs. The dog is thrilled when he walks around with a nacho in his hand at her mouth level.

There are worse places to be stuck, no doubt.