Today was... well, boring. It's all a day can be when you spend 6 hours in the same place while blood cycles in and out of your kid. And especially when said kid is tired, cranky and generally wanting to go home, crying about missing daddy and his sister and brother. Who can blame him? It's been a month since he's been here; a MONTH since my 4-year old has seen his room and his toys and everything familiar.
And tomorrow? It'll feature more of the same. Today's harvest went almost exactly as yesterday's, yielding only slightly more cells despite 3 additional hours of collection time. According to Adam, we're now up to 3.3 million per kilogram, so still WELL below what we need, which is 5 million absolute minimum. We've pretty much officially missed the window for good collection, so we're literally scraping the bottom to try to get ANYthing we can get. And it takes four or five times as long as it should take as a result.
I'm angry and frustrated again. Logan was initially supposed to be discharged today, but instead he's still at the hospital. And even if Adam manages to get him discharged tomorrow -- we didn't get to talk to a doctor today so we didn't get to ask about the plan -- he still won't be home until dinner time or later. So we've effectively already lost a day and a half. At least. I'm mad because we shouldn't have missed that window. He shouldn't have had to endure such an awful infection. If the nurses and doctors had done their jobs in the first place, the c-diff would've been caught earlier and it wouldn't have blown up as badly as it did. Of course, the tiny voice in me says 'but it blowing up badly allowed for that amazing rapid recovery'. True, but then as a result of said recovery, we missed the window for the harvest. And where does that put us now? Nowhere good.
It's just so disappointing. I don't understand why good news is always followed by such frustration and heartache these days. This process sucks more than I can even describe, so it feels like these little things are added punches to an already punched-out gut. I'm rapidly reaching my personal breaking point yet again. I'm trying to have faith about it all, but again, in the face of such crushing disappointment, it's hard to be hopeful about much of anything.