Days like today are hard.
When I arrived at the hospital at about 11, Logan looked great -- better than I'd seen him look in weeks, as a matter of fact. He was sitting up in bed, helping Adam construct Cooties. When the Physical Therapist came in a few minutes later, I watched with abated tears because I was so pleased that he seemed to be feeling so much better: He stood, kicked a ball, sang some songs, and all in all did everything she asked of him. And he did it with a long-absent modicum of cheer.
And then the afternoon came.
He's been complaining for hours now that his tummy hurts. Yes, STILL. S-T-I-L-L. It's so hard to listen to it and to know I can't do anything. It's also incredibly frustrating to feel both helpless and irritated at once. The whining is making me crazy and I'm so sad that the morning's apparent progress led to yet another backslide. Imagine hearing the SAME THING over and over again for literally hours on end and being unable to do a single, solitary thing to stop it.
Part of the problem, of course, is that I'm not a naturally patient person. I get mad when someone cuts in line in front of me, I get mad when I have to wait 20 minutes beyond an appointment time. I'm not good at waiting. This experience is stretching me in so many ways; this is just one of them. And I'm not a fan.
In addition to that, after being feverless for 24 hours, it returned once again last night. So, he's going to have a CT scan at roughly 4 PM to look for a hidden infection since he has no WBCs to create the usual symptoms of illness.