Monday

As irony would have it, Logan and Brady were both sleeping until the very second I sat down to type this entry. At that precise moment, Brady started screaming. Fortunately I was able to just pick him up, walk down the hall and then put him back down again without issue. So I guess all of that means I should make sure that I say what I'd planned to say, huh?

Logan's 24-hour methotrexate number came back at .9; they like for said number to be between 1 and 10. We were a little concerned that it was too low, but nope: Molly explained the number by saying that it was likely due to the fact that they'd increased his hydration since he was a day late clearing last round. Yesterday's number was .3, and this morning's, .17. So prayerfully, he'll be released tomorrow -- the number just needs to drop below .1, and he needs to not wind up with a fever.

So what's so special about tomorrow? Well, it just happens to be 1/11/11, my 33rd birthday. The one I've been looking forward to for years for purely 'the numbers are just too stinkin' cool' reasons. I hadn't thought for even half second that he might be home in time to celebrate the start of my next year, but it's a distinct possibility and it wows me.

I think I spend too much time underestimating God.

His hemoglobin was a bit low this morning (7.4, I believe), but they're holding off on a transfusion. The doctor on service this week, Dr. Garcia, doesn't think he'll need one for a few more days; something about the extra hydration diluting his blood and artificially decreasing the number. So we'll see. Hopefully the number won't drop like a rock and necessitate a transfusion tomorrow.

Okay, I've been ordered to draw a Christmas tree, so I'm off to work on that.