After making the 384 mile round trip to and from CHOP Sunday and Monday, I got up and checked on Babygirl this morning, hoping against hope that she'd be all ready for school.
Not so much.
The headache recurred at about one AM, meaning that she got less than 12 hours of relief from a procedure that I'm willing to bet we'll pay over $500 for.
Did I mention that her Medicare is up this month? Yeah, pretty sure.
Rather than wake me so we could start rolling back to Philly on 2 hours of sleep (sensible child) she waited until I got up. I cleared some work while I had a quick breakfast and hit the road. At 8:30 I called (hands free!) to let Philly know we were on our way, ETA about noon.
We got a bed on the neuro floor, a new place for us. The nurses were not at all put off by the sunglasses, the room lights are all on dimmers, and the window shades are adjustable up to three layers thick.
The neuro fellow is a Dr Christian, who, if the scar on his neck is any indication, has been in the fellowship of suffering himself a time or two. His third-year (translation: freshly-hatched) medical student was about 3 steps above average and managed not to make a fool of himself even once.
That being said, she is a significant anomaly on this floor. They simply do not know what to do about the transplant and are, thankfully, tripping over themselves being hypervigilant about it. It took until 5:30 to start the first of what I think will be a graduated run of 6 different medications aimed at breaking the headache.
I'm sure they'll succeed.
What I'm not sure about is how they plan on keeping it gone. And to judge by the looks on their faces when I pose this question, I'm guessing that this is not the first time they've been up against this. And they don't likely have any really easy answers.
DeeDee
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