Today was supposed to be a relatively easy day. And any time I start like that, you know what's coming.
After Collin slept right through his physical therapy session despite the PT's best efforts (except for the two times he woke up to retch), we ran down to the children's hospital to get his last round of blood and urine tests. While we were waiting to register, Collin launched into the biggest cluster of spasms he's ever had. I stopped counting at 60 and started to gather our things to go have them page the neurologist on call, but by the time I got everything together, he had stopped, so I decided to just wait and watch him. When we finally made it to the laboratory waiting room, he had 24 more that got him started retching. (Dear Topamax, I hate you.)
In the lab, he finally settled down and we had possibly the two nicest nurses of all time, but they had trouble with Collin's veins, which were apparently delicate today. They needed to collect a ton of blood for all of the tests and ended up poking both of his arms (one twice), his heel, and his finger over the next TWO HOURS. Naturally, he cooperated like a champ. When they were finally done and Collin's limbs were all wrapped up in purple sticky gauze, we realized that in all of this time, he hadn't peed in the little bag they use to collect his urine specimen. And he proceeded to not pee for another half an hour while I put his hands and feet under the faucet and ran warm and cold water over them. Finally, I gave up and just sang to him and he filled the whole bag. My singing has that effect on people.
When, at long last, we left the hospital, business hours were almost over, so we sat in the parking garage while I made the half dozen medical and therapy calls I had needed to make this afternoon and then headed out to drop prescriptions off at Collin's two different pharmacies. At this point, Collin was so exhausted from his 100 seizures, 6 vials of blood, and 2 1/2 hours of being jabbed, squeezed, and jiggled that he passed out. In his wet noodle state, his already floppy neck lost all control and every time I accelerated, his pumpkin head would fling down toward his chest. So, I drove around town with my hand in the backseat holding up Collin's head the best I could and occasionally sticking my finger in his nostril to make sure he was still breathing.
And THAT is why I had to stop at Dairy Queen on the way home. And let me tell you - when I pulled into the parking lot and saw that it was a drive thru, I almost cried with happiness.