How low can you go?

Apparently, the answer to that question is zero. And that is where Lois's neutrophil count is today. Zero. Neutrophils (are you tired of this yet?) are your infection fighting white blood cells. Lois's ANC (absolute neutrohpil count) has to be 1,000 in order to begin an infusion of chemotherapy. Normal levels are between 1,500 and 8,000. And today my little girl has none. Zip. Zilch. She is a ticking time bomb. I'm tempted to wrap her in aluminum foil and stick her in a closet for the next few days.

Her hemoglobin is holding it's own. Her platelets are a measly 35,000 but still not low enough to transfuse. Her total white cell count is 200.

This is not the news I expected to hear today. It's shocking. I figured if your ANC was zero, you'd be in the hospital - not stuffing your face with McDonalds french fries and joyfully watching the Wiggles on Sprout. But my girl is home, happy, and fighting the good fight. If she can make it through the weekend, it will be a miracle.

Just thought you might like an update.

And after I caught up on this week's episode of Sheer Genius (that Brig is such a wack-a-doodle) and headed upstairs to bed, I made two very important decisions that will directly affect you - my faithful blog readers.

#1. I shall henceforth no longer use the name "Dr. Hem and Haw." I have to admit it. I like her. And I'm going to tell you why, so sit down and get comfortable.

What drove me to give her this nickname was her seeming lack of ability to give it to me straight. I just want the facts. The statistics. The odds. And I want everything you've got. Don't hold any information back. She was incapable of this on our first meeting. We've spent lots of time together since, and she still exhibits a propensity to hold back, or dance around the really bad stuff. And I realize now - she just doesn't want to deliver bad news. But she's a pediatric oncologist! Imagine how much bad news she has had to deliver. She's probably told hundreds of parents that their kid has cancer. You'd think, after all her years in practice, that this would become old hat. You'd think at some point sh'd become numb to the emotion of that moment. You'd think at some point she'd get "good" at it. Not Dr. M. I think it pains her to look a parent in the eye and tell them the worst news they may ever hear. She hems and haws because she doesn't want to break hearts. And I love her for that.

It still drives me nuts, but we're working through it.

#2. This blog needs a name change. Although many of you are here because you also have a child with a bonus chromosome, I have two children. Right now, it's all about Lois. *sigh. But it isn't always going to be! I've decided that a blog about our special family should have a name that is inclusive of all of us (or at least the two cute ones). Jay and I have also decided that we need to move the blog to a more permanent home which will coincide well with a name change. So let's hear what you've got. I'm open to all of your suggestions. If I choose your suggestion as our new blog name, you'll be the winner of a slightly unstable 5 year old epileptic beagle mix!

I kid. I kid.

But put on your thinking caps and help me out, won't you?

I've made plans for tomorrow. Aunt Marpa and Maggie and I are going to hit my consignment sale tomorrow morning (oh how I LOVE that sale) and then Mac and I are going to go see Wilma, aka Mother Inferior, at her grandson's Lacrosse game. You do realize what this means, right? Lois will develop a fever about 30 minutes before I'm supposed to walk out the door.

NO! No she won't! She's going to kick a$$ and take names! She's not getting no stinky fever!

Knock wood. Please.