Pincushion

No photo today. Squeamish readers will be relieved. Little Fish now has 12 holes in one foot and 9 in the other. There are bloodstains on the curtains, on the doctors' trousers and the floor. Little scabs and driblets of dried blood sit at intervals along LF's feet, tracking her veins and marking valiant attempts to extract blood. 1.5mls of the red stuff now sits in two test tubes. Enough for the test she really doesn't need, and for the test she probably doesn't need. But insufficient for the test we all thought probably was a good idea.

Aside from the mystery fevers and now the new matter of the beautiful intense body rash, both of which can possibly be explained by the thick layer of sheepskin lining the body brace, she is doing really well. All set for discharge to hospice tomorrow. Strict orders for no o2 tonight, and a different mask for her Nippy, mean her sats are sitting nicely at 100 with occasional dips to 98, rather than her adventures in the 70s from the past few nights. We like. This set is being recorded too; it'll make me look silly for pointing out that 5 litres of 02 every night wasn't the best thing to need on discharge, but I'd rather look silly and have to do a spot of sewing chin straps onto masks than have a floppy grotty child. At least, I think I would...

Hospice tomorrow and a reunion with Mog, I can't wait. LF is rather excited about the prospect of being able to leave her room. I'm excited about the ability to make myself coffee whenever I feel like it, and I'm also quite keen on the idea of typing on a decent keyboard not a touch screen at last. Now though, LF is asleep and I'm looking forwards to a night without the constant beeping of a worried sats monitor. It's much happier tonight.

Tia

Tia