Here's how it all went down:

"Loyola University Medical Center: Come for the Strep, but Stay for the Leukemia!"

or

"From Health to Cancer in Just Three Days or Less -- Learn How!"

or

"Paranoid or Persistent Mommy: Is there Really a Difference?"

Thur Feb 28
Lyric has runny nose and mild cough. Aria has wet cough, but only at night. A FB post from a friend says their kid's cough keeps them up nights, too. No biggie.

But after five sleepless nights, I take Aria to the on-call pediatrician. (Though we'd just been there three days ago for strep tests, which were negative.)

• Dr: Sounds like her sinuses are draining. She'll be fine.
• Me: Yep, thought so!

Fri Mar 1
After school, Aria eats a sundae the size of her head. She and Lyric build a kick-ass snowman in the yard. By bedtime, Aria has a fever of 101. Normal kid fever, we'll see how she is in the morning.

Sat Mar 2
Aria wakes with a 103 fever and barfs her tylenol right back at me. We are now the on-call pediatrician's first appointment of the day.

• Dr: Her throat looks fine. Fluid in ear might be a tiny bit pink. You want antibiotics? We could wait til Monday to see if the infection progresses.
• Me: We can wait. But she looks pale, don't you think?
• Dr: Likely a virus. Her fever isn't bad. If it hits 105, call us. Use tylenol. She'll be fine.
• Me: Alrighty.

Once home, Aria eats oatmeal for breakfast, and doesn't barf. Fever goes up and down. She doesn't eat again that day, but drinks a lot of juice. Maybe it's a stomach flu.

In the middle of the night, she's shivering violently and has a 104.5 fever. I add ibuprofen to the tylenol. Just as are ready to visit the ER, her fever drops to 101.

Sun Mar 3
Aria's fever bobs up and down but remains in the 103s. She's hasn't eaten since breakfast yesterday, and is not hungry. But she's watching My Little Pony and drinking Gatorade. She says her mouth hurts once in a while, but it looks normal. She sleeps a lot.

Sunday night is a repeat of Saturday night's fever episode, so Kevin takes her to Children's E.R. at 2AM.

• Dr: She has strep and an ear infection. I'll write you prescription to fill when the drugstore opens. She'll be fine. By the way, is she always that pale?
• Kevin: I think so. But she's sick.
• Dr: Ask her pediatrician to do some bloodwork. Maybe she drinks too much milk or something.
• Kevin: (You're kind of a dick.) 

Mon Mar 4
Upon waking, Aria takes her first dose of antibiotics. She hasn't eaten in 48 hours and now won't drink either. She just sleeps. Again, I get the on-call pediatrician, who is not concerned. Her fever is "typical."

Come evening, she won't accept second dose of antibiotics because her mouth hurts too much. She has only a few sips of water. I finally get our regular pediatrician. I explain the fevers, lack of sustenance, not taking medicine, sleeping all day, and erratic fever, which is currently 103.

• Dr: I'm not so concerned; come to the office in the morning. She'll be fine. (That's a summary)
• Me: Seriously? (Also, a summary)
• Dr: If you were to tell me that she hasn't played at all for more than 3 hours, I'd say maybe...
• Me: 3 hours? It's been 36 hours since I last saw a smile. No playing. She is not herself at all.
• Dr: Get thee to an E.R. I prefer Childrens', it's a bit far with a blizzard coming, so I suppose Loyola is OK.

8pm: Loyola's intake nurse finds no fever. I feel like an idiot. Then, she notes Aria's rapid heart rate (160), which is weird with is no fever. She, too, mentions Aria's pallor, then calls a resident. She makes the same observations and is not very concerned but calls the attending, "just because he likes to eyeball everyone." Well thank the gods for that.

The Attending says a "high" heart rate for a 3 year old with a fever is 110. He'd even accept 120. But not 160. Her pallor disturbed him. He orders a blood test and chest xray, citing pneumonia as a specific concern. He does not say, "she'll be fine."

9pm: Nurses take blood and Aria gets petechiae all over her, before our very eyes.

10pm: I walk her down the hall for chest xrays. She looks tiny, frail, exhausted, and very ill.

11pm: Doc tells me a chest xray shows only a bit of fluid, which doesn't explain the other symptoms.
We are admitted to the hematology floor. I ask why as the rooms starts to spin.  He says the blood work shows a low platelet count, which explains the pallor and petechiae. I ask what causes that. He suggests a virus. I ask for more specifics. He is vague and noncommittal. I tell myself to stop being paranoid and dramatic...he isn't evading, he's just conservative, right?

12am: We are shown to a hospital room, where the nurse mentions the "aspiration" procedure and then the "blood transfusions" and I start to sway. When I ask what the hell she is talking about, she tries to back pedal and say she could be mistaken. I ask for someone who can speak *and* think.

1am: I indirectly discover that the "bone aspiration" is a euphemism for "biopsy." A crew of 20-something "doctors" says they plan to "aspirate" while they wait for the "cultures to process." You know, even though it is "probably a virus."

I ask why they would put her through all this instead of waiting for the results of the virus test. I get an illogical and/or incomprehensible answer.

I fail to form questions that get to the bottom of what they are not telling me, even though I already know. I argue with myself to not let my inner paranoid neurotic let me take my eye off the ball.

3am: Aria's fever is 105, and the nurses can't seem to get it down. This does not seem to concern anyone, except for that it is delaying the bone marrow procedure.

I again ask why, if it's "probably" a virus, are they not just waiting a mere 12 hours to get the culture results, since it could mean they don't need to look at her bone marrow at all.

I expect the answer to be "Even if it's a virus, the bone marrow will be needed anyway to determine blah blah blah about the virus." Instead, the Resident looks scared and scurries away.

I know why, but if I say it aloud, it will become true.

5am: I'm pissed. I've watched the inner workings of a teaching hospital on TV only. Still, I knew I needed to be talking to House, not Thirteen and her band of inexperienced cohorts.

I'm told (again) that House (Dr. Hemenway) will be here in the morning. I try not to kill any residents.

8am: A very gentle attending doctor enters the room, sits on the bed next to Aria, and says, "I put a smear of her blood under a microscope, and it's leukemia."