Today is A's eight-week Remicade infusion. We'll stop for a chicken biscuit at Chic Fil A then head for the lab for his 10:00 appointment. The good news is that today is a school holiday, so he isn't missing classes. (A does not consider that good news. He loves to miss classes.)
Remicade is coded by the insurance company like chemotherapy, and there are many similarities. Every eight weeks, he's hooked up to an IV for 3 hours of measured dosage. The infusion lab is staffed by GI Care for Kids (the pediatric gastroenterology practice) so it's set up for the primarily tween and teen patients' comfort. Recliners, a TV, a bunch of current DVD's, snack tray and two amazing nurses, plus half a dozen pediatric GIs right around the corner and Children's Healthcare/Scottish Rite across the street just in case . . . it's a fantastic arrangement.
Remicade has been a last-ditch measure to control Adam's severe Crohn's, and so far it's preventing the perforations and sepsis he's endured in the past. We're praying that the inevitable development of Remicade antibodies is far in the future because there isn't much in the research pipeline to go to next.
Meanwhile, we parents get to perch in a microscope waiting "room" that's anything but comfortable. Seven armless seats with the worst ergonomics I've ever seen in an airless anteroom that's about 8 feet wide by 12 feet long! I always try to angle for the corner seat because that way I'm not in the path of strollers headed to the lab that shares the infusion lab's space, nor will the door to the lab smack me in the knees. Otherwise, it's a constant dodge.
I truly do not mind the waiting room because I appreciate the space set aside for patients. I can get up and move around. The patients are tethered to their IVs.
Three hours of Remicade equates to really productive knitting. I hope to get to the heel of Jaywalker #2 and swatch a new project. Plus I have a J. D. Robb in case my hands get tired.