Still no real answers from Sam's doctors. There's a lot of talk about how rare this is, and a lot of interns coming in to peer at him- baby doctors, is what I call them in my head. They're cute, all inquisitively asking the same questions, all confusion and wonder. They look at my husband as though he is some privilege they receive, this statistical, diagnostic wonder. And I suppose he is, and I'm grateful they get the chance.
The waiting, though, is interminable. They can't seem to lower the pressure in his head at all; it isn't climbing, but it isn't going down, and we're at about the end of what pharmaceuticals can manage. The next step would be a spinal tap- more of a drain, the word "tap" used the way you'd tap a maple tree. I hope we don't get there, but at least that's an option before all the talk of stents and shunts.
So that's where we are. Waiting. Hoping. Crossing everything. Knitting, incessantly, that too. But mostly just waiting. I'm getting better at that.