Yesterday, one of Blaise's nurses used the d-word. She said it so casually that I almost didn't catch it. "By the way, I've started things moving on your discharge process." This doesn't mean anything yet except that the nurse practitioner is writing prescriptions and starting to hash out home care issues with our insurance company. We don't have a date and we don't have an official plan, but wheels are turning. This is good because after 120 days (but who's counting?), our patience with the hospital life is starting to wear a little thin.
The blood culture from Blaise's line came back negative, so we remain line infection free for the moment. We got bumped from our private room because Blaise doesn't have anything contagious, but some other patient does. So we're back in a shared room, which is pretty cramped. We'll survive, though. Hopefully not too much longer before we have our whole apartment to hang out in with Blaise.