Well. Mom has now been seen by a specialist in infectious diseases, who has concluded that she doesn't have any. Infectious diseases, that is. He believes that the whole mess--the fever, the rash, the vomiting, was all a reaction to cephalexin. And if I'd been paying attention today when the previous doctor ordered her a dose of Rocephin, I'd have recognized that he was, in fact, ordering her yet another cephalosporin. OOOPS. But so far, she hasn't had a reaction to that one.
They are not yet willing, however, to release her from the hospital if there's any risk of another reaction to antibiotics, and since she MUST stay on antibiotics due to the reconstruction surgery, she must also stay in the hospital at least another day. She's bored out of her gourd, but looking strong and healthy, and full of energy and good spirits.
She did tear up a little at the compassion of a (to her, anyway) stranger, when I read her the letter that accompanied a hand-knitted cap (thanks so much, Robin) that had a prayer "knitted into" each stitch. She is touched by the kindness and support of pretty much the whole world right now, and very thankful that the treatments she's enduring are even available to her.
In other news, I did not get hit in the kisser by any poultry today, but I did run from one end of my house to the other, peeking out each window in succession, and crying tears of hysterical laughter as the water-meter reader was very nearly sexually harassed by my Tom turkeys. When they first came running at him, the poor guy froze in this tracks--he didn't know whether to poop his pants or wind his watch. Really, it wasn't funny. Except that it was. Especially that first "group gobble."