About Us

Our family of 6 (dad Adam, mom Sherry, big sister Abby and little brothers Isaac and Brady -- who was born on December 14, 2010) joined the ranks of pediatric cancer fighters when our 4-year old son Logan was diagnosed with a dangerous and highly malignant form of brain cancer in mid-August 2010. Logan's cancer journey began abruptly on Sunday, August 15, when his right eye suddenly turned inward during dinner. Twenty-four hours later, we were checking into Children's Hospital Oakland and finding out that life sometimes takes you places you'd never, ever imagine yourself going.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

The (Actual) Logan Update: Saturday, 9/4/10

We've come to the end of another day, and I'm once again back at home. Abby and Isaac are in bed, and Adam is with Logan in Oakland. I called to say good night and could hear my little sunshine uttering random exclamations in the background. I know he's exhausted. I was with him from 11 to 6 today and during that time, he took only a few brief catnaps, each ultimately truncated by a sudden cry of pain or an urgent need to pee. Adam said that if he's unable to settle himself within the next hour, he'll ask the nurse to give him something to help him get to sleep.

I headed home this evening and took a quick stop at Toys R Us and Target in search of some new small, Cars die cast toys. I was able to bribe him into eating some Jell-O, drinking some milk and eating half a bag of Goldfish crackers this morning with the aid of Axle Accelerator in his brand spankin' new packaging, so I'm hoping for a repeat performance using the two previously unowned cars I could find. On my way back to my car post-Target, I ran into our neighbor/friend Jen, which was a welcome surprise; I'd prayed to see a familiar face as I drove along 580.

If nothing changes between now and then, tomorrow evening will mark the beginning of the chemo drugs. I'm an odd combination of relieved and scared to death when it comes to the subject of getting started. On one hand, I want to get to work at melting down that tumor and its heinous buddies STAT. On the other, it crushes me to think of the horrible side effects in store. He could lose some of his hearing. He'll vomit. He'll be nauseaus. He may develop sores in his mouth and along his intestinal tract. His hair will fall out, including his beautiful eyelashes. It's so vain of me to think of those things and be sad. After all, if the treatment saves his life, it'll obviously be worth the loss of vanity for a while. But it makes me so very sad to think of his big blue eyes without their near-impossibly long lashes and his head without the mass of fine strawberry blonde hair that made him so distinctive, so curious at birth. It makes me angry because 90some percent of my fellow parents will never have to experience this brand of sadness. But what can I do? Nothing.

There's so much more I could say, but I'm truly exhausted. Adam asked me what time I went to bed last night, and I had no idea. Not even a clue. I know that I didn't sleep well and awoke numerous times, but I don't know when I first laid my head on my pillow.

Heading into Sunday, please pray for Logan as his treatment begins. Pray that the drugs will attack the tumors and melt them away to nothing, and pray the the side effects will be as minimal as possible. It's so hard to keep faith that he'll be healed, but I need to do it. As I've said many times over already, I know that God can heal him with a snap of his fingers, a mere thought. And that's what I want so badly that it hurts. Also, please pray for Adam and I to make the right scheduling decisions for our family entering this first week of treatment. And finally, for Abby and Isaac, that they might know how much they are loved, even though everything about their world is completely off-kilter right now.

Thank you, and good night.

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