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.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Because sometimes you've gotta be grateful, 9/29/10

It's a humming, praise-rising kind of morning. No, really. It is.

Although I still don't understand why we're facing what we're facing -- why Logan is sick, why our rental sits vacant, why we're burning through savings, why we're losing out on the normal family time that 99% of the population of Pleasanton is priviledged to enjoy, why nothing about life is as it was before, why I'm repeatedly asked to witness for God's provision when I feel stretched to my limits and more emotionally vulnerable -- broken -- than I have ever before, why there's just so much uncertainty in my family's future -- I also feel incredibly grateful for so many things. So much so, in fact, that at times it feels as if my heart is overflowing with gratitude to both God and everyone who's leapt forward to help us with whatever we need.

My first bit of praise for the morning is Logan-centric. He and Lambie were up before the sun this morning -- per his usual custom -- and crawled into bed with us. We laid for a while in the silence just breathing in and out, in and out. It was such a blessing to just BE there, watching him rub Lambie's ears and chatter in his best whisper-voice about breakfast, the board game he wanted to play and the upcoming day. It's one of those experiences that gets lost in a busy day -- or a busy life -- but once it passes, you can't get it back again. Critical illness forces you to soak up those moments; to savor them on an entirely new level. And for that, I'm thankful.

Additionally, I got a call from Philippa this morning confirming that his numbers from yesterday were good so he's clear to start round two tonight. Yes! As much as I hate to see him suffer and as brutal as his chemo courses are, I'm grateful that we're not facing a delay at getting back in there and going another round with this evil, evil disease. Our estimated ETA is 1 PM, but she'll call to confirm, as another child will need to be transferred elsewhere before he can check in.

Just because I like numbers and was curious, I asked about his bloodwork results from yesterday, and she called them "brilliant". (Gotta love the Irish.) And indeed, they ARE pretty brilliant. His hemoglobin was 10.1, platelets were 750K (which is high, but better high than low for someone entering a round of treatment), WBC was 8,100 and the all-important ANC -- which must be over 1,000 without the aid of booster drugs to start a new round -- was over 5,000. And he hasn't had a single booster drug for a week now. She said that she thought his first round had gone very, very well, and was optimistic that future rounds would go similarly well. She mentioned that kids tend to trend in one direction or another: Either it goes well, or it doesn't. So at least as far as the actual treatment goes, he's handling it like a champ. That's something we can see and be grateful for in a very real way. I'm still nervous about the MRI that will take a look at the tumor after this round, but am trying hard to release it, since I know there's nothing I can do to change what it shows -- except ask for continued prayers! As each day passes, I feel more and more convinced that good things are happening.

I'm also thankful for all of you for following along with me here. I know it's scary to watch and that those of you who are parents probably feel a modicum of fear whenever you look at your own children. I know you sit and read what I write and sometimes think 'I could never deal with that'. But I'm here to say that you COULD. And that despite how awful it is, it also heightens your senses in ways you'd never imagine, and changes your perspective in ways you'd never guess. It's challenging and frustrating and there are days when you just cry and feel hopeless, but the good days are so sweet and so far beyond any other brand of good that you could ever imagine. At times, it's almost as if I can feel God sitting nearby. He never really speaks to me, but I'm aware -- from the prickling of my skin and the tears that well for no reason -- that He's there, just being present in an extraordinarily tangible way that we can only truly feel when human life is at its most painfully challenging.

And I also thank everyone who has offered up prayers, brought us food, cleaned our house, volunteered to groom our rental property and so, so many other tasks that mean so much to us right now. I'm humbled by your service and by your good hearts.

So, again, thank you. Please continue to pray for Logan and for great, great things. And have a blessed day.

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