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

The Logan Update: 10/5/10

There's a distinct disharmony present in this kind of 'hurry up and wait' situation. What makes it even more disharmonious is the nature of what we're facing. If it were merely (and apologies to anyone going through these things, because I know they're very real concerns in this life, but to me right now, they seem so simple) a job issue, a money issue or some sort of interpersonal problem, it woulld be one thing. But this is literally life and death. It's a game-changer. I want to be able to skip to the last page and read how it turns out, but I can't. So we wait. And wait and wait and wait. It gives 'waiting on the Lord' all new and incredibly challenging meaning. We wait on Him all the time, sometimes more patiently than others, but in this kind of case... wow. It's pretty intense.

Logan is in the process of clearing the last drug of cycle two, the Methotrexate. It takes several days for the body to flush it out. He's been in a decent mood, I suppose; he has moments of cheer, but is mostly tired and still complains about his tummy hurting with fair regularity. He finally had a stomach and abdominal ultrasound yesterday late-afternoon, so we should hear something on that later today. The oncology doc who is on this week mentioned that some of his bloodwork showed elevated levels of an enzyme that can indicate irritation of the pancreas, so I know the technician took a long look at it during the scan.

Otherwise, he's been significantly more interested in walking around than he was during cycle one, so we're glad for that. He's been to the playroom and played in-room games with the physical therapist. He still likes to sit by the window when he feels up to it, and has taken to very vocally requesting news cars whenever I come for my shifts. I'm sure it's spoiling him, but I'd be lying if I said I cared. He's being systematically poisoned thanks to MY signature on a piece of paper and is enduring more pokes and prods than most of us will ever encounter during this lifetime -- at age 4 -- so I feel okay about bringing him some little cars.

Molly the Nurse Practitioner (who is awesome, by the way -- single, 29, lives in San Francisco, and generally a very nice gal, if you know someone, ha ha) said that she was doing her best to get us out of the hospital ASAP this cycle, which could happen as soon as Logan clears the last drug as long as he doesnot spike a fever. It sucks being in a shared room (he's on his third roommate of the cycle now, for anyone counting).

And on top of that, she shared yesterday that there was another good reason to try to get us out coming up on the horizon: The nurses are going on strike next week. EEK. She said there would be traveling nurses taking over and that she herself would be stepping in and working 13 hour shifts on the floor to keep things covered and moving, but that things had been very, very tense for several weeks now. A bell sounded in my head and I realized that thatwas probably why I'd had so much trouble getting anyone to help with me Logan over the weekend: Slow-downs. The whole things makes me so angry. I'm sorry that they're not getting what they feel they deserve (and I'm trying to be tactful because I know I have several nurse friends here and I respect your work so much), but at the same time, my kid is sick. Really, really sick. And I count on them being there so he can at least see familiar faces while he's being tormented. I won't go political here, but I'd like each one of them to have to look an oncology kid with a less than awesome prognosis in the face and tell him why they won't be there to help him next week. A bit of perspective never hurts.

So that's where we are for now. Please keep praying for complete healing. I've felt so mechanical lately that it's hard for me to do it; the words are constantly on my heart -- I'm begging God to heal him every waking minute -- but I'm so tired and emotionally devoid that it's easier just to be stoic and to consciously ignore a lot of the reality.

Blessings to you and yours.

No comments:

Post a Comment