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.
Friday, November 12, 2010
The Logan Update: 11/12/10
I'd forgotten how utterly exhausting it is to be at home all day long with three little children. And of course, one of them being critically ill makes it all the more challenging. Oh, and yeah, there's the pregnancy thing, too. But despite being tired and vaguely frustrated over the endless whining (Abby), yelling (Isaac) and bickering (Abby and Isaac), and sad over how thin, weak and exhausted Logan is from sun-up til sundown, I still feel a pronounced sense of gratitude. Logan's been home for 2 days now and hasn't spiked a fever, so praise God for that. It's more than we expected, so we'll take it with grateful hearts and hope for more of the same.
As far as our Friday goes, it's been... okay. As noted above, Logan is definitely very weak, tired and out of sorts much of the time. He's on a massive number of oral medications, which Adam and I take turns delivering with, quite literally, a spoonful of sugar -- in the guise of cherry syrup from the pharmacy -- each. If you're wondering what he's on, here's a quick primer. First off, he's on Magnesium and Potassium supplements, both of which he deems "yucky"; he takes the Mag as long as it's offered up with a healthy dose of ice water and syrup. The Potassium we sneak into his food, as it comes in capsule form and is good for sprinkling. Yet somehow, he always manages to detect it and calls us out for putting something "salty" in his food or water. We prayerfully hope he gets enough to keep his level high enough before his offend-o-meter goes off. He's also on preventative doses of Flagyl to try to avoid the disaster that was cycle 2's infection. Flagyl is absolutely disgusting; even the nurses at Children's agree with that, so it's a tough one for him to keep down, but I really do think he tries most of the time. MOST of the time. He also has three different nausea medications that can be taken as needed: Zofran, my old pregnancy buddy; Benadryl; and Ativan. On weekends, he gets Bactrim, a preventative antibiotic that all chemo kids take. And the piece de resistance is the white blood cell booster GCSF, which comes as an injection and I get to do this evening. I don't mind giving shots; I received tons of them as a kid so it's not a big deal to me. But he's so thin that it makes me cringe a little thinking about it. There really isn't much room for needle-error; there's nowhere for it to go, so you just sort of stick and pray. Anyhow, he needs the GCSF is preparation for the post-cycle attempt at stem cell collection. If you remember, we were able to collect just over 5 million per kg of weight, so we need another 5 million this go-round. Please keep that on your hearts and pray for success, and that we won't miss the window yet again.
Today, he threw up at around noon and had Ativan to help with the nausea. Then he refused lunch and napped for a few hours while Adam worked and Abby and Isaac played dress-up (which believe me, was not without its humorous moments). Philippa called to let us know she wanted to do labs tomorrow, so we'll draw in the morning, trek up to Oakland to drop the vials off at Children's, and then await the results to see if he'll need to go back tomorrow night for more platelets or blood. If he does, it's okay: The better he feels, the better we all feel. We'd just like the fevers to stay away so he can come back to Pleasanton afterward.
Post-nap, he was still tired and lacking in energy, but wanted to play with some stickers he'd found in his room, so I set him up at the dining room table to do that. I figure hey, at least it's some fine-motor practice.
And that just about brings me to the present. I have a lot of other thoughts to share, but I can't seem to string them together at the moment, so I'll try to remember to come back later. Bless every one of you, and thank you for your continued prayers for complete healing, comfort, peace and whatever else you feel led to offer up.