The closer we get to Thursday and our return to Children's, the more anxious I feel. And if I'm being honest, the more scared, worried, uncertain, and to a degree, hopeless as well.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Today was an okay day. The morning was better than the afternoon, which was better than the evening. Although still very low-energy, Logan spent some time playing with (and probably an equal amount of time fighting with Isaac over) his new Hot Wheels car racetrack/ramp (from our friends Isabelle, Henry, Peter and Thomas - thank you), making numbers out of PlayDoh and putting together puzzles. He ate quite a lot for lunch, and complained less than he did yesterday about hurts. There were moments of his previous glory, his usual kind-heartedness that shined through. He's definitely still having issues with balance, likely stemming from his eyes being off-kilter. We don't know when or if that will correct itself, but we can try to hope.
He had one really bad spell in the early/mid afternoon, though. Adam took some time to call his boss to figure out leave time and its implications, and Logan decided he wanted daddy. He cried and screamed and kicked the door, and started yelling for medicine at the top of his lungs. Tummy medicine, head medicine, it didn't seem to matter. He just wanted some sort of drug. He sounded like an addict in need of a fix, and it broke my heart into millions of pieces. I tried to help him; I offered him juice, cupcakes, cookies, carrots, TV shows, dance recital viewings, everything I could think of, but he just kicked me and yelled 'I WANT MEDICINE!' at the top of his lungs. I finally left him raving outside our bedroom door, unwilling to let him kick my belly and feeling useless, sad and frustrated by what the aftermath of the surgery had done to my little sweetheart. Eventually, he went to his room and fell asleep, probably utterly exhausted by the display.
He slept for several hours and inevitably, so did I, once again overcome by the stark, frightening, painfully uncertain reality we're facing. I often use sleep as an escape and would like to say that it made a big difference today, but it didn't. I woke up feeling just as sad as I did when I closed my eyes.
Carol from church brought by dinner and a few gifts (thank you), and we had a relatively quiet meal. Then it was off to bed, and time for Adam and I to strategize. He tossed out ideas for coping with the next few days, and I didn't know what to say or how to respond. I don't know what the right things to do are with regard to the hospital, the start of treatment, when to be there, when to be home, when to stay with Abby and Isaac... everything. I can't even begin to explain how overwhelming it all is. I'm thankful for everyone who has offered to help, but it's the planning part that's brutal; it's us figuring out what we want to do before we're even able to mobilize help that's the challenge right now.
After my failure to offer up any useful input we came to a standstill and said we'd revisit tomorrow, and then I cried. Again. It's almost like I can't stop for more than a few hours at a time. I cried over the uncertainty, over the hopelessness that repeatedly takes root in my heart, over the grueling process Logan will endure over the next several months, over how much he hates the hospital and how upset he'll be to learn that he has to go back, over my anger with God. Moreso, over how betrayed I feel by God. I think it's hard to have a child with cancer and not feel like God has somehow dealt a grievously unfair hand in your direction. It's hard when it seems like everyone around you gets good news while your paper brims with the bad, the dark, the stuff of nightmares. It's suffocating.
At the same time, I feel blessed by the number of people who have reached out to us. It's amazing, truly. I've been contacted by people I've never even met from all over the country who have assured me that they're praying and hoping for miracles. I'm grateful; I need others to be hopeful when my own eyes see only (or perhaps just mostly) darkness.
As for what we need right now, we need prayers for Logan's appetite to improve, his pains to ease, and his little spirit to remain unbroken. I need, to put it simply, hope.
We have a meeting with oncology tomorrow morning so I need to get to bed. Thank you again for your prayers and thoughts.