It's Thursday. The first round of chemo is over, save the next day of flushing. They pushed the Methotrexate at about 1 AM, which was several hours behind 'schedule', but I guess his pH levels were being contrary. So far, he seems to be handling it fine. He apparently went to the playroom this morning, which is awesome, and is about as close to the usual Logan as I've seen him for weeks. Tired, but moments of cheer, a few muted smiles, plenty of Lambie ear-rubbing and zero pain complaints (so far). I got here a little while ago to relieve Adam, who is currently on a call with his boss to discuss leave options. Feeling nervous over it, but it's out of our hands so we'll deal with the eventual consequences, whatever they may be.
It feels, at the moment, like we're in a calm place, which is... weird. All I can think is that the peace of the Lord is with me in a major sort of way. It bothers me to not know how well the drugs worked at combating the tumors. Did they get smaller? Stay the same? Larger? We won't know until after course number two, when they'll do an MRI to check progress. His eye is still turned inward, but we were told early on that it could take months to correct itself, given that the nerve was so stretched. The usual me would be stressing like mad over these details, but not now. Now I'm taking the days as they come. It's refreshing. It's the way things should always be. I don't know if this will mark the beginning of a permanent change in my perspective, but it's nice for now. It's keeping me sane.
Digression time. Before heading over to Oakland this morning, I dropped Abby off at school and Isaac and I headed to my usual destination of late: McDonalds. (And yes, I know it's gross. But it's comfort food for me. And it's easy. And relatively cheap. And Aunt Penny sent me a gift card. ;) ) And here's where I present to you my daily dose of unexpected humor. I headed for the drive thru. This particular Mickey D's takes a dual lane approach, with two menu boards accepting orders, and the cars all funneling down to a single lane to pay and receive food. As I approached, I noticed that lane 2 was 4 cars deep, but lane 1 was vacant. The reason? A herd of grey and white-headed tourists stood in that very lane, peering curiously up at the menu. For a better visual, think 'little green alien guys in the claw machine' in Toy Story. Generally doggedly stubborn and not one to put up with nonsense, I thought 'well, I'm not getting in that silly long line if I don't have to', and drove slowly toward the little crowd. The experience was surreal: I got closer, and they all just stood there marveling over the food, the prices, the everything. They were like cattle gathered in the middle of the road, chewing cud and waiting for the farmer to come herd them back into the pasture. Finally, one man turned and appeared to finally notice they were standing in a road of sorts, and they scattered for a moment, waving at me and smiling as they headed back toward their bus. As I rolled down my window, I realized they were all speaking a Norwegian dialect and as a sometimes-listener of Garrison Keillor's A Prairie Home Companion, I felt an eruption of laughter build in my gut until it exploded. I was snickering so much that it was hard to place my order. A minute later, I was again overcome with twitters when I looked in my rearview mirror and saw a guy in a compact a few cars behind me offer up a bemused shudder: Clearly, the Norwegian tourists were at it again. It seems like fodder for Mr. Keillor's show. I should email him. As odd and random as it was, I was grateful for it: A moment of truly unique and unexpected humor that only God could've orchestrated. And it felt like it was just for me, even if it wasn't. (End digression.)
I finally got a chance to talk to our pediatrician this morning. He called me just as I got into the elevator at the hospital. He asked how I was doing, how Logan was doing, what was going on. I finally got to tell him how grateful we are that he was so proactive, that he practiced medicine the way it should be practiced - rather than how insurance companies would dictate. I thanked him for giving us a good chance at fighting this thing, and told him that people all over the world are just so thankful for him and his good decision. He was, as he generally is, very humble about it all.
For now, I sit and wait. Adam is still on the phone somewhere, and his mom just got here to take part in some training that's supposed to happen this morning. We're going to learn how to clean his port and take care of it so we can do it at home. It's all scary and overwhelming stuff, but at least for now, I'm not afraid. And for that, I'm thankful.
Please keep up the complete healing prayers. Despite my ease today, the anxiety comes and goes like water sloshing back and forth in the sink of a moving RV. (How'd you like that one?) As Darlene Zschech says, all things ARE possible.