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.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

One of Those Days, 9/5/10

It's one of those days. Chemo meds will start in a few hours. Both the head and tummy scans came back okay; the oncology resident said he just looked really, really constipated, and that the CT of his head looked fine. She appended that 'neurology thinks it's a good idea to start chemo today' and said nothing else. I don't know if she meant it's a good idea because the ventricles look good etc. or because the tumor has grown. I didn't think to ask for clarification until she'd already left, and then, of course I just dissolved into tears over it.

It's a Children's Hospital so I hate how hopeless the atmosphere is much of the time. Most of the nurses are fine, but the rest of the staff... it's like gloom and doom are their middles names. Whenever said oncology resident and her handler come by, they look at us with this horrible, awful pity in their eyes, as if they're privy to some brand of information that we're not. Same deal with the head oncologist. It's all about facts, figures and book knowledge. There's no heart, no 'yes, I know this is your child and there's a chance so please don't give up or feel discouraged.' I'm already paranoid and suspicious by nature, so is it too much to give a mama a little hope now and then? While all of the brass tacks have been okay here, hope is one of the things that isn't shared often at all. I need to know that someone here thinks my son won't die, because when your caretakers seem to lack hope, it's hard to hang onto any yourself. (At least, that's the way it works for me.)

So yeah. Chemo very soon. His nurse (not one of my favorites, but she's okay, I guess) mentioned that the drugs he's starting with will probably make him very nauseaus and constipated, which just sucks because he'salready nauseaus, constipated and apparently unable to hold down food. How much better will all of that possibly get once we add even more toxic drugs to his system?

I really do feel hopeless. I feel like I should be planning for the end, figuring out how to arrange things, trying to learn how to move on.

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