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.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Saturday Afternoon, 11/6/10

It's a pleasant day here in Oakland. I can't speak to the temperature outside since I'm in carefully climate-controlled zone, but the sky is mostly blue, the sun is shining and the people walking by along the street look chipper and springy-stepped.

Logan had his methotrexate right on time overnight (yay!), and is currently sleeping. He's been emotional and cranky for the past few days, and I'd much rather him be comfortable and asleep (read: Drugged) than miserable and awake as he goes through this part of the chemo clearing process. Please keep praying for milder side effects this go-round; we'd like to have him healthier, on schedule and home longer than he was able to be after cycle 2.

I've been feeling a little down the past day or two. It's hard not to, when my sunshine is in bed, vomiting, whining incessantly and complaining about pains. It's hard to look at him now and to believe that he'll ever be the same galloping, spritely boy he was before the tumors. I've been having a lot of doubts again about the future; wondering if the amazing things that were promised to me at times were already over. What if the amazing thing was the sudden and rapid recovery after the infection last cycle? What if the amazing thing was the reduction in tumor size after rounds 1 and 2? Worry, worry, worry. But I guess that's what faith is all about: Believing in what you can't see.

Tying into those thoughts, I have another little anecdote from my life to share, since I'm here in my lovely window seat, can't find any more parts to build my next Farmville Orchard and don't have any inspiration to do any freelancing. A few hours ago, just after Logan fell asleep, I was sitting here with my laptop open, surfing around the internet and generally wasting time. I felt it -- pray -- but i ignored it. Later, I thought in response. Then there was silence for a few minutes as I checked my Associated Content stats from yesterday and returned to Farmville to see if I'd received any new gifts. And then... pray. I groaned. Later! I took a few bathroom trips (and believe me, with the way I waddle these days, they're time-consuming treks up and down the hall) and had some of that delish hospital ice. I sat down again and... you guessed it: PRAY.

So I did.

I have to tell y'all something about me and prayer. Or should I say, the older me and prayer. It usually involved me sitting somewhere, uttering a brief sentiment, signing off and then moving on with my tasks of the day. But not now. I guess that's one of the things about being stuck in a hospital room all day long, day in and day out: Lots of time to pray and think.

Anyway, I laid down, closed my eyes, and waited for the words to come. And they did; some of them surprised even me, but I silently released them to God anyway. I prayed to be useful as we're going through this trial. I prayed that my time here wouldn't be wasted; that I could be a light to someone else who's here and in need of light or clarification or whatever.

Then I prayed for Logan. I prayed as I do many times a day for complete healing, complete eradication of the tumors, and sustained health following the treatment process. I prayed that he would be a miracle; one of the ones who makes the doctors shake their heads and say 'well, I don't know how it happened, but it did and look how great he looks now'. I prayed that we'd see him return to his former glory, that our family would be fully restored, that one year from now, we'd be looking back and thinking -- as my friend Tracie did a few days ago in an entry of her own -- 'what a difference a year makes' and that I'd be so incredibly grateful for OUR miracle that I'd never view the world or God or faith in the same way ever, ever again.

And then my thoughts shifted to what I wanted out of all of this. It wasn't a formal prayer, per se, merely a listing of my wishes, of what my heart wants. I want to see Logan go to kindergarten. I want him to achieve health and to reach that mystical two-years-in-remission marker that is SO essential to AT/RT survivors. I want to see him graduate from high school. And I want to dance with him at his wedding to the song I've already picked out for all of my kids, My Wish by Rascal Flatts. (I know, how nuts am I that I already have that music in mind for 20 or 30 years down the line?) In case you aren't familiar, here are the lyrics (bolded line is mine).

I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow

And each road leads you where you want to go

And if you're faced with the choice and you have to choose

I hope you choose the one that means the most to you

And if one door opens to another door closed

I hope you keep on walkin' til you find the window

If it's cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile

But more than anything, more than anything

My wish for you

Is that this life becomes all that you want it to

Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small

You never need to carry more than you can hold

And while you're out there gettin' where you're gettin' to

I hope you know somebody loves you

And wants the same things too

Yeah, this is my wish

I hope you never look back but you never forget

All the ones who love you and the place you left

I hope you always forgive and you never regret

And you help somebody every chance you get

Oh, you'd find God's grace in every mistake

And always give more than you take

But more than anything, yeah more than anything

My wish for you

Is that this life becomes all that you want it to

Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small

You never need to carry more than you can hold

And while you're out there gettin' where you're gettin' to

I hope you know somebody loves you

And wants the same things too

Yeah, this is my wish, yeah yeah

And then I just started crying. Not out of sadness or because I was prematurely mourning those things as losses (because I wasn't), but because I suddenly felt warm. I heard those old words I've heard on and off for three months now once again, new and renewed in my mind: Wait for it; I'm going to do something amazing. And it just sounded so good. I realized that by wondering if theamazing thing was in the rearview, I was selling God short. I was deigning to imply that a singular miraculous occurrence was all we were entitled to receive; that it was all God could accomplish in the course of this drawn-out battle for Logan's health and life here on earth. Miracles aren't, after all, one per customer deals. If you have faith, that is. And if your eyes are open wide enough to see them when they're presented.

Anyway, Logan is up and crying, so I have to go. Thanks for listening to me as I ramble. And thank you for your prayers.


Edit: I'm considering moving my blogging to a more public arena. I'll still post here, but am considering also posting to another spot, where those who aren't interested in Facebook could read along. I'm not emotionally prepared to go with Carepages or Caringbridge, but was considering Blogspot, and leaving the blog public. If I were to do so, do you have any friends who might be interested in reading along there and adding their prayers to our battle?

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