As I sit here in Logan's hospital room (which, as far as hospital rooms go, is pretty awesome - a panoramic view of San Francisco Bay and the city beyond, a big, wall-mounted TV, and most striking of all after our time in the PICU, near-silence) I'm struck by a lot of things. So I'll call this a hodgepodge note, of sorts. Here we go.
I'll start with the good, since even the concept of 'goodness' seems so foreign to me these past several weeks. It's been noted by everyone from fellow parents to nurses to doctors to friends to family that our pediatrician was amazing for catching the tumor when he did. We've been told repeatedly what a blessing it was that Dr. H. was so persistent and comprehensive and that he didn't just take the 'wait and see' approach that so many doctors seem to prefer. Just about every time I start to feel hopeless, I remember that and it helps, if only a little and for a little while.
I also have to be thankful for the amazing outpouring of love, thoughts, prayers (and cookies!) we've received from friends, family, even complete strangers I wouldn't recognize on the streets. It's truly an incredible, humbling experience and it restores my faith that there are still plenty of good, caring people in this world.
Finally, I'm grateful for our connections. It seems as if they've come out of the woodwork in bizarre yet perfect ways. I believe that all of them were sent to help us along our way, and it's - only at times, mind you, but at leastat times - comforting to be able to see the hand of God at work in Logan's situation. It's even more striking to realize that they were all placed in strategic locations long before this all happened. It goes to show the extent of orchestration involved in even the most minute details of human life.
And onto the frustrating, the heartbreaking, the bad and ugly. I've been sitting with Logan for several hours this afternoon and even though I'mwith him, I still miss him. He's been surly, whiny and just generally unpleasant, a far cry from his usual sunny persona. And it's been a challenge for me to cope on many levels. While I'm beyond sad to see him suffering and in pain and incessantly complaining that his head and his tummy hurt, it's also frustrating. At times I feel myself becoming upset with him for continually whining and refusing food. It's infuriating to know that a lack of food in his belly is likely at least part of the cause of his pain yet he will not eat more than a few bites of Jell-o at a time. I've had moments when I felt the anger creeping in; moments when I've wanted to just yell 'stop it! Stop yelling!' and stomp out of the room, but I know I can't do that. My patience is being challenged in ways I never imagined. And I'm not amused.
It's just so very hard to see him as he is now and believe that one day, he will be his old sunny self again. Given how far he's fallen and how low he is, it seems like too much to hope for.
Even now, I'm sitting here at his bedside. He's uttered 'I'm gonna throw up' about 50 times in the last 5 minutes, and it's making me crazy, but what can I do? It's all a part of the journey.