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.

Monday, November 8, 2010

Sunday Morning 9/12/10

In my ever-evolving emotional world, this morning has been a tough one. It was compounded by several factors. One, I'd felt compelled to read my 'I woke up' note at church this morning, but the Pastor never called me back, so I didn't do it. Instead, I simply dropped Abby and Isaac at Sunday School feeling entirely walled off and angry, hopped into the van and got out of dodge as quickly as I could. I sat in the parking lot trying to back out but was countered by a steady stream of sauntering Sunday strollers and a conga line of cars, and I could feel the tension rising in my chest: I just wanted to LEAVE.

Factor two was Adam's failure to answer my calls. I rang his cell several times starting at about 9 AM, and with each click of the voicemail message, my chest tightened in panic. Why wasn't he answering me? Did something go wrong overnight? When cancer comes a-calling and haunts your every move, it's hard to not worry when things are more uncertain than they usually are; when calls that are usually picked up go answered and messages are left unreturned.

I guess I was bound to take an emotional fall at some point. I'd been feeling as positive as it's possible for me, Ms. Glass Half Empty, to feel. It's hard to stay positive when the blocks just keeping stacking up against you; when you're living with the constant underlying fear of the unknown; when everything just seems so very unfair; when life-as-usual just keeps rolling on for everyone around you and you so desperately want to shout STOP! Wait! It's not all okay! I hate having to fill up my car every three days. I hate taking a parking stub every frickin' morning and knowing that it's yet another $6 flushed down the toilet because the hospital can't figure out how to make it cost a little less for families who have no choice but to spend every stinking day here. Why not raise the price on regular visitor parking and give those of us who DON'T want to be here a break? It kills me that we're entering Fall, my very favorite season, and we'll be denied the opportunity to do so many of the things we enjoy doing as a family because of Logan's chemo and the resulting immunity issues: The pumpkin patch in Half Moon Bay, picking out a Christmas tree... so many things that I treasure.

I feel like I should be entitled to vent, but it makes me feel guilty. Life isn't fair, and I can't expect everyone else's lives to just stop because mine has gone in a direction I despise.

(ETA digression: Things are okay. His cell battery died and he hadn't realized it.)

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