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

What Goes Up... 9/26/10

It's a tired cliche, but it's also grounded in truth: What goes up must come down. That was true for me today. I'd been riding on a nice high for a while but today was challenging. I let myself feel the bitterness, the anger, and it didn't help at all. On one hand it makes me sad that I can't allow myself the luxury of feeling all of my emotions, but on the other, well, I know I just can't.

It was frustrating when Logan's line wouldn't flush this morning and Adam had to take him to Children's. It ruined my vision for the day: A semi-normal Sunday, sans church, but still bearing the vestiges of what makes me feel like things are okay. Once they'd left and my figurative window had been cracked, the pain, the anger and the fear all crept back in. I was furious with Adam for taking the van and all of our carseats with him. I was even more furious when he called and told me that the the hematologist wanted to do the long version of a flushing procedure before letting him go, which meant they'd be gone much of the afternoon. I hated the idea of being stranded, and I hated it even moreso when I developed a wild craving for a cheeseburger from McD's and no one was home to watch Abby and Isaac so I could go get one. I felt like a wild animal as I paced the first floor of my house and wound up sobbing, not over the burger, per se, but, well, everything. Every stinking detail of the last month and a half. Every disappointment, every fear of what's to come, every memory of heartache. I appreciated every food run offer, and the truth is that I'm just not good at accepting help. It may be pride, it may be independence, I don't know. I wound up feeling silly for complaining and then ridiculous for crying over it. I didn't want anyone to see me crying over something as stupid and trivial as being stuck at home. And that shaped much of the rest of the day.

It's just... hard. And even though I'm not alone and I know it, it's also horribly lonely.

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