The Logan Update: 12/1/10

It's 8:48 PM on the first of December and after our marvelous three-week break from the usual tiring routine, our noses are once again pressed firmly against the grindstone. Logan is back at CHO with Adam, awaiting the official start of cycle 4 sometime this evening. I'm home with Abby and Isaac, having spent the late morning and much of the afternoon in Oakland sitting with Adam and Logan, waiting for things to get moving in the right direction. It was a joy to see him in the playroom, cooking in the play kitchen (apparently grilled spaghetti and meatballs is a 4-year old's delicacy), driving up and down the hall in a big red car, erecting bridges for his cars, singing and banging on drums with the music therapist and generally being his sweet self. I hadn't really internalized it before, but he really relished the freedom of not being hooked up to an IV: Before his nurse finally set up his fluids, he turned to me several different times and said excitedly isn't it great that I'm not hooked up? And though I smiled and said yes, the realization also broke my heart, as did many, many things about today.

There were several moments when I wanted desperately to cry, but the timing just wasn't convenient, so I sucked it in. When Logan and I got into the little red car (which I've dubbed The Clown Car for the time being, since a giant pregnant woman driving a tiny subcompact begs such a connotation) after lunch at McDonalds late this morning and I eased her onto the road, the radio got my attention as it sometimes does: I clued in to the middle bars of Sugarland's Little Miss. I've posted it before; the one that repeats It'll be okay, it'll be all right again so many times that it's impossible to ignore the depth of the words. I swallowed back the tears and took a breath as I told myself that yes, it WILL be all right again.

I held them in again when it was time for me to head home to Abby and Isaac. Logan burst into tears when I told him I needed to go, repeating but I'm gonna miss you over and over again. It's what he does when he's at CHO and anyone important leaves; he loves his family. He loves having us all together. Unity is a big thing for Logan so all of the comings and goings wear on his little heart in a much more profound and intense way than they might for someone less family-oriented and driven.

Finally, I stifled the urge as I was driving home. It's really not a great idea to bawl while on the freeway; too much traffic, too many erratic drivers. And I didn't want to look messy when I got home. It's not that I don't ever want to let the others see me sad; emotion is healthy. Abby knows that we're in a tough spot right now and that it's hard. And I want her to see real feelings in action. But there's a fine line between allowing her to see me sad and making her worry.

All of that said, I did finally cry a little this evening, after the other kids were put to bed and I had a few minutes to myself. It wasn't the big purge I probably need, rather a small little leak in the dam. It'll have to do for now, since I simply don't have the energy for a full-on cry fest.

As much as I'm looking forward to seeing what God will do this cycle, I'm also scared to pieces. I'll be 37 weeks pregnant tomorrow, so baby #4 will be free to make his great escape at any time. Even with just Abby and Isaac to look after, I'm already exhausted. My ankles have melted completely into my legs, and I honestly have no idea how I'm going to cope. I will because I'll have to, I know, but I fear the aftermath: The emotions by themselves are enough to drive a post-partum mom crazy, without the added stress of being the primary caregiver of two other children, and the primary worrier about yet a third. I could get into the whole 'why me? Why us?' routine and shake my little fists and think what the heck? I'm about to pop a new baby here and we're dealing with this? Really? REALLY?! but it doesn't work.

We had a wonderful three weeks with him, and I'm sad that we're back into the routine. I'm sad that my family is once again fractured. I'm sad that I won't be able to sneak down the hallway at 2 AM to look in on all three of my beautiful, wonderful children. I'm sad that Logan's little bed is empty and that he's not currently resting between his Lightning McQueen sheets. I'm sad that I can't sit next to him, place my hand on the back of his head and beg Jesus to pour his healing power through my hand and into my son whenever the urge strikes. But I'm also grateful for those weeks. I'm grateful that I have new hope for the cycles to come, that I now know that he could do well enough to come home early on in the next round, that I had the chance to do those things at all, that he was actually as close to vintage Logan as he's been in months, that he did indeed secure a private room in the immunocompromised wing to start the round --yay! Yes, while it would be easy to feel cheated, I can't do that. There's too much good that's happened for me to wallow.

It is what it is. There are miracles to be experienced. Amazing things to come to pass. Those are the things I'm waiting on.

Thank you for your prayers. Please do continue sharing Logan's story with your praying friends. God hears us, I just know it. And I want to be able to be a direct witness to an amazing story of healing and redemption.