The Logan Update: 12/7/10

With my superhero ruminations safely tucked away below, I should give an update on The Little Man himself. Today was a good day for Logan, as was yesterday. Together we painted a small wooden Christmas tree that some volunteers brought to the playroom, I convinced him to eat roughly 2/3 of a container of strawberry yogurt with no resulting complaints about his tummy, and there were many, many games of Disney Yahtzee enjoyed. He wanted to be up and about as much as possible, and was his usual polite but funny self with his nurses. His morning nurse, Sharon, was especially taken with all of his little catchphrases, and proclaimed her favorite of the bunch to be his assertion that this or that 'is ridiculous!' People are often taken with his vocabulary and word choice.

In actuality, there's very little to complain about so far this cycle. He's been more active and more interested in playing, talking, driving the Fred Flinstone car up and down the hall in the wing (while beeping the horn and leaning out the window to check out the ladies), flirting with nurses and doing silly but completely lovable dances than ever before. It feels like the most peculiar thing in the world: We were told that as the cycles wore on, he'd wear out; that he'd be more tired, have more trouble with recovery, and be in progressively worse shape overall. Yet here we are having just finished the meds for cycle 4, and he's a rockstar. He seems to wrap someone new around his little finger just about every day. Although his appearance is definitely one of a kid on chemo -- he's thin, has very little hair left and his once-beautiful eyelashes are all but gone -- his spirit is incredible. I'm so grateful to God for helping Logan to BE Logan, even in the midst of such a horrible time for him.

In terms of the nitty-gritty of how he's doing, his 24-hour methotrexate level (from yesterday morning) was 2.0 on the nose, which was good, per Molly. It's a lower number than cycle 2 and cycle 3 (we don't have cycle 1 data on our spreadsheet). This morning's number was a little disappointing to us at .61; we'd hoped for something more along the lines of .1 or .2, but no dice. But again, Molly was pleased with it, and seemed confident that he'd clear the drug by tomorrow (which means a total level of less than .1). As I've noted previously, clearing the methotrexate expediently is important, since extra days in the system can cause all sorts of nasty side effects, primarily mucusitis (which we avoided cycle 3) and resulting fevers. So please pray for a nice, low number in the morning.

His hemoglobin was low at 6.something this morning, so he was being prepped to receive a transfusion as I left for the evening. I'm a broken record, I know, but please: If you can, consider donating blood this holiday season. If you have enough time, you can also donate platelets. We're so grateful for every person who's donated the blood and blood products that Logan has received. It's such a tangible and tremendously meaningful way to literally give OF yourself.

I almost fear typing this, but if he's cleared the Methotrexate by morning, and if his other numbers look okay, he could be released as early as tomorrow afternoon. Philippa and Molly were working on getting his home medications ordered and ready in preparation for getting him out of there as soon as possible. It would be so wonderful to have him home again, especially with #4's impending arrival. My OB thinks I still have at least another week to go, but said that hey, he could always be wrong. Baby is very, very low, so once labor starts, it should go fairly quickly. (For anyone unfamiliar with my history in that department, I tend to have short labors: Abby was 5 hours, Logan 6 hours and Isaac 4 hours.)

Thank you again for your continued and hearty prayers for complete healing. Although fear is natural, I'm so thankful for the hopeful days and for the promise that miracles can happen. Thank you for walking this journey with us.