Torture.

I could call this whole experience something less dramatic, but it wouldn't be true to how it feels because watching Logan go through this process is torture, pure and simple. My heart feels so twisted, so broken, so shattered that I wonder how I'll ever get beyond it all.

Today wasn't a good day. Although per his morning bloodwork, his numbers held steady from yesterday so he didn't need any transfusions, he really struggled with tummy and throat pain. The bright, energetic little boy who'd returned to us earlier this week is gone once again, replaced instead by his Chemo Twin: The sunken-eyed, tired, crying soul that we'd seen in the past.

It crushed me today every time I saw him wince upon swallowing. Every time he pulled his legs up to his chest and cried that his tummy hurt. When I had to hold him down so Adam could give him his GCSF shot this evening, it was like a knife to my gut. And just minutes ago, when I tried to talk to him and got no response, and then when he asked me to go away because he didn't want to cuddle, gunshots to my... everything.

I know that part of my role here as 'The Mother' is to step back and realize that there are ups and downs with every experience I've had and will have as a parent. There are and will continue to be sweet, good times, but there are also hard times in the now and to come that will absolutely break my heart. Somehow, I didn't really expect to have to deal with the latter until my children were teenagers. Watching a sweet-natured 4-year old suffer to this kind of degree is painful beyond measure. And if I'm being honest -- really, really honest -- it makes me look at God cock-eyed. Again. Come on: There are disgusting child molesters, killers, just plain mean-spirited people out there who get perfectly healthy bodies, in a physical sense. But my little darling, who is truly one of the sweetest, kindest people I know, is saddled with this crap. I know that life isn't fair and that suffering across the board is uneven from one to the next, but come on.

I also know how easy it is to judge me for saying that. After the amazing things she's seen, she's still questioning the goodness of God? Come on now! In defense of myself, it's not that I think the Amazing Things milk train has run out of gas or left the station; I think there are still more amazing things to come. My heart needs, wants and believes in them (much of the time, anyway). But the down days, the sick days, the ones when I can feel his suffering are just so hard to handle, so hard to swallow, so hard to cope with that it can be hard to keep any faith at all.

In terms of the technical stuff, Philippa said today when I spoke with her that he doesn't need to check back into the hospital unless he spikes a fever or we can't manage his pain level at home, so mucocitis isn't the automatic ticket back that we'd assumed it was. She said we could call in for a prescription for Tylenol with codeine to see if that would help; we'd just need to take his temp first and then give it to him. So that was encouraging, even if it makes me sad to think that he's been hit with that awful, painful mouth and throat pain all over again. If it could only be me instead.

Meanwhile, from a comfort perspective, I want this baby out. Soon. I've gained so much weight, am so puffy and am so horribly uncomfortable that I just want to have him and move on with figuring out the details post-birth. I don't want to be saddled with a longer labor; the birthing process is really the easiest part of pregnancy for me (by far, actually), so a long labor would be so disappointing on so many levels, given the context of the entire latter half of this year.

Anyway, Logan needs prayers for a quick recovery from mucocitis (since I'm pretty sure he has it), resistance to fevers and increased energy. My spirit feels like it's breaking -- though not yet broken, per se -- so I need lots of help with that.

Thank you as always for walking this path along with us.