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.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Continued Frustration

It's been a frustrating kind of day. Logan still hasn't been released. When they did the re-check this afternoon, the meth level came back at .11... AGAIN. It's hard to not get upset over it. I don't understand why his body isn't clearing that bastard drug, especially since he did reasonably well with it the first four cycles. It's an odd anomaly. When I find two spare seconds to rub together when I can actually form a coherent thought -- and trust me, those times are scarce -- I pray ferociously and desperately that the darn stuff will just clear already so he can come home and avoid the mucusitis. At this point in the game, he's clearing SO late that it'll be a miracle if he avoids it.

On top of that, my sense of urgency quadrupled this afternoon when I found out he'd been moved to a shared room in 5East. Apparently a neutropenic child needed a room on South, and Logan was apparently the least sick of every single kid there. My gut reaction was 'yeah, right', but what can you do? You have to roll with it. 5East terrifies me because it's where cycle 2 began. He has to be in a shared room with no window access (which is devastating to him since he spends lots of time sitting and looking outside). He has to have a roommate, and God only knows why said roommate is hospitalized. Hopefully nothing contagious, but during cycle 2, they had kids in with him who were hawking up lungs at times. He could wind up with a zero-count as early as tomorrow, and it terrifies me to think of him being in a wing with kids who have infectious diseases. It actually makes me completely nauseaus. We've worked so hard with the treatment and he's been through so much already that it makes me physically ill to think of him being in that ward among people who visit even though they're sick.

I told Adam that I wanted him to ask the nurse to wear gloves whenever he/she came into the room to touch Logan. I don't care if it makes me a b!tch. I don't want to take chances that he could come into contact with something contagious via a nurse.

Yeah, not a great day for me at all. I'm trying to be positive. I'm trying to keep reminding myself of my own words from yesterday. But it's getting increasingly more difficult.

Just pray, pray, pray. I'm a broken record, but I can't think of anything else to do and I feel completely helpless.


  1. I can so understand why you would feel frustrated and helpless. But we are ALL here to support you with hugs, good thoughts and prayers!

  2. at a loss for words so just will start praying....

  3. I will pray for you all tonight.

  4. Praying, praying, praying, and begging God to bring Logan home to you!

  5. Hmm...I still wonder if something changed with the way they assay for methotrexate. It seems weird to me that the numbers are all over the place, and that you said there is no medical explanation for it (but there could be a technical one). Any way you could ask if something is different with their test? You're not likely to get an answer that would solve this, because you'd need to ask if there is a new person doing the testing, or if a control changed, or if a reagent (chemical in the test) is either new or expired. Since you have "long-term" experience with this test, they might not realize that you are noting some strange vagaries in this set of results.