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, January 3, 2011


I don't think I've thought about the concept of gratitude as often as I have over the course of the past several months. I also don't think, in hindsight, that I knew what it was to be grateful -- truly -- until we learned that Logan had cancer. Sounds kind of backward, huh? But really: I don't think you can really grasp the concept until you've been forced to your knees and compelled to admit that no, you don't have control over the truly important things in this life.

Ironically, I verbalized that thought to Adam last night for the first time. Sure, I'd thought it plenty of times in recent history. But it's a big leap (for me, anyway) to go from proclaiming something mentally -- or even writing it out -- and actually saying it. There's something about the spoken word that makes a thought spring to life in a new and bold way. We were watching a DVR'd episode of SNL and I felt the feeling of uncomfortable uncertainty creep in, the one that had plagued me for the past week, ever since the initial MRI reading. And I turned to him and said what I'd been silently thinking for a week:

It's such a scary feeling to know that I have no control over all of this. I know it should be a comfort that God is ultimately in control, but it's very, very frightening to know that I have no choice but to offer Logan up to Him and just pray that He gives him back to us.

It was a relief to share my heart. And of course, today's corrected MRI reading was something beyond what I would've imagined; prior to that call, the best we'd hoped for was Dr. S. saying he thought he could operate next week and get the remainder of the mass. I never dreamed that Philippa would get back to us and say that the initial reading was wrong. I really never dreamed that she'd say that the chemo is still working so well that we may be able to avoid another resection period. Pretty amazing stuff.

Anyway, it's just another lesson in gratitude. Pure, unfiltered, unadulterated gratitude, made sweeter by the truly unexpected nature of its root. In one way, it's a blessing to be able to feel this kind of thankfulness, even as I'm frustrated to be dealing with this sort of situation in the first place. But I guess it's all just the essence of gratitude.

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