Sigh.

It always sucks to start out a new year with disappointment, especially when you'd had said-birthday built up in your head for a long while.

Logan's methotrexate number came back at .22 this evening. Twice. Yes, it actually went UP instead of down. Everyone was baffled. Philippa said that she'd seen the number do that on rare occasion, but never when it was trending downward as Logan's had been. So she made the lab re-run the same sample. Still .22. All I can think is that they somehow exposed the sample to light, since I know that can screw up the result.

Logan is crushed that he can't come home. He cried when he told me they wouldn't let him go a little while ago. It broke my heart into a million pieces again. I'm frustrated because although I enjoyed a nice afternoon at CHO with him, the lab took ages to get the results to us. They told Philippa they'd have the number by 3, but we didn't get it until nearly 4:30. And then it had to be re-run because it seemed so wonky. And the second result didn't get to Adam until 6, so he didn't call his mom to cover for him until then, which means he won't be home until at least 7. Most likely later. So my birthday evening is pretty much shot. I have no cake I can eat (I do have one -- thanks J! -- but Brady's allergy means I can't have it, but the kids will love it so no worries), no birthday dinner and my family is not together.

I'm trying very hard to not be upset that my 'magical birthday' that I'd been looking forward to for years has, in reality, been pretty lousy. Really, really fighting letting myself get upset.