Sunshine and Rainbows

It may seem a stretch to believe me when I say I'm seeing sunshine and rainbows -- after all, my kid is still hospitalized and battling aggressive cancer -- but it's true. I never really knew how intense sunlight could be or how bright a rainbow could look until I'd been through a really dark, ominous storm.

We're not completely out of the storm yet, but I can see the beginnings of light creeping over the horizon. Adam and I (and Brady, of course) met with Dr. T and Philippa at noon. He showed us Logan's past two MRIs -- after rounds one and two and the most recent one -- and pointed out the areas that the radiologist mis-interpreted. Even to my untrained eye, it was more than clear that the mass was markedly smaller. He said that it seemed like the radiologist mistook areas where the tumor had dissolved for areas with lower contrast. When I asked how much of the original mass remained, he guesstimated 15 to 20%. When I pressed for his thoughts on the scan, he said he couldn't be happier with how things are going so far, and seemed optimistic for the future. I can't even begin to tell you what a relief that is to me. He's a no-nonsense kind of guy, so it's hugely encouraging to see him so heartened by the tumor's response to the treatment.

So where do we go from here? Of course, we finish cycle 5. He's on day 3 and chugging along. He had lots of energy this morning, though at the moment he's snoozing thanks to some Benadryl and Reglan (which are given for nausea control). Earlier in the day he was be-bopping around the floor, singing and executing his patented dance moves and complaining that he was bored and wanted something to do. He has tonight's drugs, and then tomorrow is Methotrexate day. Hoping for good clearance again and a fast recovery.

Post-cycle 5, he has another MRI scheduled for February 1st to see where we are. Dr. T said that Dr. S thinks it's a long shot that this cycle will completely dissolve the tumor and that it's likely that he'll need another surgery to remove it, but we shall see. It's my personal prayer that he be able to avoid another resection, so please keep that wish in your thoughts and lift it up, if you will. Of course, God knows what's best on the road to healing, so whatever would be best for Logan's recovery is what I want most. If there is still residual tumor, Dr. S will go in sometime in early to mid-February to try to remove it. If not, he'll go straight to the transplant cycle, which involves 9 days of chemo followed by the stem cell transplant. Dr. T said he's responded well enough to the treatment that he doesn't think another stem cell collection is warranted -- in other words, he doesn't think two transplant cycles will be necessary to wipe out every vestige of the disease.

After the transplant cycle is complete, he'll begin 6 weeks of radiation: One hour per day, five days a week. They'll make a custom mask and then he'll wear it and be bolted to the table. Yeah, he'll need anaesthesia for that. Philippa balked a little, saying she thought he could do it without being drugged, but Adam and I just looked at each other and snickered: No way. He'd freak out. If the mask didn't get him first, being bolted to the table would for sure. Dr. T said they have very pointed technology when it comes to radiation these days, so damage to surrounding tissue is less likely than in times past. Because of the location of the masses, he said it's extremely likely that he'll emerge from radiation profoundly deaf in his right ear. I won't lie: I was upset to hear this part. But I have to take a metered approach and realize that a) he's done well with the drug that he's been receiving that usually costs kids their hearing; so far his has stayed normal and b) almost all of the radiation will be applied to the right side, so his left ear shouldn't be affected, or if it is, effects should be minimal. Those are things to be thankful for, even though hearing loss isn't an ideal outcome. I think down the line if he has to say 'yeah, I'm deaf in one ear but it's because I beat cancer', that's okay. I didn't really ask about developmental delays and effects; I couldn't make myself do it, and given that radiation is still several months away, it seemed premature anyway. Philippa noted that he's a smart kid so it's not like radiation would take him down too many notches, but still: It's scary.

So that's where we are for now. I'm immensely pleased with Dr. T's report and feel more at peace now than I have for months. I'm thankful to God for His provision and blessings as we've continued to muddle our way down this path. Please pray for excellent tumor response to this current cycle.

In addition, I have a few prayer requests for other members of our family. Please pray for Abby. She's becoming increasingly angry and aggressive as time passes, and we're not really sure how to handle it. The social worker assigned to us said that it's a completely normal response for siblings of cancer patients, and I'm going to see if I can get her hooked up with another kid or kids who have been in or are currently walking in her shoes. Also pray for Brady and Isaac to sleep at night. Since it's mainly me alone with them overnight these days, I could wind up being completely exhausted and that's clearly not ideal.

Thank you for your continued prayers and for following along with me as a ramble like an idiot. If there's any need I can lift up to God for YOU, please let me know. Blessings to you and your families.