Sunday Night

As the post-cycle 5 days of precious normalcy come to a close, we're faced with a lot of uncertainty. The givens are few: Logan will have his pre-op MRI, which will feature the little 'donuts' that will help the neurosurgeon see where he's poking during the procedure, at 3:30 Monday afternoon. Abby and Isaac will spend a few days with Adam's parents. The remaining four of us will trek to CHO once again, no doubt bleary-eyed, at 5 AM on Tuesday to arrive for 6 AM check-in and 8 AM surgery start-time. Adam, Brady and I will hang out at CHO all day on Tuesday during the procedure, tied to the little pager you receive when your child is a surgical patient and holding our collective breath between each hourly check-in call from the OR nurse.

That's really as far ahead as we can 'see'. I miss being able to make future plans. I know there IS a future out there, but it makes me crazy that I can't see it. I can't even pretend to see it. I wish I'd realized what a luxury is it to plan a vacation or a party back when my life was simple. But there's no going back: Life as I knew it is a thing of the past, and the present is all about... the present. Every second, every minute, but nothing beyond.

Just thinking about Tuesday takes my breath away. I prayed so very much that a second resection wouldn't be needed so on some level -- an unconscious one -- I'm probably still reeling from disappointment that Logan is going under the knife again. When I let myself really internalize what's going to happen, I feel fear. A lot of fear. So I avoid it. Probably not the best way to approach the situation, but I do what I need to do to survive. And a lot of my life is about survival right now.

But I suppose there's no point in agonizing over things I can't control, so I'll just share a tidbit from the day. When Adam came upstairs this morning to wake me up, he told me, smiling, that Abby and Logan were playing 'kindergarten' downstairs. My ears perked up and I could hear them chattering in the distance; it reminded me, once again, how much they love and appreciate one another. And it impelled me to once again cry out to God with a familiar plea: Oh, please let Logan go to kindergarten. It still breaks my heart into a million pieces to realize that I'm even in a position to say a prayer like that. It's not something I ever expected. And I don't know that it ever gets easier. At least, it's been nearly six months and it's not yet easier.

Anyway, I'm realizing as I type that I'm completely drained. When The Worst Cooks in America ends in about 7 minutes, I'm off to bed. But before I go, my prayer requests. Please pray for our collective health. We need Logan to remain as healthy as possible going into this week in order to avoid delays. As of today, he has a little bit of congestion and it really can't get worse without potential issues. Please pray for us all to have strength, courage, energy, patience and peace over the coming days. And as always, my constant prayer, the one that my heart whispers even as my mind rests and avoids the subject, is for Logan's complete healing.

Thank you God for my friends here. And thank you friends for sticking around and being part of Logan's team. Good night.