A Glimpse

Sometimes it's easier to be blunt than eloquent: I've had a lousy couple of days. But that's really all I want to say to directly address the subject, because the passage to come lays out the reason for my feelings in stark detail.

Logan currently takes two oral chemo drugs in conjunction with his radiation treatment protocol. He decided this evening that he didn't want to take one of them, which is served in a spoonful of peanut butter alongside a glass of milk. He had the small blob of peanut butter in his mouth... and there it sat. He refused to chew or swallow. Then he refused to drink the milk that he needs to take to a) help swallow it and b) buffer his tummy from the effects of the meds. Instead, he whimpered through the peanut butter that the medicine would hurt his tummy so he wasn't going to take it. He was fine with just staying sick.

Fine with staying sick.

Of course he'd say that because he feels fine these days. He runs, plays, jumps, imagines, dreams. His life, save the hair loss, eye issues and time at Alta Bates, is remarkably close to that of a normal, healthy 4-year old boy. But we all know better and the knowledge breaks my heart. We know that he needs to take his pills. There's a horrible urgency that surrounds the issue. We can't just let him be a 4-year old having a temper tantrum. We can't just let him spit out the pills and say 'oh well, we'll try again tomorrow.' So when Logan dug his heels in, Adam dug his own in even more aggressively.

I'll spare the precise details, but the resulting scene was horrifically chaotic, with Adam frazzled, me upset, Logan refusing to swallow anything at all, Abby trying to mediate and Brady screaming his head off. (Isaac was the only one who seemed outwardly unaffected; he squirreled away in the pantry stealing cookies, as any self-respecting, non-monitored 2-year old would do.) After 15 minutes of fighting, yelling, screaming, spitting and threats of vomit, the pills went down.

It's purely heartbreaking to watch a scene like that on TV. It's even worse when it's your everyday reality.

I guess I don't have much else to say right now. As I've said, I'm in a low place. I can't really pray, but I hope that you will. I hope that you'll continue to intercede for Logan and for his healing. And I hope, despite my own doubts and fears and insecurities, that God will hear you. Thank you and good evening.