The Logan Update: 3/13/11

It's been a really long time since I've posted exclusively about Logan and how he's handling his latest new treatment. The reason why I've kept largely mum is a simple one: He's fine. Really and truly fine. If you were unaware and able to look past his slightly off-kilter right eye, (much-improved but still present) left-sided facial paralysis, the occasional outbursts of decadron-induced 'roid rage and the peach fuzz that tops his crown, you would never guess how critically ill he truly is, how his precious little life hangs in the balance.

He's had a marvelous time at home with us. He and Abby are as close as ever, often hiding away in one of their rooms, making up games of scope and grandeur that I can only begin to imagine. Just Friday, a near-breathless Logan came down the stairs one foot at a time, plimp-plump, plimp-plump, plimp-plump, for a quick bite to eat and Abby followed a few minutes later on all-fours, asking if he planned to come and play some more. When he waffled, she assured him that it was his turn to be the sheep. I have no idea what game they'd devised and I didn't ask, not because I wasn't curious, but because their imaginary play is special to them, something that the two of them come up with on their own and share in their own made-up world of fun and fantasy. It's their childhood, not mine, so I left them to enjoy it privately. And they did.

That's the soft-focused part of it, the tender element of his 4-year old-ness that's remained largely untouched by the cancer. Under the harsh light of treatment, seven of his prescribed thirty days of radiation are in the books. So far, all appears to be going well; there are no worrisome outward signs thus far. Please, please pray that this continues to be the case as we move forward. This coming week, he'll have four days of treatment, as the machine will be down for maintenance on Friday. Please pray -- aggressively, strongly, faithfully -- that the radiation will do its job, that God will use it as He'd use his own hands to heal. Pray for minimal side effects and for health and healing.

Friends keep asking what comes next, and I hesitate to respond every time the question arises. In theory, prayerfully, hopefully, optimistically, the transplant cycle should follow. We pray that it will. If God uses the radiation to shrink and eradicate, crush, destroy, pulverize this incarnation of pure evil that is cancer, then Logan will move on to the final, marrow-destroying consolidation (transplant) cycle. Otherwise, we don't know what will happen next. I approach the coming weeks haunted by fear and what-ifs.

So much so that yesterday morning as I stood in my dressing area preparing to take a shower, I decided to wrestle it out with God. I'd felt like a punching bag, a victim for much too long, and wanted to be sure that the God of Israel, the great I Am, knew precisely where I stood on this entire hellacious journey. I'm sure that had anyone heard me, they'd have thought I'd lost a screw or two. But I spoke and I spoke firmly, and although I finished airing my grievances with heaves, sobs and a hopeless what do I DO?! as I stood in the too-warm stream of water, I listened to the silence and heard an almost inaudible something after a few minutes had passed:

Just ask.

It seemed so simple. Too simple, in fact. So simple that in my renewed waves of tears and sobs, I couldn't believe that it could possibly be so simple. But the reality is that for God, it really, truly, honestly is that simple. Because He is a God who heals with a thought. And sometimes, I think He just wants us to ask. So despite my human frailty, my exhaustion, my fears and my often all-encompassing hopelessness, I ask. And I request that all of you and your friends and families and neighbors and churches all ask as well. Because yes, God does hear our prayers and does know the desires of our hearts. I believe that.

But I also believe that we are to pray, and to pray with our whole hearts, minds and souls. We are to lay our grievances and our hopes and our pleas before God. So I'm asking once again for renewed vigor in prayer for my dear little sunshine, for hope, for healing, for wellness. I pray and ask you to pray that God will touch him and heal him. That the doctors and nurses involved in his care will be blessed with a tremendous gift of wisdom when it comes to his treatment. I ask you to pray that the cancer will go no further than his spine and his brain, and that God will destroy it in those places, bringing about complete healing.

I've not been able to come up with a seamless way to add the following Biblical passage to this entry, so I'll just plunk it here at the end, as I feel that it's vitally important that I do so. It's been etched onto my heart ever since an acquaintance posted it to her Facebook profile several days ago (thanks Paris). Mark 9 relays the story of a demon-possessed boy whose father brings him to Jesus for healing. The disciples were unable to cast out the spirit, so Jesus intervened and did it himself. When the disciples asked why they'd been unable to do it themselves, Jesus responded that "This kind can come out only by prayer (and in many versions, fasting)". Before anyone worries, no, I don't think this is the same thing. But I do think the message is invaluable and of the utmost importance in Logan's battle. The crux of it is that we're up against something huge here, and Logan desperately NEEDS all of the prayers he can get in order to overcome it once and for all. I believe that with every bit of myself, so much so that I feel antsy when I think about failing to add additional members to Logan's team.

That's all for now. I thank you all for your continued support. Blessings to you as you enter this new week.