Post-Hiatus

It's shocking to me to come back here and realize that I've not written since the second. I suppose as my focus fades and my mind tires, I have less to say. Or perhaps more accurately, I have trouble articulating what I do have to say. Just as the effects of Logan's radiation therapy will accumulate over time, as do the effects of this journey on my own ability to process, to emote, to think clearly. I miss my clarity of thought. I miss my life as it was before all of this began.

I've been in a low place for a week and a half now. No matter how hard I try to climb out of the hole, to pop back up after this latest sucker punch to the heart, it's been much harder to do so this time. Finding out that the spinal tumors had grown so quickly when no one thought they would and after such a successful resection to remove the primary brain mass was purely devastating. It wasn't just bad news; it was bad news that took away the joy of what had been much-needed good news. It was a reminder of what we're up against, of how unfair it all is. And it's shaken and stirred my faith, my hopes, my dreams for Logan and our family enormously. I feel defeated, beaten. But again, not truly destroyed. And I'm getting back up. It's just taking longer than usual because I've been in the ring for so long and my spirit is so battered and bruised from the battle.

It was good to get away this past weekend, though I was reminded of how difficult it is to really get into the Disney spirit when you have only a day and some change to soak up the atmosphere. Unfortunately the short duration was often a reminder of why we were there in the first place; Logan had to be home today for treatment, so we had just Saturday and part of yesterday for fun. And although I'd entered our time away planning to forget about our troubles -- to leave them at home or simply locked away behind a door labeled 'do not open, do not disturb' in my mind, I failed. I was anxious and sad much of the time, silently ruminating over Logan's illness and how very much I wanted to take future trips with my family of six still fully intact. I stressed over getting enough photos, I stressed over trying to force myself to have fun. I stressed over his facial paralysis, which persists, transforming his sweet smile into a crooked grin, that while still cute, just doesn't look like my sunshine's usual electric expression of happiness. And it was hard to be patient with Logan's mood swings. One of the main effects of the decadron is erratic moods, and he absolutely has them. He often shifted from excited prancing and dancing to angry screaming and shouting for no outward reason at all. It would be something as simple as someone else suggesting we walk in a direction contrary to his own preference, and 20 minutes would be lost to a tantrum of epic proportions. I'm not a patient person by nature so it was challenging and heartbreaking to see him rage like a caged animal who'd been denied the basics of life.

Now that's not to say that it was all stressful or bad, because it wasn't. There were plenty of fun moments, including Logan's love of Autopia, which he sweetly called 'bumper cars', a term all the more amusing since the signs affixed to the backs of the cars all read 'do NOT bump'. Indeed, when he was happy, we were golden. Isaac was pleased to just be there and soaked up every second of it as two-year olds often do, with wonder and contentment in his eyes. Abby was mostly agreeable and her passion for roller coasters -- the faster the better -- continued to burn brightly. Even Brady was pretty well-behaved, excepting night one's bout with overstimulation that left him screaming uncontrollably as we awaited a call to dinner at the Outback near our hotel.

After a mix-up with our return flight, we got home at about 8 last night and slid back into our usual routine. This morning Adam took Logan to Alta Bates for radiation, I took Abby to school. When the littler boys and I arrived at home, I was stunned to look into our backyard and realize that someone had cleaned it up while we were gone. You'd think that something like that would be noticed immediately, so it's a testament to my state of mind that it took me several glances before the good deed even registered on my radar screen. So a heartfelt thank you to whomever was involved in the effort; I know that it was a disaster when we left on Friday afternoon, just as it'd been for months, and we're so appreciative for the work that went into renewing our little outdoor space (and for the flowers planted out front). God bless you, whomever you are.

In supplemental treatment land, today he began the two oral chemo drugs that Dr. T prescribed last week. One of them is so toxic that I'm not even supposed to touch it, since I'm nursing Brady. Yet I willingly feed it to my 4-year old, mixed in a special syrup. It's all just so awful and insane.

As always, I ask that you continue to pray for full and complete healing for Logan and that you continue to ask your praying friends to do the same. I ask also for energy, stamina, persistence, patience, understanding and love for Adam and myself as we continue walking along this path. I'd say that I'm emotionally drained, but that's not entirely true: I'm drained of hope and faith. I have negative emotion to spare. But I know that God wants better for me; He wants me to have hope. To believe. To pray. To have faith. After all, we've seen incredible highs as well as crippling lows since last August, so I know God is at work. And I know He meets resistance from evil and its cancer.

It's late and I need to get to bed, but I offer my sincere thanks for your support and your prayers. They mean so very much to our family.