About Us

Our family of 6 (dad Adam, mom Sherry, big sister Abby and little brothers Isaac and Brady -- who was born on December 14, 2010) joined the ranks of pediatric cancer fighters when our 4-year old son Logan was diagnosed with a dangerous and highly malignant form of brain cancer in mid-August 2010. Logan's cancer journey began abruptly on Sunday, August 15, when his right eye suddenly turned inward during dinner. Twenty-four hours later, we were checking into Children's Hospital Oakland and finding out that life sometimes takes you places you'd never, ever imagine yourself going.

Monday, June 13, 2011


By closer, I mean closer to release. I hold my breath every morning, hoping that discharge is imminent, but so far, it hasn't happened. I still have high hopes, though; as I noted many months ago, I'm merely a disappointed optimist, so I'll hope again that tomorrow is the day Logan will come home.

The next few days are big ones for us, with a substantial number of momentous occasions crammed into less than 100 hours. Tomorrow, Brady will be six months old. It blows my mind that he's already been brightening my days (and rendering me sleepless at night!) for half a year. Then on Wednesday, Isaac turns three. Brady and Isaac are, as is obvious, almost exactly, to the day, two and a half years apart. Thursday is Logan's MRI, which just so happens to fall 10 months to the day since a CT scan revealed the mass and this entire crazy, horrible journey began. And at some point over this three-day span, I hope, pray that he'll finally come home. To stay. Healed and restored. Never exactly the same as he was, but returned to a cancer-free state. Oh, how the idea makes me lose my breath. It's almost as if it's such an enormous thing to ask, to hope for, that I dare not do it. Yet I ask and hope anyway. Still working on Mark 11, but I'm doing the best that I can. I hope it's good enough.

Logan's done a good job of taking his medications orally over the past few days, though he does still vomit at times, and said emesis is indeed still bloody now and again. He had an endoscopy this afternoon --despite earlier assertions by the medical team that it wasn't really necessary-- and it showed that his poor little tummy is chafed and raw from the barrage of medication it's had to process. The GI doctor didn't find any alarming areas, merely a few particularly raw places that apparently periodically crack open and bleed. It was described to Adam as being similar to how your lips feel when they're very chapped and you yawn, causing them to split open and ooze. The same thing happens in my poor little sunshine's stomach.

Thank you for continuing to pray for Logan's complete healing and for, to be blunt, our collective sanity. Blessings.


  1. Always praying for Logan, and wishing your family peace and comfort.
    Sending as much strength as I can your way

  2. Praying for Logan's complete healing. It's the prayer I say before bed and when I wake up, and multiple times during the day.

    I have to have an endoscopy and was getting all worked up about it and then I read what you wrote about Logan, and I feel like an ass. Logan has endured more than anybody, and I'm upset about a silly endoscopy? Reading about his poor tummy made me cry. Thank you Logan, for giving us all strength. I pray that this ordeal will end for you soon.