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.