Back at Home

Yup, Logan's back at home. He was discharged early this afternoon and Adam brought him home. He'll be hooked up to an antibiotic pump for the next several days, but at least he's here. We're thankful for that.

This'll be a brief entry for me; I'm tired after the long week we've had. I mused to Adam on the way to dinner this evening that for some reason, it felt like the week had gone on forever, yet it's only Wednesday. He wasn't surprised at all by the revelation, and pointed out that it felt long because we didn't have a weekend. Well duh, Sherry. Of course that's it.

On to prayer requests. As always, please do continue to pray for complete healing and protection around Logan. Pray that he'll be able to avoid getting sick again; we've definitely been reminded of what a blessing it is to just be at home, and we'd like to avoid additional trips to CHO. Pray also that as preschool begins, Adam and I will make the right choice with regard to sending him. We want him to be around other kids and to learn, but we also need to be mindful of the extra risks inherent in attending school for someone with a compromised immune system.

Thank you for being part of Logan's team.

Sunday Discombobulation

I thought about it for quite some time and decided that it's the perfect word for how I'm feeling: Discombobulated. Off-kilter. Or perhaps more simply put, just plain upset.

Logan is, of course, still at CHO. He'll be there until the doctor is able to identify the precise bacterium that is responsible for his infection. Hopefully that will happen tomorrow, but it could take a few days more. Identifying the bug is essential because they need to know if the particular strain he has is resistent to a particular drug that they want to use to treat him. So that's that. The upside is that his counts and levels have all looked good so far.

I took my shift with him from 11 until 5 today. During my time there, Logan was mostly bored and cranky. He was amused with the Mater the Greater set that I dug up in my garage and took to him, but the amusement didn't last long and he was quickly back to being surly and disagreeable.

It breaks my heart. It makes me tired. It makes me jealous. It makes me feel unloved, unappreciated and unwanted. I've had a particularly tough weekend emotionally. But I'm doing what I can to move away from the negativity.

It may seem an obvious observation, but I'll share a simple thought I had a few days ago when it felt like the walls were really closing in on me again: When lots of bad things happen to us at once, it's the evil one trying to break us. In my weakened state, I confess that it's hard to not be broken; it's hard to not be shattered and pulverized, in fact. But still, even in my frustration and exhaustion, I'll still refuse to be broken in that way. God has carried our family through the horrific events of the past year, and even though I can't feel His love, I have to believe that He will continue to be present.

Thank you for continuing to pray for Logan's healing and for our family.

The Logan Update - August 27

It's been a long day.

After Logan received a shot of a 24-hour antibiotic at the ER last night, they sent him back home. The doctor (after consulting with hematology/oncology) told Adam to watch out for vomiting, continued fevers and lethargy. As of this morning, he still had a fever over 101 and was absolutely not himself. But that all proved a moot point: A doc from CHO called back at 9:30 to say that bacteria had grown out from one of his chemo port lumens, so we needed to return.

Since Adam was completely drained from sleeping so little last night --they didn't get home until 3 AM-- I took him in. His temp was still over 101 at triage, despite having had Tylenol 45 minutes earlier, but he tried to be cheerful. He insisted that my phone didn't have a wide enough selection of kid-friendly games, so we chose a new one and he happily played for an hour or two while we did what we always do at CHO: Waited. He eventually fell asleep, and I learned that the bacteria had grown in the sample taken from his blue lumen in just 6 hours' time. Though the doctor was reasonably confident that it was a fairly inocuous infection, he consulted with hem/onc and they opted to have him admitted so they could monitor him intensively.

After more waiting, we were finally moved to an isolation room. And that's probably where he'll be for the next few days. I talked with Dr. G, who is on service this weekend and next week, and she said that as soon as they can figure out precisely which bacteria is involved, they'll try to set us up with an antibiotic pump that we can use at home and discharge him. But it usually takes a few days to isolate the offending bug.

So yeah, for now, we're a house divided yet again. I've had a tremendously stressful day. My heart hurts over all of this, and I wish I could make it stop. I wish I could convince God that we've had enough; that Logan is deserving of that healing touch. But as we've had to do so many times in the past, we're being forced to wait it out.

Please pray for Logan's complete healing and health. Pray that they'll be able to quickly isolate the bacteria so we'll be able to get him treated with the correct medication and home again soon. And for me, pray for my heart. It's been broken so many times this past year that it's coated with a tough layer of emotional scar tissue that makes it hard to be open to anything at all.

Thank you for being a part of Logan's team. Good night.

...and more frustration.

After spending the week with the nagging feeling that something simply wasn't right with Logan, he finally spiked a fever this evening. And naturally, it's a Friday night so we're once again going to be robbed of our weekend family time together. I'm trying to channel the frustration, heartbreak, anger, and generic negative emotions into something positive, but I'm not really getting anywhere. I'm so emotionally burned out that there's just not much left; no real room for hope or positive inclinations.

Adam's going to take him to CHO shortly. Please just pray that whatever is wrong is a minor issue, and that he'll be released within a few days. Also pray that I'll be able to let go of the anger, and that instead of directing it at God --which does me no good-- I'll be able to direct it toward the true origin of illness, which deserves my disdain anyway.

Have a good weekend.

A New School Year

Adam went to the office late today so we could all troop, en masse, to drop Abby off for her first day of second grade. As we trotted along, Adam pushing the stroller and me a few paces behind with Abby and Isaac, I felt a flood of conflicted emotion.

At first, the dominant feeling was frustration, tinged with sadness. Had the events of the past year not happened, Logan would've entered Kindergarten today. As I caught glimpses of his should've-been classmates, dressed in their first-day finery and happily trotting toward their classrooms, my heart ached again for normalcy; to turn back the clock and erase all of the pain of the past year. All of the worry, the trauma, the heartache, the hopelessness, the fear.

And then the feelings morphed a little as I watched Logan and Isaac running together down the sidewalk. They're so close in stature right now that someone not in-the-know might assume that they're fraternal twins. But Logan kept pace with his little brother, and I suddenly became aware of the miracle inherent in the scene.

A year ago, we didn't know if Logan would still be with us today. Not only is he still here, but he's well enough to run along the sidewalk. He's small, frail and tires easily, but he's here. Despite my ongoing worries over his health status, he's come so far over the course of the past year. His tenacity, his maturity and so many other things about him astound me every single day. He's not just a 5-year old boy; he's a truly incredible person.

And he may not be going to Kindergarten this year as we'd always thought he would, but there are amazing things in store for him.

A Call to Action -- Help Please

It's been a mentally tough couple of days for me. Despite the doctor's assertion that Logan's eye mobility and appearance is normal, fear has rooted itself in my heart and I can't free myself of its clutches. I'm scared. I watched him like a hawk all weekend, waiting for any kind of slight improvement, but it didn't happen. After several weeks of looking normal or near-normal, it's decidedly off-kilter. Given that that same sign was our indicator of the cancer last year, my heart is camped in my throat and I am nearly sick with worry.

I know: Worry can't add a day to my life or make anything better. But Logan is my sunshine. My sweetheart.

My struggles with God have continued; with why He's allowed the past year's events to come to pass. With the horrific nature of suffering. With conflating the concept of an all-good God with this kind of anguish. But for now, I have to put all of that aside, scrape up the remnants of my battered faith and ask all of Logan's prayer warriors to once again take up their armor and help him and our family.

It's a battleground, as I've said many a time before. My fervent prayer is that this time, it's just me who's under attack; merely my sensibilities and my emotions that are sustaining the blows. That Logan is still well and cancer-free. I feel ill when I think of the last year and how hard it was on our family, and it pains me nearly to despair when I worry that it could happen again; that another round of that kind of fractured existence could be in our future. The fact that it's 2:30 a.m. and I'm once again writing in the black stillness of my bedroom should reveal how serious I am.

So prayers warriors, I'm asking for your help. I'm asking you to please pray for Logan's health and healing in a mighty way. Please pray that his eye will right itself and that it is indeed merely a muscular/nerve issue as the doctor guessed. It's the primary outward indicator of trouble and as it is now, it's making me near mad. For the rest of us, I ask for peace and wisdom.

Thank you. Thank you for sharing this with your praying friends and for interceding for our wonderful, beautiful son.

August Clinic Visit, Some Etceteras and A Surprise

Before I write anything new, I want to thank you all for praying for all of us, but particularly for me and my stress level. I'm very thankful to report that following a torturously restless night a few days ago, yesterday was calmer, and last night calmer still. So praise to God for the peace and thanks to you for the help along the way.

This morning Adam took Logan to CHO for his August oncology clinic visit. Dr. T said that he looked good, and everyone remarked on the coating of very dark hair on his crown. He's still largely bald on the back of his head, and I'm coming around to accepting the notion that it may not grow back. It doesn't make me happy; the little soul patch of very thick hair that he does have is suspiciously shaped like a target, and heaven knows he doesn't need any more targets dogging him in the future. But I guess that's where faith comes in. And it's also a digression.

Anyway, Adam pointed out though it had looked better for a while, his right eye is off-kilter yet again. In response to the observation Dr. T did the usual neurological exams and said he didn't see anything worrisome. In fact, he noted that it appears to be an issue with muscle control. Apparently he had varying degrees of success with control during the exam, but it was mobile from left to right, so there was no cause for concern. Later, as I drove my four-pack to Costco to do some shopping, I stressed over it, worried that Dr. T had missed something. But then a prayer I said before the chaos of my morning began came back to me: I'd very deliberately asked God to give Dr. T wisdom to know the difference between something worrisome and something benign. The memory brought me peace.

But back to the visit and perhaps the most surprising part of the day. Adam asked Dr. T about precautions and immunological testing, and they had a long conversation about the differences between standard post-BMT precautions and oncology's perspective. We've been living according to the prescribed bone marrow transplant requirements simply because we'd never asked for oncology's input: Masks, no parks, no eating out, careful food prep, and a mile-long laundry lists of 'do nots'. As it turns out, oncology handles autologous (self-donated) stem cell transplant recovery differently, and most of those restrictions need not apply. In fact, they don't even do immunological testing until a year has passed.

It's very big news, because it means, among other things, that Logan can go to preschool when it starts. It means we can go out to eat at his favorite place, Sweet Tomatoes. It means that we can go to a baseball game. It means that he can go to a playground. It means we can go to church. Tonight, it meant we could dine at a local eatery, Red Tractor, and not stress over him consuming something we didn't prepare ourselves. Of course we can't --or at least won't-- go buck wild. Preschool will be tricky. There's a good chance that he'll wind up missing a lot of class, since we'll be ultra sensitive to direct exposure to illness: If a child in his class has a cold, I'll ask to be informed and then will keep him home. But still, it's a step we weren't expecting to be able to take yet.

It's insane to feel like life is trending toward becoming 'normal' again, if only because it hasn't been 'normal' for so long. And because we're keenly aware that the past year has inextricably changed us. We can't go on living as we did before because we simply aren't the same people we were. We've lost innocence, but maybe more importantly, we've gained awareness. And part of learning to live 'normally' again is to figure out how to most effectively channel that precious awareness.

And now, without further ado, I present my long list of prayer requests. It's been a while since I've had one, so I thank you all for being part of Logan's team and for supporting our family. First off, and as always, I ask that you pray for protection around Logan and for sustained full healing: For the prevention of relapse, for the prevention of radiation-induced secondary tumors or cancers, for his future physical and intellectual development. Additionally, for protection from common illness. In his current state, he's vulnerable to many common bugs; something very simple for another child could lead to a week-long hospital stay for him. Please pray for his appetite and for his stomach to begin accepting food again; he's continued to have issues in this area. Just this afternoon, he ate several bites of pizza and then threw it up a few minutes later. It's frustrating, but I know it happens. And of course, prayers of thanksgiving for how well he's done so far. His next MRI is scheduled for the morning of September 14, so please keep that date in mind and pray for continued good news and for peace for us as we wait.

For Abby and Isaac as they begin school, for positive, fruitful encounters with friends and teachers. And for them as well as Brady, health. For myself and for Adam, I ask for peace, faith, hope and the strength to withstand attacks by the dark side. I still hold fast to the truth that this is a spiritual battle, and that the world is filled with both good and bad. Finally, for me, health. My stomach has been bothering me on and off for a few weeks now. It could well be nothing at all, but I'm a longtime worrier and it's hard to not be concerned when something feels different or uncomfortable.

Thank you so much, again, for sticking with us and for being part of Logan's team. Thank you for praying for his healing and for witnessing what God has already done here. I'm anxious and worried sometimes and my faith wavers. But I claim Mark 11:22 and proclaim that the mountain will be moved.

Have a wonderful weekend.

High Anxiety

It never fails that big days coincide with significant increases in my anxiety level. It's been that way for me for some time now.

Today is our 9th wedding anniversary. But I spent most of the day stressing over Logan's right eye and over his health. After looking good for a few weeks, his eye was wonky again today. On top of that, he seemed tired and low-energy. And even further, he's been off of his oral chemo regimen this week so his primary could check him and make sure that his swollen appenix wasn't related to the drugs. It's true that he has a fairly major ear infection and he still doesn't eat much, but I've been near-obsessively worrying about him today and part of yesterday. And I did myself no favors yesterday when I asked Philippa when his next MRI would be; she told me that since they'd only scanned his spine last month, we were still on course to have one mid to late September. And my heart sank. I was much better off when I thought they'd done both his spine as well as his brain, and the information made me horribly paranoid. I suddenly viewed my little sunshine differently; I was no longer able to overlook nuanced differences in his appearance. Never mind that he never once complained that his tummy hurt or threaten to throw up.

I watched him like a hawk today, trying to see if his eye seemed any straighter as the day wore on (it didn't) and persistently asked him if he felt okay (yes); if he had an owies (no). I'm sure I annoyed him to pieces, but of course he's too sweet to complain or to tell me to just chill.

He has his monthly oncology clinic visit on Friday, which is a blessing. It'll give us (well, probably Adam since he's the one who will likely take Logan) the chance to ask all of our questions and for Dr. T to do the usual neurological exams. I'm scared to pieces over all of this and just want everything to be okay.

Please pray for my sanity and, as always, for Logan's health and healing. I need a mental vacation. I know God can work miracles. That's what I'm asking for right now: Amazing things.

One Year Later

Here are Logan, Abby and Isaac dancing to 'Real Gone' from the 'Cars' soundtrack a few days ago. (Click here to see it.) Dance parties are a common occurrence around here these days.

And they're a commonality for very good reason: We DO have much to dance about. Exactly one year ago today, we became aware that something was terribly wrong with Logan, and the expected course of our life as a family took a shocking turn in a direction we'd never, ever imagined it taking.

Yet here we are, one year later, and Logan is still dancing. He has less hair, his eye is still off-kilter and he's significantly underweight, but he's still here with us, still charming us and everyone he meets with his positive attitude and that enormous smile.

And for those things, we can't be grateful enough. Dance on, guys. Dance on.

An Actual Video

I know I've been something of a fraud in recent days, promising videos but not delivering. So without further ado, here's a quick one from this morning. It's from my cell so the quality isn't great, but it's what I can manage right now. Better ones to come, and they'll be embedded too!

A New Car

The Past Few Days

I'd intended to post before I went to sleep last night. I brought my laptop up to bed but then Brady woke up calling for me in his baby way and in my tiredness, I lost the inspiration.

Logan's initial fever and ostensibly swollen appendix bought him at least three days at CHO. But I'll back up a little and fill in the details.

There was a great deal of indecision from the surgical team over whether or not they'd perform an appendectomy yesterday morning. At first, they said no, they'd just watch him. A little while later, word was that they were leaning heavily in the direction of moving forward with the procedure after all. Then after the surgeon came in and examined Logan, pushing and prodding on his little belly and talking with him to gauge his level of discomfort, they decided not to do it.

And that's where things were left. The primary reasons were twofold. For one, they weren't absolutely certain that it's swollen. Compounding that truth was the notion that even if it is swollen, there's no guarantee that appendicitis itself is the root cause. Given that information, Dr. G --who is so young and unassuming that we tend to drop the formalities and call him Jacob-- decided to stop one of his oral chemo drugs, ironically the one we struggled to have filled in the first place earlier in the week. It's a form of the acne drug accutane, and apparently it not only dries out skin, but other organs as well. I don't really understand its role here or why Jacob thinks it may have something to do with a swollen appendix, but I have to trust that he knows what he's doing.

Beyond that, his fever has so far stayed down, and he was in good spirits yesterday when we visited. He was eager to get up out of bed, and routinely hopped up and attempted to drag his IV pole out of the room, requiring quick reminders that though it's fine to troll the hallway, he still needs to wear his hat and mask for protection.

So anyway, the plan set forth was to watch him for an initial 24 hours, and then for an additional 24 hours after his fever subsided. It's a little repetitive since it's been down since shortly after he arrived at CHO on Thursday night and was given fluids and a set of broad-spectrum antibiotics, but caution is a good thing. As far as I know, the blood cultures drawn haven't yet grown anything. It's possible that the root of the fever was a raging ear infection, which is a bit ironic since he had tubes just a few weeks ago. But not entirely unexpected, as his right ear had been running non-stop. The fluid had always been clear, but I guess it wasn't so clear --or runny, per se-- by the time he and Adam got to the hospital.

Hopefully, he'll be released tomorrow (Sunday) morning. That's what we'd like.

As for me, I'm not in the greatest place. It's a small thing, being readmitted for a few days thanks to an unexplained fever -- particularly in light of the monthlong-plus stays we've coped with in the recent past. But for me, it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. It was just enough to push me right over the edge and make me really, really angry. And I'm still mad. I have no pretty words to share about God and how He's handling things. I still feel tired and betrayed and victimized and frustrated and, well, angry. I'm asking a lot of hard questions about faith that I'm mad I even have to ask in the first place; questions that the great majority of people never even have to entertain. I'm bitter over that. I'm bitter that 'hey at least he's alive' is probably the biggest positive in my life right now. Not that it's not a good thing, but why did he have to be sick in the first place? I'm bitter that I haven't been home in 2 1/2 years and have no idea when I'll be able to go again; that the county fair that I love and enjoyed as a child is going on right now and I can't be there. I'm bitter that I've lived in fear and agony for the past year. I'm bitter that I'm no more special to God for having endured all of this than someone who lives on easy street and has simple faith that's never been --and likely never will be-- challenged in such a brutal, gut-wrenching way.

I know a lot of this is ugly. But I vowed long ago that I'd be truthful here, so that's what I'm doing. I'm sure some of my anger is misplaced; I know that there's a battle going on here and that the lion's share of my rage should be directed at the dark side. But I'm angry with God for allowing it to go on; after all, He can change things in the blink of an eye. And I feel like I've had more than enough, Logan's had more than enough, our family's had more than enough.

Anyway. If you pray, I thank you for continuing to lift up Logan and our family. I'm too upset to be there right now, but I'm grateful to you for taking up the armor for us and for asking your friends to do the same. Have a good weekend.

Appendicitis? Maybe.

That's right: Appendicitis. The doctor was concerned about Logan's tummy pain so they did an x-ray and a CT scan of his stomach this evening. The good news is that he does not appear to have a necrotic disease that has a 50% mortality rate. The not-so-good news is that his appendix is swollen. The surgical team is apparently studying the scan to see how they want to proceed. And me? I'm a holy wreck.

I feel a wide range of emotions. None of them are good or sweet or sticky or particularly productive, but they are what they are. And I'm entitled to feel them. I am, to put it gently, drowning right now. I've spent much of my life trying to do the right things. I know that it doesn't really matter; bad things happen to good people, good things happen to not-so-good people, and life is simply unfair. But I've just about had it, with a capital H. The whys of Logan's illness haunt me. The worry is mind-blowing. The pain? Forget about it. You can't even come close to imagining it unless you've worn shoes similar to mine. And if you have, I applaud you for still maintaining your sanity because mine is so cracked that it probably won't hold an ounce of liquid.

I don't understand why we can't have a prolonged period of peace. I don't understand why Logan may be facing yet another surgery. I don't understand why it seems like God Himself, the creator of the universe who is supposed to be loving and kind and gracious, seems like anything but a loving being. It's been an excruciating year. It may be greedy of me, but I want peace. I want this crap to stop. I want my life back, even if it's not perfect and it's not exactly the same as it was before --it never will be; I know that. But my soul craves a semblance of normalcy.

I wrote this on Facebook a little while ago, but it's how I feel so I'll note it again: It's a good thing that God never gives up on us. Truly it is. But I'm in a place where I'm very close to giving up on Him. My heart is broken, my body is exhausted, and I feel completely defeated.

There. I said it. I know I'll change my mind some day. I always do; that's the way this journey goes --I swing from one emotion to another, so I know an upswing will come. Eventually.

Back to CHO

Well, Logan's fever spiked this afternoon, so Adam took him back to CHO shortly after he got home from work. It hovered around the 100-degree mark all day long, and then rather abruptly jumped to 101.4, which is half a degree above the 'must come in' temp. He'll be checking in tonight, have a STAT CBC to check his numbers and make sure his WBC is doing what it's supposed to do, draw some blood cultures, start a broad-spectrum antibiotic and then... wait.

I'm really furious over this. More than angry. I feel let down, disappointed, betrayed. This Sunday will be one year since his eye turned inward at dinner and life changed forever. The thought that he might not be here and healthy to commemorate the date is an insult to my sensibilities.

If you feel so inclined, please pray for him. I'm angry with God. Very, very angry. So I can't really do much on my own, but I can ask all of you who *aren't* angry to intercede for Logan. I'm just too ticked off to do it myself. Thank you.

Up Late

It's really not productive for me to be up late these days, but here I am anyway.

I've had a mentally tough time of it lately. Now that things are a little quieter, a little more restful, so to speak, I struggle with the 'whys' of Logan's illness. A lot.

On one hand, I know it's a pointless quest. I realize that I'll never know the 'why' of it all on this side of heaven. It just is what it is. But that knowledge doesn't help me. It doesn't assuage the pain of seeing Logan suffer, of feeling like a failure because I can't stop it or even make it better 9 times out of 10. Of feeling like I did something wrong to cause it all in the first place.

And it doesn't help my relationship with God. This will be controversial, I know, but I just can't explain what this experience has done to my faith. On some levels, it's deeper than ever. But on others, it's on tenuous ground. It was one thing when I could look at the suffering that runs rampant in the world, click my tongue, throw a check at it, and then close the door and pretend it wasn't really there. It's another thing entirely to become a symbol of suffering that others seem to go out of their way to shut out. I guess I deserve it on some level, but it doesn't lessen the sting. Not one single, solitary bit. It stings to know that Logan's preschool class is meeting for a play date tomorrow and we can't go. It stings whenever I email someone with an update and there's no response. It's sort of sad, but I do still need to know that people are there, thinking and praying for Logan and for our family. I know, I know: There are some of you who are very much there. And I thank you so much for being there. But the weak part of me needs visibility, and it's really been lacking of late. I don't have a huge following here and it's a lonely path to walk.

But anyway, I suppose that's just a lot of rambling. I've taken gobs of video this summer and need to work on uploading a good one for you all to see. I'm not particularly tech-savvy, hence the delay, but I'll get to it.

Blessings to you.

Monday

Just a quick, non-eloquent update before I try for the third time to go to bed. I wound up taking Logan in to CHO this morning. He was up all night long crying out that his tummy hurt. He finally managed a bowel movement at 4:30, which seemed to make things better for a few hours, but then he was up again at 6:30 complaining of pain. And his temperature remained constant at 37.5. Since Adam didn't get much sleep at all tending to him, I packed up Brady and took both boys to CHO with me while he worked from home; Abby and Isaac watched TV and entertained one another quite well playing Batman and Toy Story.

Naturally, Logan cried on and off in the car on the way, but the second we set foot inside the clinic exam room, he was mystically much better. He chattered on about cars and wanted to go over words that began with our letter of the day (M). When the nurse took his temperature, it was a very normal 36.6 the first time and 36.9 the second. His belly felt fine when the doctor poked and prodded him, and his numbers came back looking mostly okay. A few key liver enzyme figures were a little elevated, but his platelets continued to hold steady at 117 (despite the Vorinostat, which is an immunosuppressive oral chemo drug), and his hemoglobin looked fine. The one telling number was his WBC, which came back at 13.3, which suggests that he's fighting some sort of viral infection. No one was at all worried, so we were released to head home at 12:30 and Logan spent the rest of the day mostly low-key, save a mini dance party in his room this evening. (There will be video at a later date. Watch for it.)

So that's where we are for now. I wish I had something really deep and reflective to share with you, but I simply don't. I'm primarily focused on enjoying the last two weeks of summer vacation, and on watching all of my babies enjoy the time together. And yes, part of me is keenly aware of the approaching anniversary, which is now just a week away. If I can muster the brain cells, I know I'll have much to say on the subject in the days to come.

Thank you for continuing to pray for God's protection around our family and for Logan's continued health and healing. Blessings to you.

Prayers Needed Please

I posted last night about Logan's temperature hovering near the 100 degree mark, but curiously, the entry didn't post to my Facebook page so I'm sure plenty of you missed it. Anyway, he was fine much of the day, but late this afternoon he took a nap. When he awoke, he complained --cried, really-- that his tummy hurt him. He continued complaining and trying to go to sleep for a few hours. When we took his temperature, it registered just over 100, so Adam called CHO. The resident wasn't terribly concerned over the temperature; she said to call back if it registers 38.5c once, or 38.2 twice. She suggested heat for his tummy, which he's been crying hurts him, so we set him up with a heating pad. I don't know what it is that's bothering him; we think it may be gas pain, given where he points when we ask him where it hurts, but of course we don't know.

It's so crushing to me to hear him cry out in pain, and it's infuriating that we don't know why he's hurting. The whole thing just makes me so angry. Hasn't he endured enough? Hasn't he? It's what I cry out to God.

Please pray that whatever it is that's hurting him will be healed. I may be upset with God --and believe me, I most certainly am-- but I don't question that He can heal all with a single fleeting thought. Thank you.

Quick Request

I'm off to bed, but please do us a favor, if you will. Logan's been a little warm today. I know he has a cold, but his temperature has hovered in the low to mid 99s. Please pray that whatever is ailing him will be healed soon. We don't have the luxury of saying 'oh, well, it's just a fever'. If his temperature breaks 100, we have to call and probably take him to CHO. And we really, really don't want to have to do that. Thank you.

Into August

There's certainly something to be said for stillness, for restfulness, and for not feeling compelled to update you all every single day.

Things are, for the most part, fine. Logan, Brady and I took an unscheduled trip to CHO on Monday morning after I was unable to get his line to draw blood, but naturally the second the nurse tried, it flowed like water from a faucet. I felt like an idiot --really worse, incompetent-- but at least it was a short trip and didn't involve the drawn out process of having a TPA. So there was a blessing there even amid the unplanned trip.

The rest of the week has really been a mish-mash of playing here at home. Lots of dancing, playing catch and duck duck goose, reading. Just usual kid-stuff that my kids were denied for nearly a year. We've all been battling a sort of mini-cold; poor Brady seemed to get the worst of it, and Logan and I were also affected, but it wasn't serious enough to stop Logan from his ear tube placement on Tuesday. The procedure went off without a hitch. Of course, it seems like absolutely nothing at all to us, given that he's been through neurosurgery three times now, but as we've learned, anything can happen at any time, so it's always good to be covered in prayer. So a big thank you to those of you who saw my Facebook status and lifted him up. Since Tuesday, his right ear has drained a tremendous amount of fluid; seeing the constant stream of liquid makes me realize how it must've impacted his ability to hear. He doesn't like the leaking sensation at all, though, which is something of a challenge. I feel badly for him, but obviously there's not a lot I can do to make it feel better. It is what it is, after all.

As far as prayer requests go, I feel like I should lay out several. So here goes. One, please, as always, continue to pray for healing, complete health and protection for Logan. Two, please pray for the health of the rest of our family. Three, please pray for the coming transitions as school starts up again in three weeks; Abby will be in second grade, while Isaac will head to preschool for the first time. Four, please pray for peace and faith for us as the anniversary of our first faltering steps along this road approaches. We're just a few weeks away from that day and I'm not sure how I'll feel or how I'll react to it. While I'm so grateful that things are calm and that Logan appears to be doing well, I'd be lying if I said that I didn't feel bitterness over all that we've had to endure; over all that he's had to endure.

I'm heading off to sleep now. I thank you for continuing to pray for us and for Logan, and for being a part of his team. Blessings to you.