More Avastin and a Leap of Faith

Yesterday, Logan received his third dose of Avastin. From all outward indications it's not really working, but we're pressing onward anyway, still hopeful that it IS indeed having a positive impact on his ravaged spinal cord and that we're just not seeing it yet. We'll find out on January 9, when he has his next MRI. That's just two days before my next birthday, #34.

Obviously, I have mixed feelings about the timing of the scan. As I see it, my birthday could wind up being a day of great joy, or one of almost unbearable sadness. I pray fervently for the former. I need a break. I need happy news. I need some relief.

The clinic visit, as I heard, was fine. Dr. T reiterated what he's been saying since September: He thinks, based on the most recent sets of images --the last from Thanksgiving week-- that it's spinal cord damage, and the neurosurgeon concurs. But it's very, very hard to tell. The trouble with walking can be attributed to any one of a number of root causes. The incontinence issues are baffling, as they seem to be on and off: Sometimes he realizes he needs to go and asks, others he seems unaware and has accidents. Since no one --but God, granted-- knows what's going on and we all want to give my poor little sunshine some relief, we're tapering the Decadron a tiny bit and praying --again, fervently-- that nothing new crops up, and that nothing gets worse. Given the complaints of pain in his knees when we try to get him to walk, Dr. T also gave him some hydrocodone. He also, with the psychiatrist's approval, went up a little on his sleep aid, since his body quickly figured out how to metabolize the original dose and as of the weekend, he was once again awaking 8 to 10 times overnight.

It would be spectacularly easy to give up right now. He looks bad, he feels bad, my heart is broken, and I'm exhausted. In what's probably a response to feeling like he doesn't get enough attention, Isaac has morphed into a monster who tantrums 4 to 6 times a day; screaming, crying, fist-beating, neck-vein-pulsating fits whenever we ask him to do something he doesn't want to do, whether it be going to dance class, speech therapy, everything. Abby too engages in loud, aggressive attention-seeking, often offering up irreverent, rude remarks to me and Adam. I know that some of you have offered to take them for us, but the sad reality is that it wouldn't do anything because Isaac and Abby want US. They want their family intact and normal again. And we can't give them that.

But even amid my own failings of faith, a few important points keep coming to me, mainly a) expect amazing things, and b) don't underestimate what God can do WHEN HE WANTS TO DO IT. It's really the latter that strikes me. As much as I hate seeing Logan suffer through his current complications, I'd do it all with a grateful heart if I knew that he'd be well again down the line. But I just don't know.

That's where the leap of faith comes in. We all take them now and then. But most of the time, if I dare to say it, those 'leaps' of faith are really more like jumps on a hopscotch board. Sometimes I think that were I a truly faithful person, this particular leap of faith wouldn't be anything more significant than that. But no, it's such a big leap that most of the time I can't muster the courage to do it. I'm not sure what it is that scares me so much; likely just The Unknown. I think it scares all of us, to some extent.

Anyway. It's been incredibly challenging to string my thoughts together here because I've alternately dealt with Abby and Isaac bickering and Logan chattering away and demanding attention; but of course, he's partially deaf so I have to shout my responses, most of them more than once. It's exhausting. And infuriating.

Please keep praying for Logan's complete and lasting healing. I know that God hears prayers. Despite the voice in my head that tells me to just give up because God doesn't care what I have to say, I'm asking that you all soldier on for my sunny boy. In terms of particulars, please pray that the Avastin will do its intended job and heal the spinal cord damage. Pray that he'll be protected from any attempted return of disease, and that his facial and auditory nerves will return to normal, allowing the facial palsy to disappear and the hearing in his left ear to return.

I am, as I have before, asking for a wave of prayers. A tidal wave. An earthquake, a tornado, a hurricane, a volcanic eruption. Bold intercessions asking for healing, for restoration, for peace, for comfort.

Thank you.