We were stonefaced when we got the news. Stonefaced. I felt a twinge of sheer agony, of course, but I was holding Brady, we were sitting in the cafeteria surrounded by people enjoying their mid-afternoon meals, and well, there's always something surreal about those moments. It's like the world is about to come crashing down on you and there's absolutely nothing you can do to avoid the fallout. Once the initial stonefacedness wears off and physical reality sets in, that is.
Logan was moved to a private room in the PICU --it has to be private since he's still immunologically challenged from the BMT cycle last year-- and I went in to see him. (Adam and I found a relatively quiet place to talk and pray beforehand, of course. But the details of that conversation are going to stay private.) He was still sleeping from the anesthesia, and he was getting a blood transfusion. Apparently his hematocrit dropped after the anesthesiologist hydrated him. His heartrate was lower than I'd seen it in ages, in the 40s and 50s --which I admit was very scary, given than he's been tachycardic for over a year now. His body temperature was only 95 degrees, so his nurse was trying to get him warmed up with layers of warm blankets. His blood pressure was still on the high side, but his respirations were good. So all in all, stable. Not good-stable, but stable enough for him to be left in the care of just the PICU nurse (as opposed to the PICU and recovery room nurses).
I'm not sure when the actual pathology report is due in, but Adam said that Philippa said Dr. T would come see us tomorrow. The assumption is almost certainly that it's AT/RT, slowed by Avastin, Accutane and Vorinostat, but I don't know. I do know that in order for him to qualify for any experimental treatments --which are all that's left at this point-- his general health has to improve quite a lot. Dr. T did tell Adam that there are drugs we can try that might slow growth or cause tumor shrinkage for a while, but so far, there's nothing curative available.
I feel broken inside. More than broken. Angry, bitter, frustrated, betrayed, victimized. I firmly believe that illness --especially illness in children-- is 100% of Satan, but I don't understand why I can't get him off of Logan's back --literally. There's no glory in the suffering of a child, period. I know that some of you will argue with me on that, but you're wrong. God is good and loves children. And He can't lie, so when He says that sickness comes from evil, that's where it comes from. Period. Evil runs rampant in this world, hell-bent on taking out the best of us. I mean, come on. The one thing that so many of you always remarked on was Logan's beautiful smile: Even with no hair, no eyelashes, skin and bones body, he still had that winning grin. But now, of course, the smile is marred by paralysis. Purely evil. I call the devil out on that one. It's a cruel attack, nothing more, nothing less. A cruel, soulless attack designed to hurt us and to make Logan suffer more. That's not of God. That's nothing that God would will. And if you think it is, I beg you to re-read your Bibles and re-examine your perspective.
Anyway. That's where we are. I've cried a lot this evening. A lot-lot. But I'm reasonably calm now, and I'm not giving up. I'm not giving up on figuring out how I can claim authority over evil and cast it out of Logan once and for all. I'm not giving up on Logan's future here. I'm not giving up on seeing my family completely whole and healed. I'm crushed, but not destroyed. So please: Don't give up on Logan. It's what Satan wants. Don't give in to him. Pray harder, pass it on, profess authority over evil. Because after all: He who is in us is GREATER than he who is in the world.