Clinic Visit, The S-Word and The Weekend

Ah, the end of yet another weekend is upon me and I've once again slacked with my updates. There's a good deal of information to share, but I'll try to be as concise as possible.

Logan's big annual oncology clinic visit was Friday afternoon. As promised, we saw a host of different doctors, from his primary and the visiting doctor from LA who invented the Headstart treatment protocol to the endocrinologist to the developmental neuropsychologist. (Or at least I think that's what he's called.)

We saw Dr. T. and Dr. F. first. From a disease standpoint, they're very pleased with where we are. The radiation damage on his spine is a little less thrilling, but as I've noted before the decadron he's currently taking is the first line of defense against progression. And what exactly does progression involve? In short, a hole in the spinal cord. It's a scary notion for sure, but I'm doing two things to cope: 1) Realizing that there are three different means of combating the damage should it begin to happen, and 2) standing on Mark 11:22. At this time, his scan shows no necrosis (dead tissue), and we're praying that it'll stay that way. And that his limp will continue to resolve itself. He's walking better than he was a week ago, thankfully, and we need to see that trend continue. Because of the swelling and the potential for actual damage, he'll be monitored even more closely than before, and his next scan will happen in roughly a month.

The developmental neuro team was pleased to hear that he's in preschool and enjoying himself. (Most of the time, anyway.) In a month or so, he'll go in for some 'testing' so they'll have a baseline to work from down the line. He'll be tested roughly every year in order to judge his progress.

Rehab was also pleased to hear that he's in preschool and having fun; he said that it's probably the best therapy available. He noted that one of Logan's legs (the left one) is thinner than the other, and when he ran an ice cube along his legs Logan wasn't really able to distinguish the temperature. However, as Dr. T. noted later, we really don't know that it means anything significant because we don't know if he's ever had good temperature sensation in his legs. He did flinch when the guy brushed a card against his leg, so there is sensation. I just don't know how good it is. So please pray over that, if you will.

There were other doctors in and out and lots of things said, but I want to focus on one tiny word that was uttered before I make my prayer requests and log out for the evening. During the course of our discussion with the neuropsychologist, he began a sentence with a term that took my breath away in the moment:

All of our survivors...

Survivor. It's not a term that I'd allowed myself to apply to Logan yet. I don't really know why, but it's probably the result of some latent fear nestled deep within the confines of my heart. But that doctor said it, and in that moment I realized it was true. And, well, I had to bite the insides of my cheeks very, very hard in order to keep from crying. Just thought I'd share that.

So prayer requests. I've already outlined a few above, so please keep those close to your heart. Please also pray for health and freedom from illness in our house. Abby came down with strep on Friday and is much better now, but of course we worry that Logan may have been exposed. Though he's not feverish like Abby was, something is most definitely bothering him and he spent today lying very low. Please pray that God will touch him and that he'll feel more like himself in the morning and the days to come. Additionally, please pray for Brady. He's had a very rough couple of days; he was cranky today and spent much of last night awake and crying. He's already on medication for an ear infection so I'm a little stumped over the whole thing, but I know he's uncomfortable. Please pray for strength, patience, peace, faith and belief for me and for Adam as we enter this week and go about our daily lives. Pray for the Holy Spirit to fall afresh on us and give us all of those things and whatever else we need to be good parents and good friends.

Thank you for being a part of Logan's team. Have a blessed week.

Busy-ness

It's sad but true: I'm one who's very much overcome by the everyday busy-ness of life. As I approach the end of each day, I plan out what I'm going to write, but invariably I get tired or distracted and blogging falls by the proverbial wayside. You have my apologies for that; I know that you want to know what's going on. And of course, I want you to know so you can pray accordingly.

It's been a full week, with school, dance, speech therapy, errands and other sundries working to keep me firing on all cylinders. It's also been a brutally hot week here, which has, of course, served to make me even more tired --and unmotivated-- than I'd otherwise be given the time of year. Truth be told, I'm generally energized by Fall. I love the beautiful foliage (well, not that we have much of it in Northern CA, but I remember the yellows and oranges and reds that colored my Mid Atlantic childhood quite fondly). I love the holidays. I love the cooler weather. I love the Pumpkin Spice Lattes from Starbucks. :) And I'm holding this Fall even closer to my heart, if only because my family spent so much of the last one apart. But that's all just a really long digression that serves to show how scattered my thinking can be at times.

I suppose I'd say that Logan is doing somewhere between 'okay' and 'well'. I know that when I last wrote, I expressed reservations over the opthamologist who was to see Logan on Wednesday. As it turned out, I mentioned my feelings to Philippa on Monday, and without my asking she lickety-split took my words to heart and rescheduled him to see a different doctor next month. So he'll have his eye exam on October 18th.

In other health-related news, his limp got progressively worse over the weekend, so the team started him on 2 mg of decadron 3 times a day for the next few weeks. I wasn't happy to hear it, since decadron is a steroid and previous experience earlier this year confirmed to us --unequivocably-- that 'roid rage is very, very real. But we're dealing. He's definitely suffering from wide mood swings, but he's bearable. And I think it's important for me to use the word 'suffering' because I need to be mindful of the fact that he doesn't enjoy his uncontrollable feelings, either. He IS suffering. It's true that I have to cope with the side effects of his mood swings by myself for 12 hours a day, but the experience is still worse for my Logan than it is for me.

Tomorrow he has his clinic visit, where we'll see a host of doctors and other specialists. The one person we won't see is Philippa since she'll be filling in for striking nurses at CHO; I'll save my breath and commentary on that.

Otherwise, he made it to preschool two out of three days so far this week. Yesterday he flat-out refused to go and I was too worn out to fight him on it. But today, he was as happy as a clam when I picked him up. He and his teacher did their cute little parting routine, which involves Logan chanting "see you later, alligator" and her responding with the requisite "after while, crocodile", her voice dripping with an equal degree of spunky sass. It's cute. A little soundbyte of normalcy that I treasure.

There's really a lot more than I could write. I could write about how we went to a healing mass on Tuesday night and wound up with a very unexpected private audience with the priest prior to the start of the service. I could write about how the letter of the day has become an important part of Logan's routine. I could write about how I'm still standing on Mark 11, and about how I've gotten repeated confirmation that it's the way to live this life. Yep, there's a lot more I could say.

What I will do is close with prayer requests. First off, and this is a little different, but I ask all of you to seriously think about Mark 11:22 and what it means. Then I ask that you stand on it for Logan and for whatever other mountains loom in front of you. I ask you to pray for healing for my sunshine, and for peace, faith, hope, belief, courage, wisdom and love for all of us. In terms of specifics, I ask that you pray for an increase in his appetite. Despite being on the appetite stimulant as well as decadron (which is an appetite stimulant, too), he still isn't eating much. Also please pray for his bone marrow to be re-energized. His platelet count sat at 75K on Monday, which is as low as it can be for him to continue to receive one of his oral chemo drugs. Please pray for good numbers and for resilient marrow. Please pray for his limp and for its root cause; pray that it will resolve itself completely. He's a dancer at heart. It's hard for him to be sidelined. It breaks my heart all over again.

Thank you so much for showing up and for being a part of Logan's team. God Bless you all.

A New Week

Is it really already almost Monday? Weekends breeze by, that's for sure. We've had a nice one overall, which included our first trek to church as a complete family in over a year.

We have a relatively busy week coming up. Logan has a number of appointments, including an opthalmologist visit on Wednesday, and an audiology check the same day if someone else cancels. Friday is his big annual clinic visit, or what I've been calling the horse and pony show.

His limp has gotten worse over the past few days, so it's likely that he'll have to begin treatment with steriods in the near future to address the problem area on his spine. I'm not particularly happy about that idea, given that our past experience with such drugs proved that he's not immune to 'roid rage, but as always, we'll do what we have to do in order to help him. And if that means a mood swings and temper tantrums, so be it. At least he'll probably be hungrier, too, which may well more us closer to the removal of his port.

So what do we need in terms of prayer? First of all, continued peace. And of course, sustained and complete healing for Logan. We're so thankful that the MRIs came back looking stable last week, and we know that God can wipe out the issue in his spine with a thought, so please pray for that since I know it's probably a painful affliction for Logan (though he doesn't talk about it).

Finally, I need a little help with forgiveness. Just before Logan was first diagnosed with cancer, we were sent to an opthalmologist at CHO who dismissed our concerns and said to come back in six weeks if the issue with his eye hadn't corrected itself. Thankfully our pediatrician overruled him and we found the tumors when we did, but I realized this weekend that I still harbor a great deal of resentment toward the opthalmologist. It feels justified, in a way; after all, he's a specialist and should've sent Logan for a CT when he presented with his symptoms. Had we listened to him, my son would've died. Of course that didn't happen by the grace of God, but when I found out on Saturday that Logan's appointment on Wednesday is with the very same doctor, I flipped out. I'm sure he's a very competent physician, but I simply don't trust him. I do, however, realize that I need to forgive the mistake, so please pray that I'll be able to do that fully.

Thank you for being a part of Logan's team. Have a great week.

Breathe

It's been a good day. The MRI images from this morning all but confirmed what Logan's medical team suspected: The enhanced spot on his spine is almost certainly a side effect of radiation rather than new disease. It's essentially a burst capillary that absorbed the contrast dye. For now, they're just watching it. Down the line additional treatment could be needed, but the important thing is that it's not disease. I can't even begin to explain how free that makes me feel; how excited and grateful. There's a lovely, life-saving sense of peace that's settled over me once again. And I'm so, so thankful to have it. It's incredible to realize how very important the word 'stable' has become to me. So anyway, major praises to Jesus for all of that.

He has several appointments coming up next week; one for his eye on Wednesday, and perhaps an audiology check again if Philippa can make it happen on the same day. Then on Friday, he has a long clinic visit that involves lots of doctors and lots of checking of various things. My limited understanding is that it's a yearly visit of some sort, so it's a big horse and pony show. We did find out yesterday that his thyroid had been damaged by the radiation, which was disappointing but not unexpected, so he'll be starting supplements to counteract the damage tomorrow. The dumbed down version of what's happening with that is that his thyroid is working really, really hard but accomplishing almost nothing. I'm not an expert with such things, so that's the extent of my understanding.

Otherwise, it's lovely to just be at home and breathing again. He's in good spirits for the most part, save the occasional meltdown or temper tantrum. He's eating more, especially if meals involve roast beef sandwiches from Arby's, and is loving preschool. He was particularly excited to go this morning after his MRI so he could show his friends the new dinosaur he'd gotten from the technician for being a good patient. He's developed a great love of coloring, which blows my mind given that just a few months ago, he wasn't strong enough to even hold a pencil or crayon. Now he not only does so, but he colors quite well. His gait is off, though I suspect that's at least in part because he's walking much more than he had been before and his muscles aren't used to it anymore.

Anyway, that's just a quick update along with a smattering of what I'm feeling. I can't explain the depth of my gratitude to God for His goodness in all of this. And I thank all of you --sincerely-- for being part of Logan's army. Peace to you.

September MRI

I'm sorry for being a bit late with this entry; I know there are a few of you who've been waiting to hear about the MRI for much of the day. It's just been a busy afternoon and evening and I simply haven't had the time to devote to it until now.

Logan's MRI proceeded as scheduled early this morning --from 8 til about 10-- and after a very (very) long late morning and afternoon filled with anxiety and plenty of 'help me, Jesus' moments, Philippa called Adam at about 3 with the radiologist's read. The news is mostly good, with a sprinkling of 'uncertain' mixed through. (Don't groan just yet; hear me out first. I have some perspective on it that's pretty valuable.)

His brain is stable. So none of the issues with his eye that have driven me to tears (and to the brink of insanity, if I'm being honest) have anything to do with tumor regrowth. It's likely that he is indeed plagued with nothing more than a lazy eye in that regard. The areas of known previous disease in his spine are also stable --no changes, no regrowth. Those are both awesome, awesome bits of news and we're very grateful for them.

The 'uncertain' part comes in now. There's a small new enhanced spot on his spine. Philippa said that it doesn't look like a nodule and that there's no sign of thickening, so it's not behaving like the spinal tumors he had previously. (Those presented, even at very, very early stages, like tiny pinpricks or nodules. This is flat, but it glows, for lack of a better way to express it.) Logan's primary was out of his office today, so he hadn't had a chance to review the images, nor had the radiation oncologist at Alta Bates. The radiologist at CHO wasn't quite sure what to make of it. It could be nothing. It could be a reaction to the radiation. (There was much surprise back in April when he finished his course of radiation and there *weren't* any weird-looking bits and pieces on his scan.) It could be something else. As of close of business tonight, no one was sure. Tomorrow, Adam will take him back to CHO for another MRI of the spot to take a better look at what's going on there.

Naturally we'd be happiest had the MRI come back completely stable (or even clean, with no scar tissue!), but we're pleased with the good parts of it. It's absolutely huge that his brain has been stable for so long, and it's wonderful that the areas where we knew he had disease in his spine previously are also still stable. I am, for the most part, at peace with it. I feel like it will be okay. I haven't really felt that way in a long while.

So why do I feel like it's okay? Because I'm standing on Mark 11. I'm making the conscious choice to have a radical sort of faith that will probably make me look a little nutty to some. (At least it puts me in good company; remember how many people thought Jesus Himself was crazy?) But I believe that the Word is the truth, that faith is power, that the Holy Spirit is alive, and that God wants Logan to be healed fully. So I'm living it, I'm telling the evil one to get behind me, I'm asking to be refilled with faith and hope and belief every single morning, and I'm commanding that mountain to move. I've seen some pretty amazing things over the past year, and I expect --fully-- to see more in the time to come.

This part will probably make me sound really loopy, but I think it's important to share it since it's on my mind. I'm actually a little grateful that we're getting the chance to really rely on faith again. We don't know what's going on, but I believe that it will be okay. Really and truly I do. I'm expecting God to show up again in a mighty way. I'm excited over it.

I thank you for praying with us, for joining me in telling that darn old mountain to move. This isn't my most eloquent entry ever, but I hope that it gets my fellow Believers fired up about faith and about what God can do through the Holy Spirit. Live it. Believe it. You'll see incredible things.

Expect Great Things

Tomorrow, the 14th, is MRI day. I approach the event with a mix of fear and anticipation.

I've been on quite the faith journey in recent weeks, though I admit I haven't written much about it until now. I feel like I've been standing on a precipice of sorts, ready to take a big, scary leap into real faith. Tested faith. It should, in theory, but the easiest kind of leap to make. But it's not. It is, in fact, incredibly difficult. But I'm working on it.

Here's the thing. If I believe that the Bible is true and that Jesus and God do not lie, then I should be able to claim the written word of God and own it. Really, truly own it and make it my own. The problem lies within my humanity; my frailty, my weakness, my doubts, my flaws. So instead of relying on ME to own my faith, I've been calling upon the Holy Spirit for help. For belief, for faith, for hope. For all of the things that I run out of on a daily basis. For the flat-out knowledge --not just suspicion, but knowledge-- that what I say I believe is real and true. For the courage to say that things will be all right; not that they may be all right or they will be all right eventually, but that they'll be all right period.

Why? Because Logan deserves that much from his mom. Because it's what's desired of us as people. Because I truly believe --from the tips of my toes clear up to the tippity top of my head-- that God is a God of healing. Because the Holy Spirit gives us the power, through Christ, to move those mountains.

Own it. Believe it for Logan and for the other seemingly insurmountable hurdles in your life. Mark 11:22.

Thank you for praying, for believing, for hoping, for standing firm, for wearing armor and for being here.

Cough, Cough

It's like the old days. I'm up writing at 3 a.m., you're hopefully settled and getting some sleep. I figure that eventually I'll remember what it feels like to be well-rested.

Isaac picked up a head and chest cold in recent days, either at Sunday School last week (making it a double-whammy of a day, given his brief disappearance that afternoon) or at preschool, which began on Tuesday. Since he's a self-respecting 3-year old boy, he promptly shared his germs with his two brothers despite me tailing him around with a bottle of hand sanitizer, so now all three boys are miserable. Involved is head congestion and a horrible hacking cough.

My primary emotion is frustration, and my primary thought is a simple one: Why is it so hard to keep sick kids at home? I know that preschool can be something of a cesspool so I'm not dwelling on it, but it's hard to not feel some degree of frustration. Anyway, I'm praying that we're able to keep Logan out of the hospital and that his MRI on the 14th won't need to be rescheduled, but given how bad his chest sounds, I'm not especially optimistic on either count. The doctors are always concerned over chest congestion and the potential for pneumonia in him.

But still, it's easier to be positive than negative, so please pray for those things, if you will. Pray for a cloud of healing to settle over our home and for the cold to be gone amazingly quickly.

I feel like I've been burned a lot over the course of the past year, but still I do expect and anticipate and hope for more amazing things. Thank you.

Tuesday Morning at CHO

As God would have it --since I don't believe in luck, per se, the substitution makes perfect sense-- Logan's line refused to draw this morning, so Adam took him to CHO to have it cleared out. (It's not an unusual occurrence --sometimes blood will form little clots somewhere in his line and it won't flush out.) When they arrived, it also happened that Logan's primary was there in his office, so Adam asked him to take a look at Logan's eye and conveyed our recent experience and observations. Adam said that he covered the good eye and had him look to the right, which he was apparently able to do. Dr. T noted that when Logan had first arrived last Fall, he'd been unable to do that at all, so he was disinclined to think that it would be tumor pressing against the nerve. He asked when we'd most recently had his vision checked, and when Adam said that it'd been almost a year, he speculated that what we're seeing is a lazy eye. Philippa is setting up an eye appointment for him now so we can see how his eye is faring. Of course, though he doesn't think it's the case, there's no guarantee that it's not tumor related. Dr. T also noted that if it is, we'd be in a very bad spot so waiting the next week for the MRI wouldn't do much damage.

It's so hard to hear words like that about my sunshine. Though I naturally feel a bit of relief over hearing that he doubts that what we're seeing is cancer-related, the fear still lives on. My immediate reaction was to recall the words that have come to me so often over the past days --things are not always as they appear-- and to breathe a sigh of relief. But then, of course, the devil's advocate spoke from somewhere within, casting doubt upon my relaxed mood, quietly whispering but what if it's the *doctor* who isn't seeing things as they really are? What if YOU are right, what if YOUR fears are the reality and he's not seeing what's actually going on? Yes, it's just oh-so-fun to be me.

I've prayed a lot over the past 24 hours; for Logan's healing, for our family, for the doctors to have the wisdom to make the right decisions. But mostly, for the big, ugly, daunting mountain to move.

I feel like we're facing urgent times now --if only because my sanity is suffering blow after blow-- so please keep praying for Logan's complete healing and for the rest of us. If you can think of anyone else who would be willing to join us, please extend an invitation.

Labor Day -- Prayer Request

Today was one of mixed emotions for me.

On the 'sad over a happy thing' side, Brady took his first steps. His first five, actually, from Adam to me with Logan looking on. He's a week and change short of being 9 months old. A little daunting to think of someone so tiny puttering around on equally tiny feet, but we've always had early walkers.

On the 'completely terrified and unsure of what to do with myself' side, Logan's eye somehow managed to look even worse than it did yesterday and the day before and the day before that. It's terribly off-center. And I'm not sure, but it may have lost some range of motion. It's hard to tell since I've been so obsessive about testing him lately; the constant checks have made him increasingly non-compliant over the past weeks.

I vasciallate between completely losing it and feeling a semblance of calm, though more often than not I'm in full-on panic mode. I came completely unhinged at dinner time, and excused myself to my room to try to reign in my fears. I called out, cried out to Jesus for help, inspiration, confirmation, anything. But for some reason, nothing obvious came, just the same fleeting words I'd heard (or at least imagined hearing) several times today and yesterday: Things are not always as they appear. Things are not always as they appear. And I remembered once again the healing stories of last Fall; the ones that came to me when I felt alone in the dark and needed a light to pierce the overwhelming blackness. But I don't know if those words were from my own mind, or if they were given to me by God.

I finally managed to feel a sense of peace when I clutched my pillow and spoke aloud, saying the same phrase over and over again until I could feel it resonating throughout my body: Jesus, You have dominion over Logan's cancer. Once I began to feel a sense of calm, I added and I believe that You will heal him, and restore him to our family. I don't know how long I recited the words, but I felt better when I finally got up and rejoined my family.

I think Adam and I are both disconcerted over what we're seeing. We'll call Philippa tomorrow morning, explain what we've seen, and then see what the team thinks we should do.

Thnk you for continuing to pray for us, for Logan's healing, and for the doctors responsible for his care. Move, mountain. Move.

Move, Mountain. MOVE!

It's been a different kind of a day. That's really the best way I can describe it.

Logan's eye still looked off this morning, which is always a less-than-great way for me to start a day; it filled my heart with that familiar old sense of dread and fear. I very begrudgingly agreed to take Abby and Isaac to church with me after Adam pointed out that he went last time. When we arrived, I checked in, dropped them off in their respective classrooms, and headed off to the sanctuary. I met my friend Erin along the way, and told her, in no uncertain terms, that I really didn't want to be there. But I felt the pull, and knew I had to go inside.

While everyone else worshipped in song, I dissolved into tears. I'm something of a paradox: Though I don't mind my life being an open book here, there's something so embarrassing, so mortifying about crying in public, out where just anyone can see me. But it was really, truly the only thing I could do. I saw an image of myself as I sat there, rubbed completely raw and near-bleeding, absolutely enveloped in tremendous emotional torment and pain.

Mid-service, I reached for a Bible and opened to Mark 11, the passage I often reference about casting the mountain into the sea. For the hundredth time (at least), I mused over it, wondering if it were true. Sadly acquiescing that even if it IS true, I don't have the unwavering faith that it takes to move mountains. I'm weak. I'm wavering. I'm, in modern terms, a hot mess. But still, I was once again drawn to the words and left to reflect on them.

As we headed out, I remarked to Erin on those words; on how it's hard to believe they're true given that some of the church's most outwardly faithful envoys don't seem to take them at face value. And then I gained resolve: I need to believe them. I need to believe that Jesus didn't lie; that His words are true and applicable to life. And that I need to own them, believe them, make them a part of me.

And then I got an unexpected jolt. I collected Abby from her classroom, but when I went to retrieve Isaac, he was nowhere to be found: Not in his classroom where I'd left him, not in the nursery a few doors down, not on the playground. Nowhere. People scattered like marbles hunting for him, trying to trace his steps. I'm sure they moved quickly, but it was as if my own vision of the events played out in ultra slow motion. My heart pounded and I had to fight hyperventilation as I stood there helplessly, quite ironically unable to move, unable to take part in the race to find my 3-year old. The only thing I can remember thinking was 'God, why are you doing this? Haven't I had enough heartache? Don't you love me?'

Finally someone called out from the parking lot that they'd found him, standing alone on the sidewalk clutching his Sunday School papers and a baby blue balloon he'd decorated. For his part, Isaac looked bewildered over why everyone seemed so concerned. We'll probably never know how he got out; Isaac is speech-delayed so his communication skills are limited. And the security there is generally very good; I'm in no way, shape or form writing this to be critical of the good people who run the program. I know things happen sometimes. It's possible that I know that better than just about anyone else right now.

No, I'm sharing the story because in hindsight, the experience makes me believe, with renewed vigor, in the veracity of Mark 11:22. The timing of Isaac's disappearance coincided much too closely with my revelation for me to believe that the two events are unrelated. The scare was designed to make me forget my resolve, to skew my focus, to make me doubt God once again, when what I need to be doing is focusing, believing, hoping, having faith.

I don't know what's going on with Logan right now. I'm scared to death over it; I wish his eye would look normal. I wish that I could let it go and have faith. I wish that none of the events of the past year plus had ever happened. But they did, and we must deal with the fallout.

What I'm asking you to do, as his prayer warriors, is to own Mark 11:22 for Logan. To pray it, to believe it, to intercede. To ask Him to move Logan's big, ugly mountain into the sea once and for all.

I know it's a big thing to ask. But if the Word of God is true, we should be able to claim the words and ask, ask, ask. God is, after all, a God of healing, a God of grace, and a God of truth. I believe that He wants to heal my son. I believe that if Logan's prayer warriors all band together and cast the mountain into the sea, it will be done.

Thank you for being a part of Logan's team. Thank you for believing that mountains can be cast into the sea.

Fear

I've been feeling a lot of fear lately. A lot of stress, a lot of anxiety. And in my weakest moments, a lot of gut-busting terror. While the tight feelings wane at times and I feel more hopeful again, those times are rare. So most of the time, I'm quietly living in fear.

We're 11 days from the next MRI. And I've been a woman obsessed, watching Logan like a hawk, analyzing every single move he makes, looking for anything and everything that could indicate a problem.

That in and of itself wouldn't be such a huge deal; it's the very truth that I DO see things that could be indicative of issues that's the problem. There are his mood shifts. They could be explained away by the bevy of drugs he's on, including the new ones: An appetite stimulant with some steroidal qualities and a powerful antibiotic. We know that he doesn't handle steroids well at all, from our prior experience with decadron. But still, it's something I observe. The other big thing I've noted is his eye placement. I've watched helplessly, it feels, as his eye has become increasingly off-kilter in recent weeks. It's hard to remember precisely what it looked like for a while since he was happily playing with Abby, Isaac and Brady much of the time, thoroughly implanted in kid-world. But still I worry. I neuro check him every chance I get, making him track items with both eyes while holding his head stiff. He can do it. And his eyes appear to track equal directions. But his right eye is set more inwardly, so to speak. And he seems to have more trouble with controlling it and holding it to look at something straight-on. When he got up this morning, it was especially crazy and off-kilter looking; in my eyes, worse than I'd seen it looking in months. And of course, the stomach-rending panic set in immediately. And I felt like I couldn't breathe. I'm like a fully-loaded freight train charging, lumbering down a track toward eminent disaster.

But the thing is, I know I shouldn't view it that way. I know that when I'm weak, I'm especially prone to attacks. This IS a spiritual battle and I'm on the front line. So it stands to reason that things would look crazy.

But that's the thing about the devil: He's a master of illusion. When I've felt panic set in at times over the past weeks, I've heard a small voice cheering me on, saying 'don't look at that; look UP'. And sometimes I have, but more often that not, I've been consumed with fear and worry of the very worst kind.

I could probably go on and on with these observations and my feelings. But the most productive thing for me to do is to rally Logan's troops once again, and in a powerful, renewed sort of way. I beg all of you to intercede for Logan's sustained health and healing; for outward signs of health and healing. Because the devil knows how those suspicious outward signs send me into a tailspin. I ask you to pray for our family as well; for Abby, who at 6 years old, has been asked to cope with emotional turmoil far beyond anything that's 'fair' for someone her age. And for the rest of us, for hope, for faith, for widsom, for peace.

I beg all of you to please stop right now and pray for these things; I beg you to take up the armor and help; to remind your warrior friends to join in and to invite new help as we continue along the path.

Thank you and have a blessed weekend.