Becca and I have each individually tried to sit down and write an update on Logan dozens of times in the past few weeks. But it’s a difficult thing to do. Very difficult to translate the thoughts in our heads, the emotions in our hearts, to words on a page. Plus things are never constant. Giving a medical update has been like shooting at a quickly moving target, especially these past few months.
In giving this update, it feels important to go back to the beginning of when this nightmare started.
In the early morning hours sitting in the ER of Cohen’s children’s hospital on Long Island in August 2024, Logan was diagnosed with very advanced metastatic liver cancer. It was bad. A liver transplant was a certainty, but it quickly became evident that to give him a chance of survival, Logan would likely need an even more invasive and precarious multi-visceral organ transplant. We quickly transferred his care to Columbia, one of the few places in the country with a surgical and transplant team capable of performing that type of procedure. A few months of chemotherapy followed before Logan became eligible for transplant surgery. Then on March 6, 2025—we just “celebrated” the one-year anniversary—an offer came and Logan underwent one of the most difficult surgical transplant procedures imaginable.
It was a high risk surgery from the start, especially knowing that the pre-surgical chemotherapy Logan received did not reduce the tumor burden to ideal parameters. But you take the shot you have, and we did. While we were prepared for all manner of complications, including organ rejection and infection, there were more devastating issues than we or even his medical team could have envisioned, almost from the start. About a week after the transplant surgery, his transplanted intestine had a small perforation and it became clear that the graft was very compromised. It was just a question of if the organs could recover, or if an entirely new transplant surgery would be needed. Somehow we moved past that complication as the organs appeared to recover. Then Logan received a round of post-transplant chemotherapy, and the results were catastrophic. His bone marrow and immune system were knocked out for months. There were a host of related, life-threatening complications. Profound bleeding, GVHD, infection, fever. Reflecting on those couple months, the doctors now confess they didn’t think he’d survive. But Logan made it through that dark chapter. And by July 2025 he went home for the first time since his surgery in March.
Some months of relative stability followed, and I mean relative in the strictest sense of the word. It was still scary and precarious beyond most people’s capacity to imagine. In that time, there was a chance to reflect on what type of treatment could theoretically provide Logan with a lasting cure, as that remained the goal in mind. But it was riddled with complications.
Logan’s bone marrow is very degraded. While he now has an immune system, the cell lines that make platelets and red blood cells are severely compromised, and he needs platelet transfusions at least every couple days. While we went through the fall with the goal of reaching a point of stability for Logan to undergo a bone marrow transplant, the problems kept piling up. Each of us in our own way and probably at different times, Becca and I started to see the path to a cure growing narrower and narrower.
Which brings us to now. I will say the main part up front and then re-cap how we got here. Logan is now considered a palliative care patient, with no realistic path to an enduring cure. That’s due to a variety of compounding problems that impede fixing any individual issue.
First there is the cancer. Logan’s cancer has continued to metastasize. In July he had a tumor surgically removed from his adrenal gland, and just about a month ago, we learned of a new 5-cm long mass growing on the outside of his spinal cord. Within 3 days of it being diagnosed on a Saturday morning, Logan went in for neurosurgery at Columbia to remove this new mass before it could cause any nerve damage to his spine. Without systemic chemotherapy, this trend will continue until a mass appears that cannot be simply surgically removed or radiated. It is just a matter of time.
But Logan cannot receive systemic chemotherapy due to his degraded bone marrow. We saw what happened last time we tried this in April, and he very narrowly survived that grueling period. At least theoretically, Logan would need a bone marrow transplant to give him the opportunity to repair his ailing bone marrow, make him not transfusion dependent, and perhaps able to get chemotherapy in the future. But having received a multi-visceral organ transplant, Logan is as high risk as they come to undergo a BMT under the best of circumstances. And the current circumstances are anything but ideal.
Starting in October, we noticed Logan’s bilirubin and other liver enzymes starting to rise. And they’ve only gotten worse. His bile ducts show widespread stricturing, and just about every intervention short of a new transplant surgery has been tried to fix it—including two ERCP procedures—to no effect.
These three very serious issues even looked at in isolation—metastatic cancer, bone marrow failure, and liver degradation leading to potential liver failure—are hard enough to address on their own. Taken as a package, each individually preclude treatment for the other. You can’t treat the cancer without functioning bone marrow, you can’t do a bone marrow transplant with a failing liver, and you can’t do a new multi-visceral organ transplant to fix the liver when you have metastatic cancer. It is an impossible bind.
We had spent the better part of the fall and winter in and out of the hospital at Columbia with Logan trying to address each new manifestation of how sick he was. Weeks at a time inpatient, with Becca and I often trading in and out so one of use could be with Riley at home and one with Logan in the hospital. It took a severe toll on all of us, including Logan.
When Logan went in for his latest surgery in January to remove the tumor by his spine, it was a moment of needed reflection and decision-making. We could continue doing this if we had to for Logan, but what now were we hoping to achieve? I am grateful for the doctors who were able to speak freely and not avoid having hard conversations thinking it was sparing our feelings. We needed to know where things stood for holistic treatment to make the best decisions for our family, including getting Logan quality time he deserves at home and not living in the Columbia hospital for any longer than he absolutely needed to. One doctor put it in a way that resonates still. He said that it may not seem like it, because we’ve gotten so conditioned to it, but Logan has been living with very advanced life supportive interventions for a very long time. He is on a type of slow-moving life support with the extent of transfusions, medications, and other things we give him almost every day. But it is not sustainable, and it is no longer in service of “fixing” things. Another doctor told me something that I at least really need to keep hearing: “you guys did everything right. You took him to the right place. He got the surgery he needed. I would have made every same decision for my kid.”
I must stop here and say that there is no way that Logan would be alive today without the constant vigilance and dedication of Becca. She is the reason that essentially life-supportive care for Logan has felt like something that is doable day in and day out. She is always on, never resting, never forgetting a medication, never missing a subtle sign in Logan before it develops into something worse. With the breadth of Logan’s issues, medical treatment can only take you so far. Becca has given everything of herself to ensure he is healthy as can be for as long as he can be. There’s no way he’d be in the condition he is now without the constant care she has given.
All of this said, after Logan’s surgery in January, we collectively decided it was best to move Logan’s care back to Cohen’s Children’s Hospital to allow us to be close to home and enjoy time together as a family. As Logan put it: “the name of the game is to not be driving into the Columbia ER in the middle of the night all the time, and not staying overnight there for weeks at a time.”
Dr. Fein-Levy, the oncologist at Cohen who originally diagnosed Logan almost two years ago, has been a much-needed sounding board and pillar of support to help guide us through making these difficult decisions. In all of the medical decisions we make, as she put it and we profoundly agree with, we are trying to prolong Logan’s happiness, and not his suffering. It can be really difficult to tell the difference in the moment sometimes. There have been a couple of times in the past few weeks where we felt that things were getting bad quickly and could be heading toward the end, that Logan was slipping away in a medical emergency that he might not recover from. But in each, we’ve been guided by the principles of trying to only extend his happiness, and it has led him out of those difficult moments.
In these impossibly hard times, we have gotten much needed support from so many. Jon, Tina, Jaxon and Piper stayed with us for almost a month in January into February so that we wouldn’t have to face these dark times alone. Plus, no one can infuse levity and laughter into Logan and Riley like Jon and Tina. To that end, we recently welcomed a new four legged member to our family, Dr. Misty Cato, namesake of Logan’s transplant surgeon Dr. Kato. This kitten has attached herself to Riley’s side and brought so many smiles to our faces. We are blessed to be surrounded by so much support right now and are appreciative of Becca’s family coming in to stay with us on the heels of Jon and Tina’s visit. Mimi and Papa have been continuously reliable always bringing calm to the house during turbulent times.
And Becca will not cease for one second in making every day memorable for Logan. As an example, this weekend, Logan, Riley and the rest of us were treated as VIPs at the NJ Devils game. Their mascot, NJ Devil, visited Logan in the hospital in the spring and promised Logan an amazing time at a game when he was feeling up to it. NJ Devil delivered on that promise tenfold. From the penalty box seats, to throwing a pie in the face of a Rangers fan with NJ Devil, Logan can’t stop talking about it.
And then there’s all our friends here in town and around the globe—the dinners sent to our house, the COTA fundraisers, gifts big and small, the constant flow of messages of support. There’s too many to name. We’re so grateful.
And if you were to ask me, after all, that we’ve been through; still believe in magic. Yes, I do. Of course, I do.