Hope Is Where The Heart Is (5)

"Hope is where the heart is." Wonderful words, written by my dear friend Lisa just before we lost her to leukemia at the young age of 32. She used it to say that those who had never suffered in some way were missing out on understanding the joy of hope. She was an amazing person and inspired everyone around her right up until the day she was taken far too soon.

I wrote the first blog entry under this heading back in April 2014 when Scott was first diagnosed with cancer. What a journey it's been! (Sorry Scott, I know I'm not supposed to refer to it as a journey unless we're going on a cruise...but you won't go on a cruise!) Scott still endures the agony of scanxiety every six months, and he never has to wonder if he'll meet his insurance deductible, but he remains cancer free, and that's a wonderful thing. Our good friend Jeffrey, our "2 in a million" friend, was also recently declared clear after a long, hard battle. He was the other chordoma patient right here in the Keys; statistically impossible, and yet, there it is. We are thrilled for him that he can now look forward to the rest of his life!

Many we know haven't been so lucky. We lost another chordoma warrior this week. A beautiful young angel named Madison Rose. She was 23 years old. When I read the words this morning, I sobbed. First I yelled an expletive I won't repeat here, then I sobbed. I sobbed for a girl who's late teen and early adult years had been nothing but surgeries, treatments, recovery, wash, rinse, repeat. She had endured so much by the time we met her, and yet still smiled the biggest, brightest smile. When I met her, she was in a hospital room at MGH undergoing chemo. She had no hair, was very thin, wearing sweat pants and a Boston Strong t-shirt, hooked up to tubes and wires, but she still sat up and talked and laughed and made everyone in the room feel better. She was one of those souls who gave hope to everyone trying to comfort and take care of her. Her strength, courage and grace were amazing, especially for one so young. She was 19 when we met her, in Boston for her second surgery. She and her family were so full of hope, it was contagious.

It was really Madi's dad, Chris, who started it all! When Scott was first diagnosed, he "went a little crazy" (his words) and did a lot of research; as a result he found a wonderful chordoma support group on Facebook. It was so helpful to us...we found out that MGH was where the experts were, found out about Hope Lodge, and so much more from that group. We jokingly say that Facebook saved Scott's life. I don't know what we would have done without the information, advice, support and encouragement we received from that group. Scott was pretty open on social media, and that extended to the chordoma group.

As you can imagine, a lot of the people we met on the group page were also seeking treatment, or had been treated, at Massachusetts General Hospital. Many had the same doctors, and many also stayed at Hope Lodge. It's such a small number of people who have chordoma, it's really a small community. Scott was in the breakfast line at the hospital cafeteria, "Eat Street," (where they had the best breakfast sandwiches in Boston!) when he heard someone behind him say, "Are you Scott?" When Scott turned around the guy behind him said again, "Are you Scott? I recognize your jammie jeans." Many jokes and pictures had been bantered around on Facebook about Scott and his jammie jeans, and Chris recognized him! That happened after Scott had been in Boston for almost a month, and during those 2 weeks that I came home and let his parents take turns staying with him. I believe his dad was there when they met Chris and Madi's mom, Colleen. Madi was post-op and not up to visitors, but Scott and Chris became instant friends.

I met them through email and social media right away. Scott and Madi exchanged encouraging messages to each other. She sent him this picture when he was in the hospital, post-op. I remember how it made him smile!

Her hair was growing back, and she looked so cute and healthy. Hard to believe that just a month later, she was back at MGH for another round of chemo.  Her chordoma was clival (at the base of her skull.)

I was finally able to meet Chris a few weeks later, along with his wife Angela, and Madi's mom, Colleen. On one of our daily visits to the hospital for Scott's treatment, Madi felt up to saying hello and we spent some time in her hospital room with her and her family. Chris later wrote about our meeting and the "uncommon bond" Madi and Scott shared on Madi's blog page:
Madison Rose-One In A Million: West Joins East/East Meets West

Later in the summer, following Scott's surgery, Madi was back in Boston for chemo. We were able to have breakfast with Chris and Angela, and even meet up with Chris in the hospital lobby when we had to go in for a check up. Here are he and Scott chatting while I was in line at the pharmacy. Scott is laying down because he still wasn't able to sit well during this time.

I remember we were planning to ride the "T" back to Hope Lodge like normal, but Chris insisted on paying for an Uber ride. He requested the larger Uber EX so Scott could lay down in the back seat. Chris was so helpful and encouraging to both Scott and me during that time. He was the first person to warn me about friendships and relationships changing as a result of what we were going through. We really did seem to share a bond, the uncommon bond of chordoma. Even though he was constantly worried and in fear for his baby girl, he would still find time to send us information and helpful advice. He even ended up taking on an administrative role for the Facebook chordoma group page.

We continued to stay in touch periodically after that. We followed Chris's blog and knew that Madi had a couple of set backs. It was so hard to hear that she had started back to college!...then hear that she was back for more chemo or another surgery. I knew it was a difficult road for her, but they were such a strong family, and she remained such a shining beacon of strength and hope. It never entered my mind to consider any option other than her beating chordoma finally and going on to live her life to it's fullest.

When I read the words this morning, I sobbed. I sobbed for that beautiful young girl, with so much life to be lived. I sobbed for her father. I sobbed for her mothers. I sobbed for my own guilt over feeling grateful that Scott's outcome wasn't the same. I sobbed because cancer has claimed one more person. I sobbed because we lost a little bit of light from the world this week. I sobbed because I know that Madi and her family experienced and understand the tragic beauty and wonder of hope. And even when it breaks your heart, hope is where the heart is.



READ MORE STORIES ABOUT LIVING IN HOPE

Hope Is Where The Heart Is (4)

It's that time again.  We leave tomorrow for another trip to Boston.  It's funny the mixed feelings I have towards that city!  On the one hand, every time I have headed that direction, there has been a sense of anxiety and dread.  On the other hand, they saved my husband's life there, so the city of Boston will forever have a special place in my heart.

It was one year ago that they removed the tumor and Scott became "cancer free."  Aren't those beautiful words?  Six months ago, we heard those same words, and we'll hear them again on Monday. 

Being sure we'll hear good news doesn't lessen the anxiety...or scanxiety.  It's a strange mixture of feelings itself.  On the one hand, I have absolutely no doubt that the results of the scans will be good, Cancer Free!  But, on the other hand, I am still terrified.  Scanxiety, indeed.

But, we have Love!  Love makes us strong, love is strength.  

We have Faith!  Faith and belief that the best is yet to come

And we have Hope!  Hope is Strong!  Hope Is Where The Heart Is!

Hope, Love and Faith all together are unstoppable! 

Read more about Scott's story, and our story of HOPE.

HOPE IS WHERE THE HEART IS!

Hope Is Where The Heart Is (3)

It has been 6 months since Scott finished cancer treatment, and it's time for the first post-treatment scans.  It's been almost one year since we first heard the word "chordoma."  Life has gotten more or less "back to normal."  Scott is working regularly, and is doing very well.  His strength will take a while to come back, he still gets fatigued, and he still has a deal of pain, but when we think about all that he went through, it's a miracle he is doing so well.

Now we prepare for a return trip to Boston for scans.  I've picked up a new term over this last year, "scanxiety."  Following the chordoma support group on facebook, I've read many stories of the fear and anxiety leading up to follow up scans.  Chordomas like to come back, and that's a scary thought.

In it's own weird way, almost scarier than initially hearing the diagnosis.  Thinking back, once the "C" word was out, all focus, thought and energy went into figuring out what needed to be done next and dealing with setting up treatment, surgery, travel, lodging, caregivers, insurance, financial aid, etc.  There wasn't enough time or energy left over to worry about even the possibility of treatment failing or a return of the tumor at some point in the future.  But now, with all that behind us, I find myself terrified at the prospect of going through it all again.

Having watched Scott handle whatever was thrown at him for 6 months, I can't imagine having to watch him endure it all over again.  I have figured out that when people refer to cancer patients and survivors as warriors, and talk about fighting and staying strong, it's because the cure is hell.  Cancer patients go through hell to come out well again.  To watch them making that journey through hell with grace and especially with a sense of humor, is truly something amazing to observe.  But, they do it because it's what must be done.  Life wins.  But, to knowingly take that same path again, and sometimes again and again...to walk back into hell, with the memory and scars of your last visit there still fresh on your brain and your skin and bones, takes more strength and courage than is right to expect of any human being.  But, they do it everyday.  You do what you have to do to live.  Because life wins.  Still, it breaks my heart for Scott having to even contemplate the possibility of walking back into hell while he is still healing from his last trip.

I know that his scans will be clear.  I KNOW they will be clear.  And, I truly think he believes that they will be clear.  He hasn't expressed a lot of fear or scanxiety, but it must be there.  I've joked that I am more nervous about it than him, but of course that isn't true.  I think his dreams are troubled, how could they not be?

His scans will be clear this time, his scans in 6 months will be clear, and the next and the next, and the next, and so on...  HOPE is strong, HOPE is strength, HOPE is courage, HOPE IS WHERE THE HEART IS.

Hope Is Where The Heart Is (1)
Hope Is Where The Heart Is (2)

Thankful Heart Happy Heart

Thanksgiving was very interesting this year.  Several weeks before, I had been trying to decide whether or not to cook Thanksgiving dinner.  I wanted to go back to Chattanooga, but we just weren't ready to travel again after being gone so long and home so little this year.  We often spend the holiday with some good friends here in the Keys, but hadn't yet made plans, so we were up in the air.  Then, Scott received an email from Al.

The very first phone call Scott made to Massachusetts General Hospital back in April was answered by the admitting RN, Al Ferreira, at the MGH Center for Chordoma Care.  Al was our contact at the hospital for pretty much everything.  He navigated the red tape, scheduled the appointments, coordinated the whole team of doctors/nurses/radiologists, answered our questions, assuaged our fears, and fought the insurance company for pre-approvals and pain med authorizations.  He was a friendly face during morning rounds in the hospital after surgery; he took Scott’s stitches out, and he was a friend to just shoot the shit about Dr. Who when that’s what Scott needed.  Just a few weeks ago, he was kind enough to take time from his busy day to get on the phone with me and the insurance company fighting another charge they were trying to deny.  He was the first person Scott spoke to at the hospital and the last person we said goodbye to.  The entire staff at MGH was amazing, but Al made it all work.

So, the email said that he and his wife were going to be waking up in Key West on Thanksgiving Day, leaving at 10:00 a.m. and driving to Fort Lauderdale.  He wanted a recommendation for somewhere to get a turkey dinner about 2 hours up the road from Key West.  Of course, we suggested that since our house is almost exactly 2 hours from KW they should join us for Thanksgiving dinner, and they accepted.  I was happy to cook and we were tickled to get to host them in our home.

I have written about Scott’s battle with Chordoma, and there is a lot more about it on his Caring Bridge page.  

http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/scottyoungberg/journal

Basically, it is very rare bone cancer.  Very rare.  They call themselves one in a million.  There are only about 300 cases in the U.S. per year.  About half of those are treated at MGH, which is why Scott was there and also why we actually know quite a few chordoma patients from all over the world even though there are so few of them.  But, the one that totally blows the statistics is the other sacral chordoma warrior right here in the Florida Keys.  Out of roughly 80,000 people in our little chain of islands, there are 2 in a million.  How ‘bout them odds?

And it gets stranger.  The guy lives right here in the upper Keys.  And we have, like, a ton of friends in common.  We had never met Jeffrey and his lovely wife Shevaun before this all started, but I guess life or fate or karma or something has a way of bringing people together.  As soon as friends in the Keys started to hear Scott’s story this past spring, the first thing many of them said was, “That sounds like the exact thing Jeffery has.”  Before we knew it, mutual friends put them in touch, Scott called Jeffrey and a friendship began.  Jeffrey was also treated at MGH, had the exact same team of doctors, and basically the same procedures except unfortunately, his was significantly worse.  His chordoma was one of the largest they had treated at MGH.  His battle has been even longer and harder than Scott’s, with a few more after effects, but he is also finished and cancer free! 

Of course, Jeffrey and Shevaun knew Al, so we also invited them to join us for Thanksgiving dinner and they accepted as well.  It was quite a day of giving thanks!  Just being in the company of both Scott and Jeffrey for their first holiday since kicking cancer’s ass was such an incredibly positive and uplifting feeling. But when you added Al into the mix, one of the people directly involved in saving both of their lives, it was kind of magical.  I know Jeffrey and Shevaun both felt it, I hope Al and his sweet wife Ginger did as well.  We all tried to thank Al and tell him how much he meant to all of us throughout the whole process, but he shrugged it off.  I just hope he got a feel for how much he means to the patients he helps. 

I don’t think anyone can go through something like cancer treatment and not be changed by the experience.  Just being the caregiver of someone in treatment has changed me.  Life seems a little more precious.  I feel like I've been given a gift of seeing more clearly the people who truly love and support me and to more easily forgive and let go of those who don’t.  Sometimes it’s been surprising to learn who is in which column.  The generosity of people has humbled me.  I will be forever a more charitable person as a result of this experience.  Every day is a gift and I will try and greet each as such.

 

I am so proud of Scott for how strong he has been and how he fought and won his battle.  It was a hard year.  Cancer treatment is weird medicine…making people sicker to make them well.  The treatments were tough and I know there were days when Scott wanted to quit, but he kept going.  So did Jeffrey, so did little Madi in California, so do all of the Chordoma and all the cancer warriors every single day.  If they can wake up with a smile and a thankful heart, we should all strive to do the same.

It was a real pleasure to have such an amazing group at my Thanksgiving table this year.  As Jeffrey often says, “Peace, love and light” to you all.

Our good buddy Wood was invited to join us as well but wasn't able to make it.  He did, however, do his usual rogue decorating…

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Living In Hope

Living at The AstraZeneca Hope Lodge is like nothing I have ever experienced.  It's the most interesting mix of people; all ages, colors, accents, but all with one thing in common: cancer.  And there are many types of cancer here, all types of treatments, people in many different stages and conditions, and a lot of stories. There is a lot of sadness here, but also a lot of resolve and strength, and a lot of hope.

The first person we struck a connection with was a much older guy, here as caretaker to his wife, who we never met because she never left her room.  She was on a breathing machine and a feeding tube.  They had been here a while when we met him and they left a few days after we arrived.  But, his advice to us was to talk to people, get their stories and take hope from them.  He said to find hope in every story, even the seemingly unhappy ones.  That's the hardest part for me.  When I see the pain in the eyes of the guy dealing with two different types of cancer at once, or hear the lady with half a tongue answer the question of how are you doing with "They are burning me," or hear the sweet little woman talk about beating cancer 12 years ago just to have it come back as radiation induced cancer, it is hard for me to find a lot of hope.  But, I have to remember that each one of them is here, doing what it takes to live.  They have hope in the midst of the suffering.  Right now, Scott doesn't even seem sick.  He has some pain and fatigue, but overall he appears healthy.  I think it helps him to realize how fortunate he is compared to others, but also shows him that no matter how bad things get for people, they continue to fight and hope and he can gain strength and hope from that himself.  Hope is where the heart is.

The place itself is wonderful.  Very comfortable and homey.  So far we've spent a lot of time in our suite, which is very nice and comfy, but there are a lot of areas to hang out when the walls start closing in. Morning news and coffee out in the shared living room is becoming routine.  I think my neighbors are getting used to seeing me in my jammies and fuzzy slippers getting coffee in the mornings.

Cooking meals in the shared kitchen is kind of weird, but kind of cool too. There are 4 kitchens, each one with 2 stoves, 2 microwaves, 3 sinks, lots of cabinets, 2 refrigerators and a large freezer.  Each room has an assigned shelf in the fridge and freezer, and a cabinet for food.
Eating in the large communal dining room is social time.  One night a guy played harp.  One night volunteers came in and cooked Italian food for everyone.  And Scott has even played a little guitar down there while I cooked a few evenings.

They have movie night in the theater room once a week.  There is a library with a fire place, an art room, a game room, and a lovely little garden area that will be nice when it warms up.

Today I found myself a great little quiet space while Scott naps.






I haven't had much opportunity to explore Boston yet.  It's been cold and rainy much of the week.  And the trips to and from treatment take a good chunk of the day.  I am doing my best to avoid driving and parking downtown, so we are taking various forms of transportation each day.  The Hope Lodge provides a free shuttle to treatments, so we've been taking it to the hospital each morning.  That ride is a trip!  I'm very thankful that I'm not drinking here because if I was even the slightest bit hungover in the morning I would definitely hurl all over the van.  Since right now Scott is still one of the visibly healthier people here, we usually volunteer to crawl all the way into the back seat of the van so the ride is rougher, kind of like being in the back seat on a roller-coaster.  The roads from here into town are very narrow and hilly.  We've been catching either the 8 or 9 o'clock shuttle so traffic is pretty heavy heading into downtown.  The driver, Cheresa (like Teresa but with a K) drives that bus like she is driving a little sports car.  She takes curves so tight and so fast, and forces her way into traffic, I just hold on and hope we make it.

Three of the days this week we weren't able to catch her for the return trip, so we took the train.  Riding the "T" is an interesting experience too. The first day I felt like such an idiot trying to figure it out...had to ask for help 3 times.  I'm sure I'll be a pro before this is all over.



We found out this week that after his surgery in August, Scott will have to come back for another round of radiation in September.  We are very hopeful that he/we will be able to get back in here at that time.  This is THE place to be, living in HOPE.

Put on your big girl panties...

Sometimes it just sucks to have to be a grown up.  I tend to think I'm a super woman, but today I had to admit my limitations.  After many tears this morning, I had to admit to myself, and then to my girls, that I am physically not able to make DIVA Fest this week.  The only way to make it work would be pushing the drive up and back in one shot deals, almost 12 hours of driving each way, and cutting it down to just a few days.  That wouldn't give enough days to recover from the long drives, not to mention not allowing any time at home to pack and prepare the house to leave next Monday and be gone for a month.  It just isn't physically possible.  But, I can't believe I'm missing our 10th Anniversary.  So, I'll cry a little more...ok, probably cry a lot more; then probably get drunk...ok, I will definitely get drunk.  But I will do the responsible thing and admit that I am needed for other purposes this summer and I'll do what needs to be done and then life can get back to normal.

Staying home this week is the right thing to do for Scott too.  He has been so sweet insisting he wanted me to get the girl time in before everything started in Boston.  But, I really wasn't feeling right about leaving him all alone during his last week at home.  I feel much better about being home with him this week.

So, I'll pull up my big girl panties and be a damn grown up.
I'll be missing my girls this week; I'll miss dancing to the DIVA anthem. See you next year beautiful DIVA's!  All I wanna do is have some fun...

Please Come To Boston

“Please come to Boston for the springtime.”

Well, she might have said no, but yours truly will be going to Boston for the spring and summer.  Well, at least I hope it is springtime when I get up there.  When I was there at the end of April it was still wintertime.  Surely by the end of May it will be springtime.  Surely.  Maybe even summertime.

“Please come to Boston, she said no.”  I’ve always wondered about that song.  I mean, come on….

“We’ll move up into the mountains so far we can’t be found

And throw ‘I love you’ echoes down the canyon

And then lie awake at night until they come back around”

That’s one of the most romantic lines I’ve ever heard.  How could anybody say no to that?

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Scott has insisted that I go to DIVA Fest next week.  He’s going up to Boston for another quick two night trip by himself.  I felt like I should have canceled the DIVA trip altogether, but he made a pretty big fuss over it.  But I am cutting it short.  Just feel like time is precious.  Especially healthy time.  He might be pretty sick before the treatment is over, and I feel like I need to be with him and help him make the most of every minute. 

Pretty much as soon as I get back, we will be packing the car, shutting up the house and hitting the road.  All three of us as far as Atlanta.  We will be leaving SugarBear in Atlanta with his foster family.
I’m going to miss that cat.  He has become the sweetest, funniest cat I’ve ever known.

I know that leaving him in a stable loving home for a few months is the best thing for him, but damn I’m really going to miss him.  And I worry that he will think he’s been abandoned again.  Poor little guy.  But it just wouldn’t be fair to subject him to the uncertainty of Boston.  And we will eventually end up in the Hope Lodge and they don’t allow pets anyway.  I know SugarBear will be fine, but it’s been a hard decision.  It’s going to be a weird summer, but then our life will get back to normal.

It should be interesting driving all the way to Boston.  I’ll be seeing country I’ve never seen.   It will be a lot of time on the road.  All by myself on the way back.  

I really hope the time in Boston is fun as it can be.  At least the first few weeks Scott should still be feeling pretty good, so I hope to spend time exploring the city.  His treatments will be every day, but only for 30 minutes or so, I think.  Looks like there will be plenty to keep us busy the rest of the time.

So, “Please come to Boston.”  

What else can I do but go to Boston?

“Now this drifter’s world goes ‘round and ‘round

And I doubt that it’s ever gonna to stop

But of all the dreams I’ve lost or found

And all that I ain’t got

I still need to lean to

Somebody I can sing to”

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Hope Is Where The Heart Is (2)

After writing the previous post, I have spent a lot of time thinking about my old friend Lisa.  It may seem funny that I am looking for hope from someone who didn't survive their battle.  Lisa was one of the best, most positive people I have ever known.  To this day, thoughts of her are accompanied by a soundtrack of Billy Joel singing "Only the good die young."  She inspired love and hope in everyone who met her.  When she was at Vanderbilt Hospital for leukemia treatment, she was an inspiration to every single person who came in contact with her.  The doctors and nurses would spend time in her room when they needed cheering up.  Even as they prepared her for the bone marrow transplant surgery from which she wouldn't wake, she was so full of hope and encouragement to everyone around her.  So, yes, I still look to her for hope and encouragement now, knowing that was perhaps her purpose in this life.  I still think about her and miss her, but I know what she would tell me if she was here today.  She would tell me to have an open heart, to love and to HOPE, always.


I've also been spending a lot of time thinking about how this "C" word has actually been more a part of my life than I was giving it credit for.  But, I also realized that my experiences have really been more positive than otherwise, so I find even more reason for hope.  Within my group of girl friends there are 2 breast cancer survivors.  One of those lovely ladies only recently completed her ordeal and came out the other end a survivor, complete with the most amazing positive attitude and love of life I have ever seen, along with a beautiful head of soft curly hair and the new "girls!"  The other wonderful breast cancer survivor is married to a colon cancer survivor, now both in their 70's and healthy and cancer free.


I love that word, "survivor."


While we are drowning in bureaucratic red tape this week, I know that Scott will soon be in the best hands possible.  It really is criminal how the insurance companies and so called medical specialists make you wait and fight, fight and wait, and go round and round before the proper approvals, tests and results can be scheduled and forwarded to the right places... all before the poor patient even gets to talk to the "experts."  All made even more difficult by the fact that said patient is probably scared, a little freaked out and extremely anxious to start getting answers and a plan of action for treatment. 


But, one fight at a time.  I have promised to keep Suzi Bitch under control and only let her off the leash when she is really needed.  My primary role needs to be companion and play mate, and focus on giving Scott something to hope for and look forward to.  I will also learn to be a better nurse/care giver.  If you know me, you know that is not my natural proclivity.  Poor Scott is so patient as I fumble my way through wound care and bandaging...I am getting better every day!  At least I can make him laugh with my inadequacies.  If I can keep him laughing then I am doing ok.


So, as long as we can fight our way through all the sticky tape this week, things get real next week.  The experts are ready and waiting for him at:
http://www2.massgeneral.org/chordoma/


This time next week, hopefully we will be in Boston getting answers and making a plan.  Scott will be a survivor.  I have no doubt.  I have HOPE.  Because HOPE IS WHERE THE HEART IS!

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Hope Is Where The Heart Is

It seems the "C" word has come into my life.  I consider myself fortunate that I haven't been forced to become more intimate with the hated word so far in my 47 years.  I lost a friend and a grandfather to leukemia, and just lost a good friend/fellow DIVA very recently to what may or may not have been cancer...I really don't think they know what took sweet DIVA Sue, it was just sudden and tragic.  And, Dad had prostate cancer 5 years ago.  While it was big and scary at the time, surgery and some basically simple follow up treatment has left him cancer free and healthy.  As a matter of fact, I just got back from moving him and my mom into a new place and helping set them up for the next phase of their life.  So, while it has certainly touched my life, I hoped to never be on a first name basis with any type of "C."

Count your blessings when you can, because life can change in the blink of an eye.

The same week that I was rejoicing in the fact that my parents were finally in a better place, both physically and financially, and the fact that I wouldn't have to spend so much energy helping them and worrying about them, Scott's doctor calls and uses the "C" word.  Well, actually he used a completely unfamiliar "C" word, Chordoma, which Google revealed to be the damned dreaded hated familiar "C" word.

Now, as I begin to prepare myself for this next phase of our lives, trying to study and learn and figure out how to keep Scott positive and happy, I don't seem to have words.  The last words from my old friend and co-worker, Lisa Parker, who was lost to leukemia when she was only 32 years old have been echoing in my head.  So, for now, I will borrow words from someone so much stronger than me until I can come up with my own. 

Lisa's Journal Entry, 8/24/01 - "I have always been a big believer in P.M.A. (Positive Mental Attitude.)  ...It really works.  There are so many people that complain about things and go through life mad.  Those are the people that have it made and just don't know it.  I think that the happiest and most appreciative people in this world are the ones who have experienced trials and tribulations.  And the reason for that is they have known the greatest emotion of all... HOPE!  HOPE IS WHERE THE HEART IS!  If we don't have hope, then we have nothing to look forward to.  And can you imagine what kind of life we would have if there were nothing to look forward to?"

He will beat this and we will make it through to the other side and have a long and happy life ahead of us.  I know and believe that.  I have to.  I have to hope.  Because hope is where the heart is. 

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