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In the video posted by the Dr. Marnie Rose Foundation, a doctor at the Mischer Neuroscience Institute states, "We don't have a cure for Glioblastoma as of today, but by doing this, it gives them a mental boost, which you don't get from the drugs. They walk away today feeling encouraged and inspired." I can't express enough how true those words are, how much of a mental boost we received last year from the Run For The Rose, how much encouragement we received at just our first trip to the run. And this year, this year we've almost doubled the number of people joining us for Team: BTHO Brain Cancer- which means we've doubled the number of people that will bring encouragement and inspiration to so many other brain cancer fighters and families. It helps you feel as though you aren't alone in your journey, this run helps so many families, just like mine, realize that there are so many people who are willing to take time out of their day, and money out of the...

Our appointment is done, and we are left with lots of questions, and not a lot of answers. We still aren't 100% sure what Dad experienced on Thursday- it could have been a TIA (mini-stroke), swelling in the brain, or brain exhaustion/fatigue. We really don't know. What we do know, is Dad's treatment (Avastin) can cause mini-strokes and major strokes, which makes us extra cautious about continuing the Avastin. So this round of treatment is on hold, the Avastin that is, as Dad is still on chemo this week, and we will repeat the MRI in a couple of weeks to determine if the images show a stroke occurred or if there is any tumor growth. From there, we will determine our next steps and move forward.  On a positive note, I asked our Oncologist to explain Dad's MRI, what exactly the scan looked like, as when I read the MRI results I swear it's in another language. She said the images appear to be scar tissue and old blood, as the area where the tumor was located is not ...

The call. The gut wrenching phone call when you're miles away that leaves you with tears in your eyes and the feeling of helplessness. That's exactly what happened this morning. That's exactly what changed my plans and left me right where I need to be. Home. I got a call this morning letting me know something was off with Dad, letting me know that all of Dad's symptoms lead us to believe Dad was experiencing a stroke. My heart sank. I was in New Orleans celebrating a friend's birthday, I was miles away and hours from seeing my Dad. So I did what anyone would do in my situation, I booked a flight home and started to pray. The flight seemed to take forever, and for that hour I felt completely removed from it all- I couldn't get a text or call letting me know how the appointment was going or how the MRI looked. I felt helpless.  Numerous phone calls with my family, and I still feel bad for the young man on the plane next to me, who sat so calmly as I was on the pho...

I was reminded once again of those wonderful words: "Coincidence is just God's way of remaining anonymous." As I find it no coincidence that I came across a Facebook page for a woman so bravely battling cancer, and I realized it was the same woman who's open letter I read to Brittany Maynard (the young lady who ended her life after a brain cancer diagnosis), in which I felt as though she took some of the words right out of my heart.  I finally made the connection. I finally realized that the story of Kara Tippetts is one that I can relate to in many way, as I know the fear of hearing "terminal cancer".  Kara so beautifully states, "The world says I should be angry, that I should be shaking my fist at God. But I wanted them to share this story, that suffering isn't a mistake, and it isn't the absence of God's goodness, because he's present in pain." I can not deny my own shaking of fist at God during those first couple of weeks after...

Last week, in the midst of feeling frustrated, upset and just down about Dad's battle, something caught my eye. A ladybug.  It was chemo week for Dad. Which means each night he takes those dreaded pills and heads to bed, praying the side effects of the chemo won't show their ugly face. Although last week, the side effects were coming in loud and clear.  Dad hides the pain and frustration so incredibly well, although I can see right through his response of "I'm fine." He's in pain. He's feeling weak, tired and not well, and that all continues to break my heart.  As I was getting ready for bed, I heard a buzz by my ear and turned to see a ladybug sitting on the wall. I thought this was a bit strange, as I'm pretty sure ladybugs aren't just everywhere in the winter, but sure enough, there one was. I'm such a big believer in signs and messages from others who have passed- call me crazy if you'd like, but they seem to come exactly when I need th...