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I was born in the Midwest, and I've lived all over. I don't know where I'm going, nor can I really tell where I've been. But, I'm here now. I guess that's all that matters.


My son, Ethan ("e") has stage 4 cancer. He was diagnosed with a yoke sac tumor (a type of germ cell tumor) in October 2007. At the time, he had one baseball-size tumor near his left kidney, as well as tumors in his liver and lung. His progress has been tracked by the CT scans they have taken at regular intervals, as well as lab draws that not only let us know the state of his immune system (in between chemo rounds) but also indicate his AFP level (Alpha-fetoprotein). In the case of his AFP levels, the lower the level, the better.

Since that time, e has undergone 14 courses of chemotherapy (most of them have been 5-days in duration, during which time he stayed in the hospital--with a recovery time of approximately 2 weeks).

e has also undergone three major surgeries. During the first surgery, they removed what was left of the mass by his left kidney (the mass had already been significantly reduced by the chemo he'd had up to that point) and removed a quarter of his liver (a liver resection). For the second major surgery, they removed another quarter of his liver (another resection). For the third surgery, they "scooped" out the tumor, as well as two additional spots (which turned out to be remnant scar tissue).

After the 3rd surgery and the 11th round of chemo, it looked like e might be in remission. The AFP was down to normal, and there was every reason to hope that maybe the cancer would lay off--at least for a while. But, then the CT scan indicated that he has three new tumors in his liver, as well as the tumor back in his lung. And, then, the AFP level was on the rise.

Some people who learn of e's illness feel sorry for me. But, I reject such sorrow and feeling of tragic finality. I've known enough people who have battled cancer to know that sometimes you beat it, and sometimes it beats you. But, the fight isn't over yet. We fight every day, and we cherish every day. Death does not overshadow the joy in life; instead we make the most of the moments. We are preparing for a long trip to Denver Children's Hospital for stem-cell transplantation, but in the meantime we'll celebrate e's birthday... and we'll celebrate life EVERY FREAKING DAY!

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e's the strongest and most enlivening little boy I know. He is full of hope--with eyes full of wonder at the world around him. He accepts life as it comes, without complaint or question. His smile is infectious; and he always has a "Thank you," a wink, or a kiss.

He is my inspiration, everyday.