CELEBRATIONS OF LIFE

MEMORIAL SERVICE

JUNE 1ST 2024

10:00 a.m. - 12:00 p.m.

Universalist Unitarian Church

3000 W Richwoods Blvd, Peoria, IL 61604

CELEBRATION OF LIFE

(To Follow) 1:00 p.m. - 4:00 p.m.

The Table

8305 N Allen Rd, Peoria, IL 61615

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CELEBRATION OF LIFE - LEMONT

JUNE 15TH 2024

11:00 a.m. - 1:00 p.m.

Pollyanna Brewing Co.

431 Talcott Ave, Lemont, IL 60439

Obit

Dan Herzing, 47, of Washington, IL, passed away Wednesday, May 8, 2024 at OSF St. Francis Medical Center in Peoria, IL.

   He was born on April 8, 1977 in Berwyn, IL to James Edward and Charlene Marie Karpiak Herzing. He married the love of his life, Leah Ruth Hodel, in Metamora, IL on September 4, 2004. She survives.

   Also surviving are his parents, James and Charlene Herzing; son, Raine Herzing; brother, Doug (Rita) Herzing; sister-in-law, Rachel (Tom McCaw) Hodel; three nephews, J.D. and Nate Herzing, and Logan McCaw; niece, Lexi McCaw; and his father-in-law, Don Hodel.  

   He was preceded in death by his older brother, E.J. Herzing; mother-in-law, Mary Hodel; and his grandparents, Dolores and Alexander Karpiak, and Edward and Gladys Herzing.

Dan studied Horticulture and Education, earning degrees at Joliet Junior College and Illinois State University. He became a beloved area manager for Willamette Landscape Services in Tualatin, OR, from 2004-2016 and a talented freelance landscape designer in Central Illinois the past 8 years.

He was diagnosed with Stage 4 Lung Cancer in 2014 at the age of 37 and went on to live a full, beautiful, engaging life for ten years while receiving medicine and treatments. Dan relished sharing music playlists, trying new restaurants, talking sports, playing golf, and appreciating a fine whiskey. He surprised his wife with countless romantic endeavors and set an example for his son that reflected his generous, curious, kind nature.

Cremation has been accorded.  A memorial service will be held Saturday, June 1st at 10:00 a.m. at Universalist Unitarian Church of Peoria with a Celebration of Life to follow. A Celebration of Life will also be held in Lemont, IL at a later date. Follow Leah Herzing’s blog at LovelyLeahRuth.com for more information.

   Memorial donations may be made to Lung Cancer Research Foundation.

   Dan’s memorial website is available at Deiters Funeral Home where condolences may also be sent to the family. 

DANIEL JAMES HERZING

 

It is with a sorrowful heart but also joyful heart…I share that my sweet husband Daniel James Herzing joined the universe yesterday morning and we see him everywhere now in the trees and blooms he loved so much and the sky that rained so generously upon us through our 20 years together. He died peacefully and with family. Please spend your day listening to music you love and giving yourself in kindness to others just as he did. 

WHEN IT IS CANCER

After a week here, we have an answer to the case of the unrelenting pain Dan has had. It is the once dormant cancer of his spine—industrious cells once again growing, crowding inside the dense bone and stretching, spreading out into the soft tissues surrounding it.

When it IS cancer, it is like we are being lifted from the ground, detached from any root system, left to the whim of the wind like a tumbleweed. Everything begins moving quickly, rolling, flipping, and I feel numb like the dried, brown ball of sticks and leaves. 

As soon as we heard the results of his thoracic and lumbar spine MRIs, I felt that lift—buoyed, outside of my body, disassociated—while I listened intently and still asked questions, trying to understand this rapid change in what had only been 10 weeks. And after the conversation, after Dan and I sat together in silence with occasional thoughts or jokes, after informing some friends and family, the numbing feeling also sank in. 

I walked out into the sun toward the parking garage, gripping my keys as if they were a fiercely solid weight that could hold me down to the ground. I sat inside the hot interior of my car and tested my broken A/C while talking to a friend on the phone. What I remember now was how I carefully focused my breathing as evenly as I could as I talked, letting my throat stay soft and my voice steady. I was going to drive to work and make sure I could have the rest of the week off and then drive home to pick up Raine and bring him back to the hospital to see Dan. I told her we were going to simply explain that the doctors determined the pain was from the cancer in his back and he would need radiation and medicine for it to start to feel better. We don’t know anything more than that for now, so I have to avoid getting ahead of myself.

A tumbleweed’s dead tissue is functional—it is necessary for the plant to degrade gradually and fall apart so its seeds can drop about, deposit themselves, perhaps into a moment of promise that is moisture.

So here is our little family, with Dan getting whisked into more scans, biopsies, radiation treatments and infusions, as we move with him. There will be appointments and a lot of driving back and forth and questions and trying to find answers and changes to how we do things and then changes to how we do things again and what will and won’t be possible at times as we adjust, tumbling along together on a new undetermined path. 

As we roll on, we will be dropping seeds. Hoping our hopes. Thank you to our community near and far …. Please share patches of water. :)

Peace be with you,

It's Official! I'm Going to Graduate School!

                       

It's a dream come true.

PNCA, here I come! 

The virtual school

Two residencies a year

Invaluable mentors

The hard work

***

Thank you to my supporters. You lift me up and help me work hard and do my best!

I can't wait to share more of my poetry and prose with you... Cheers!

Saying Goodye to Cardinal + Finch

My C+F tshirt, boxes made by Grandpa Don in our garage

At the end of 2019, I closed my sweet little business Cardinal + Finch. It was a decision that didn't come lightly. I wanted to throw my hands up in the air and quit all the time over the course of two years, with tears and frustration. But choosing to finally do it was without drama--just a quiet deletion of accounts and a letter to the Secretary of State. 

Showing a gift box used as a keepsake for a marriage

The heart of Cardinal + Finch was giving a gift with love. Grandpa Don built wooden keepsake boxes and I filled them with carefully chosen items for the gift occasion. I know that my gifts touched the hearts of many recipients and gave the givers a sense of satisfaction that their gift mattered--often when it was hard to know what to do for someone. C+F took up all of my time and energy and I really felt like I was the business. Now that the doors have closed, I am looking forward to finding a new part-time job (my barista position came and went in the matter of 4 months) and having time for reading and writing.

My first delivery! Haha

My greatest joy as I worked was creating the product photos and stationary. I captured everything on my back porch with a simple Canon and post-edited with an Instant filter. Playing with the textures of ribbon, flowers, products, and paper. For the stationary, I created templates in InDesign and used Illustrator to play with vintage photos of birds and create labels for the boxes, as well as my business cards. I received endless compliments for my marketing and product photos, as well as the stationary. These things, as well as product sourcing, were my strength. Running a business however, was my weakness, along with a constant feeling of inferiority and doubt. I actually had a really hard time selling my product and pushing my brand, utilizing the networking I did, and getting the business going with mere pennies. I knew that I could push through the doubts and struggles, and I did, until it didn't make sense for me and my family anymore. This is the last of several businesses I have tried to create and operate ... and let's just say if you have Bipolar Disorder, it's really, really tricky to make it work. At least it is for me. It's a catch 22 because a flexible, from-home, creative job is ideal YET the lack of structure and direction did me in. I would love to hear from other people with BD who HAVE made it work!

I can look back and see where I fell short, but mostly I look back with pride and love for what I made and accomplished. I created a little album to forever remember my creations ... You can view it here.

Thank you to everyone who supported my endeavor and loved Cardinal + Finch. It was a lesson in self-belief and limitations, grief, creativity, and community that I will always value.

 

Young Cancer Family Starts Gift Business - We Need Your Help!

{Medical Update: Dan’s shoulder replacement surgery was successful! He is such a rock star; he was sent home the following morning. Like, 24 hours later–In a giant hospital t-shirt that said “get moving,” super tight scrub pants, and no shoes. Clearly, I was not prepared with an overnight bag. He started physical therapy after two weeks of resting and is driving, cooking, and managing his pain well. We are keeping a close watch on his edema for signs of infection but so far so good!}

I developed this little hobby of making gift boxes full of wonderful goodies. I pretended it was a real business and gave it a name, complete branding with developed collections, a web site, and social media accounts (because, you know, I have to go big). I tested the market and the response was actually great! In a few weeks, I have shipped six orders and hand delivered ten. Every week I have had a new client. Not bad for making it all up as I go along.

The inspiration for my hobby was a talented designer with a similar aesthetic doing gift boxes in Portland. I watched her on Instagram for FIVE years, awe-inspired (and jealous) as she took her project from working in her garage to a studio in the city. My innate inspiration is a devotion to giving to others. I actually made my first gift box when I was five –crafted from an old bank check box– and filled it with colorings, love notes, and wrapped it with tracing paper (probably covered in hearts). I made my best friend, Allyson, deliver it for me because I was too shy. It is a great joy for me to build beautiful designs today with the same creativity and affection as I did as a child!

HOW YOU CAN HELP

Because we have a peculiar situation with being a young family living with incurable cancer (yikes! ugh), there are benefits and challenges to starting a business.

The benefit (Yes! There actually is one!) is that Dan became eligible for disability income when he was diagnosed. He started to receive this income when we moved to Illinois and it enabled him to be a stay-at-home dad while receiving a modest income to provide for his family. Because he is a stay-at-home dad, I became a stay-at-home wife! I go to all of his doctor appointments and we hang out a lot. Because I will never look back and regret spending so much time with him. Right? You only live once. So then, the two of us can easily run our business from home, and renting and sharing a house with Grandpa Don (part of adjusting to our income) also gives us a huge garage for storage and equipment. And we get Grandpa Don, who crafts boxes for us and teaches me!!!

The challenge? To be honest, two years after his diagnosis, we filed bankruptcy. Without the excellent credit we previously had, we are unable to get a start-up loan. We have put what few pennies we could into developing our initial gift box designs and marketing them to get our initial clients. Now we are at an impasse. We need a significant sum to take us the next step forward–to making a profit that can be put back into the business so it can grow. As it grows, it will provide a steady income for our family. The current next step involves basic goals — being able to register as a business, purchase significant inventory, set-up e-commerce on our web site, improve our woodworking equipment, and print business cards.

Our goals can be reached because of Kickstarter. Please help our family on Kickstarter!

Kickstarter enables creative entrepeneurs to garner funding to establish their product or business from a community of small and large donors. It is an online service similar to GoFundMe, that allows users to contribute money. However, in this scenario, we are set up for a 30 day campaign and are only accepting pledges because your credit card is not charged unless we reach our goal – $15,000 – by our deadline – April 1st.

And we reward every level pledged! When we reach our goal, you will have helped AND you will get a reward from us! Pledges start at $5 and reach $300. Every pledge receives a gift. Please join the amazing backers we have so far!

Please help our family on Kickstarter!

Medical Update || Spring 2017

Hospital care, having Raine's bag and car seat ready to go for a sitter, dinner arriving in a box

The prelude to winter began with Dan’s hospitalization November 1st. I spent the day wrestling with my intuition that I needed a significant break–things were getting to be too much and I felt super fragile. I talked to the HR manager at work and decided to take a leave of absence for the month of November. I came home and told Dan, only to discover he was developing a fever. I needed to take him to the ER so my abrupt decision suddenly seemed genius. Honestly, I felt like I really couldn’t put a price on the relief I felt to not have to call in and get a shift covered for the next day at 7:00 a.m.

Millenium Park "Bean" photo by Dan

 Dan spent 8 months since April 2016 struggling with recurring episodes of cellulitis in his right leg every month. It wouldn’t have been so scary if it didn’t have the possibility of a deep layer infection (flesh-eating strep for example) or  overall damage to the lymphatic drainage system due to the chronic nature–especially because he has a slightly compromised immune system and he seemed resistant to certain antibiotics. So obviously it didn’t take much for me to get him to the ER at the very first sign of the infection. For crying out loud.

As fragile as I felt that day, you would never know it. I immediately go into autopilot when needed. I examined the leg, called the doctor, packed a hospital bag, woke up Raine and took him to Rachel, drove Dan to the ER, and helped communicate his symptoms, needs, history, and meds to the nurses. Then I stocked up on snacks and drinks that Dan likes and turned on Neflix on the laptop so he could watch something while we waited. I left just before they admitted him at 2 a.m. and returned home to sleep before picking up Raine and taking him to school in the morning. After that, I loaded up on caffeine and packed Raine’s babysitter bag, fed the pets, and returned to the hospital.

I’m not going to lie. I am still traumatized by the first few days of his symptoms, admission and transfer to the hospitals, and the devastating diagnosis we were given. I have a little nip of PTSD, and when I need to go to the hospital, or Dan makes a strange noise from another room in the house, or really, anything seems odd–I am on high alert. I think most of you who have experienced these sort of medical traumas or any other trauma due to death, military duty, natural disaster, or abuse can empathize. Our bodies sense that trigger and we can’t always predict how we will react. It all happens in our bodies so fast. So far, I get super competent and organized. (And then there is a disastrous aftermath where I eat too many cupcakes, cry for days and can’t leave my bed, or drink myself into an oblivion). Or my body releases adrenaline and I mentally have no idea what to do with it. There might be twitching, raging, or crying. Who knows?

Good times in Chicago with brother Doug and bestie Art

NOT TO BE SUCH A DEBBIE DOWNER.

Dan has had a pretty enjoyable winter. The cellulitis hasn’t returned for the past 3 months. He packs in a lot of fun into his schedule when he isn’t down and out after chemo rounds. He is taking full advantage of seeing friends who fly into Chicago, his brother and family, and friends here in central Illinois. Not to mention me and Raine–He gets a dose of us everyday and usually the pros outweigh the cons. Ha!

Also, every three months Dan has scans to monitor previous tumors and potential new ones–it initiates major scanxiety and it’s no joke. Recent bummer news and losses in the small NSCLC community we are a part of further discouraged us recently. However, upon the most recent review, March 1st, everything remains stable.

[High five!]

If you would like to be hands-on helpers, we now have a Caring Bridge account that lists tasks on a calendar as requests for help. Check it out. It’s in early stages but I’m trying to update it daily. My blog posts related to his condition will also be copied to that account.

My MEGA Blog Post

We have enjoyed a beautiful start to Spring here in Carlton, Oregon. Raine enjoyed celebrating Easter with egg hunts, gifts, treats, and time with friends. Dan’s exam and maintenance chemo treatment on the Friday that followed Easter was without concern or change.

For Christians, Easter is a celebration of Hope. I remember learning about Easter’s entire procession as a child in Sunday School. What stood out to me was the palm fronds waved and placed in adoration of a spiritual leader. And then the death of such a beloved teacher and inspiration, to be followed by the mystical resurrection of his body. It was fascinating for me to contemplate as a child, and while I was learning about Christ in a Protestant church, Dan grew up learning about him in a Catholic Church. No matter the dogma, it was a holy week.

As adults, Dan and I don’t attend church. We don’t ascribe to a particular faith. We are teaching Raine what we have passed down as traditions in our families and focusing on emphasizing the central theme. Do unto others. (Don’t be mistaken that this teaching is too simple.)

At this point in our lives, what does Easter mean for us? What does Hope mean for us? A family living with incurable cancer?

Hope can be a very bruised emotion that is absolutely courageous to develop. And it can be stolen from us–how despairing is that moment! When it is taken from us, we starve. But even those of us starving manage to survive! When I feel completely afraid of living, uncertain that I can navigate the moment that breaks what I know and cling to, I seek out those who survived amidst losing hope. I read Elie Wiesel for the first time when I was 17 and the words pierced me for the rest of my life. Because of him, I believe there is never a burden so great that we cannot bear it. For even if we give into the burden, and we are diminished, we bore it for as much as we could, and there is value in that effort, no matter how small. It is a choice we make to carry on, whether or not there is a reward, or improvement. We strive to live, an act that we consider so simple that we can’t accept that it makes us and our efforts no greater than that of an animal. We don’t need Hope to survive. But with Hope we honor ourselves and the process we are experiencing. It is for a greater good. (What is the greater good? Pull up a chair and let’s discuss.)

Dan was diagnosed with Stage 4 Lung Cancer (Metastasized to his Brain, Lymph Nodes, and Spine) 18 months ago. What has been our source of Hope? Sharing our story. This is not uncommon. How do we do it? Every day since his diagnosis, Dan has worn a wide turquoise band reading “End the Stigma.” If someone should point to his bracelet, he can educate them about his cancer. I am writing this blog post. I am sharing our realty as best I can find the words. Because we are more than a diagnosis. We are more than the difficulty we face.

We are you; do you see it?

Our bodies are designed to survive; the rigorous work of cells and their sacrifice, on an un-ending basis every second of every day–their unison that ushers us into each moment, isn’t our biology Love? Such effort! A holy blueprint to breathe and make choices, alive and changing, giving us moment after moment to exist. We are human and so are you. So tell our story. Understand that our story can be yours. Learn and share. Give us more life in the blessing of your words and anectdotes.

When Dan had a seizure in February, his anatomical reality burst into Raine’s bedroom and altered the very moment and memory Raine had of his ‘nighttime routine with daddy.’ I attended to Raine with every fiber of my mothering-being in those moments between seizure, recovery, medics, and an ambulance taking daddy away, while also attending to my distraught husband and reminding myself to breathe, and this taught me: Yes, we live through it. We bear it. We trust what it is given to us and we make sense of it to keep going. Hope was the moment of wishing Raine could make sense of it all with my body next to his. I did not promise him anything. I lay with him in the bed and stroked his head, answered his questions, reminded him I am with thee. And the beauty and joy of hoping in something beyond what we can see is just that— I am with thee, whether I am seen, whether I am in a physical body, or not. I yearn for more compassion in our world because of this simple moment with my son.

Dan has been unable to drive for the past six weeks. This has meant he has traveled to and from work relying upon a co-worker, me, or the county bus system. It switched our lifestyle around. It stole from him his independence but gave him the ability to watch the shift of light in the sky or the hawks rising and diving, and listen to music again with his earphones. He started stalking records stores and talking about music more. He had shows he wanted to see. And our date at the Oregon Symphony for The Planets by Gustav Holst moved us to tears.

......

Which brings me to our decision to relocate to Illinois. Dan’s cancer is incurable. We have known this since Day 1. There are families who receive Dan’s diagnosis and have no time. We have had the extraordinary gift of 18 months to live here and make more memories on top of our already amazing memories we have made over the past 10 years. What a gift!!! We love it here. We love everyone who has been with us in our journey here. And now it is no longer sustainable for us. Dan has worked as long as he has been able to work without his work taking a toll on him, and I have made my island of support work for me until I couldn’t anymore. It is time to change. As many people are learning, the greater Portland area is expensive to survive in these days and our little family was not set up to survive the hit of an asteroid like cancer. I go back and forth about feeling guilty that we weren’t financially prepared for a life-long battle with cancer but everyone is quick to remind me you just can’t prepare.

And after conversations back and forth over the last year, we are ready to begin a new chapter! We will be in Illinois, living in the greater Peoria/Bloomington area. I will have the support of my sister, father, lifelong best friends, parents of said friends, aunts, uncles, and cousins, etc. Dan has friends from college in the area and his immediate family as well as his relatives will be 2.5 hours north. We need them. All of them! It is as simple as that. We are ready to establish a new life and it will be a new lifestyle, very different from the one we have had (but no less beautiful!) to support our son and our family.

If Dan didn’t have cancer would we be moving? No. Nope! Not at all. (No offense, Illinois).

Is it scary to relocate across the country? Heck yes. I can’t even tell you what my planner looks like these days. Lists upon lists. Calls upon calls. Emails upon emails. Appointments, errands, applications.

Is it the right decision for our family? Absolutely. You can’t deny the feeling in your gut and the vision that carries you forward. It’s that Hope thing.

Are we sad? Of course. This is an example of “Adulting.” You do what you need to do even if it isn’t “ideal.” You sacrifice. Things need to get creative. And honestly, our tears will honor what we built and were a part of for 12 years. I predict that there is no shame in balling like a baby when I drive East on I84.

What is our timeline? The goal-said-balling-driving date is June 6th if not before.

At 11:00 p.m. Monday night, an on-call Cardiologist in the ER explained to us that Dan’s heart was surrounded by fluid, and it was so acute that should we wait for the morning to drain that fluid, Dan’s heart would suffer cardiac tamponade, which meant his heart would likely collapse against the pressure of the fluid and no longer be able to pump blood to his brain and vital organs. This was not planned. This scenario had not been laid out before us as a possibility with his cancer–not because our doctors were ignorant, but because they knew it happens but not always, and they did not want to burden us with worry about something that may or may not happen. I did my best to listen to every word the cardiologist said, but honestly all I could say to Dan after the doctor left the room was that he reminded me of a Portland hipster version of Leonard from The Big Bang Theory. We giggled like school kids even though the weight of the world was upon us. I scribbled notes in my lbnb, alongside notes of inspiration I had been taking on writing a poem about the mystic biology of cells.

A team was called in and an emergency pericardiocentesis was performed, releasing a half liter of fluid build-up from the surrounding heart membrane. Dan spent Monday night, Tuesday, and now this morning in the CICU watching further fluid drip out of his chest. When the fluid stops, he will be able to leave the CICU and hang out in a normal hospital room (At which point we will have friends delivering the food of our choice from Portland restaurants!)

When I came to him Tuesday evening, after securing Raine with a friend to babysit, Dan was sweaty and tired in his blue and white checked hospital gown, surrounded by cannula pushing oxygen, dripping fluid from his heart, monitoring and gathering data. I teased him for adding a cardiologist and the CICU to his resume. He laughed, but it still hurt his chest to laugh. He had a grouchy nurse and you better believe that we worked her over and made her happy by the time we were done with her. He watched his usual Travel channel or Food Network channel, read the music and political magazines that I brought him, ate the ICU-mandated cafeteria meals, and snoozed as much as possible in between interruptions for urinating, checking his fluid bag, and chirps or rings from his cell phone. He is still working full-time.

So let me give you a piece of my Hope:

Wednesday we learn that Dan’s pericardial effusion is due to a random viral infection. He receives antibiotics and it is over. If not, then it is malignant fluid and the cancer metastasized to his heart. He will begin using Crizotinib to treat the cancer and he will have a spectacularly uneventful procedure to create a pericardial window. Regardless, he will come home and celebrate his 39th birthday this weekend with Raine, me, and his lifelong friend, Javeed Shah, as well as Jay’s family, in a gorgeous trip to the Oregon Coast. The weather will be stunning.

I will take pictures.

I will write a blog post about it.

Did I tell you Happy Easter?

HAPPY EASTER.

Our 3rd CT Scan

Today we discussed the results of Dan’s 3rd CT scan with Dr. Duffy.

To recap, the very first scan introduced us to NSCLC Adenocarcinoma in all its glory–to me, what looked like splotches of ink and dark blobs inside his chest. Our 2nd scan was the first scan to tell us if “IF” his initial chemotherapy rounds were providing effective treatment. We were pleased to discover –Yes! Dan’s tumors were either stable or reduced in size, including his primary tumor in the left lung. Of course, these are always the results we want to hear! The alternative would be that there are new tumors or existing tumors have grown. The week leading up to a CT scan is torturous for me. I don’t actually even realize it until the few days beforehand (and then I stop being able to fall asleep and notice I am irritable and nervous). It was pure relief to hear today that the cancer is stable. Thank you to everyone for all of your encouragement, positive thoughts, and prayers. We are fortunate that there is no evidence of new growth or resistance to the treatment.

At this point, the reality of his illness is really sinking in during day-to-day life.

Just the last three weeks, we have had to deal with the side effects of his steroid use from his brain inflammation, and the side effects of weaning off of those steroids. He is three weeks past tapering off the steroid, but it is only now completely leaving his system. Combined with very aggressive chemotherapy, it has become tough. He has suffered overall muscle fatigue and especially weakened thighs, resulting in a few moments where he collapses. He has very frequent dizzy spells when standing, so it takes more time to move about after sitting for more than 20 minutes. At this point, he has lost nearly half of his normal blood volume (and is therefore anemic, awaiting a blood transfusion once he reaches the safest level to do so), suffered severe constipation always the two weeks following each treatment, and endured increasingly extreme fatigue and a reduced/limited appetite. On the bright side, we are grateful that his throat sores and thrush have been easily treatable, and that he still has an appetite for much needed nutritious food – fruit, juice, vegetables, and a few animal proteins that will help replace the muscle mass he has lost.

Together with his doctor, we decided to continue two final rounds of this chemotherapy, for optimal results. “Optimal results” continues to be —No new growth, stabilization or reduction. His particular cancer loves to grow and spread quickly like wildfire, and Dan’s genetic mutation (ALK) particularly loves to go to the brain. It is quite The Beast! But so far, treatment is disrupting those plans and our hope is to see a good scan again in 6 weeks and then move Dan to maintenance chemotherapy–kind of like a low grade version of what he has been taking that will work to keep the cancer from progressing. Some stage IV lung cancer patients can have successful maintenance therapy for as much as 12 months on just a single infusion drug –pemetrexed, and this should be the case for Dan as his ALK mutation historically responds well to pemetrexed. Again, that is our hope! And even beyond 12 months! Go Dan! 

We know that the next 6 weeks of treatment on the current chemo (including cisplatin) will be rough, judging by what seems to be a cumulative effect over the past three months. However we are also hoping that the side effects of the steroid will subside. Overall, we do expect him to continue to have the severe fatigue and some discomfort intermittently. His left lung that harbors the primary tumor is still full of fluid and the lower lobe has collapsed. We will have the fluid removed soon and also have surgery to prevent fluid from accumulating again. That will help his breathing and reduce his overall discomfort and risk for infection or complications in his lungs.

We feel like we are in a home stretch now that we confirmed his final two rounds of this chemotherapy treatment. It is going to be tough but we are looking forward to the end result—Getting him on maintenance therapy, seeing his lungs healed from the clots and fluid, and normal, healthy growth of his body’s fast growing cells so that he can enjoy food again and have energy to play with Raine and work more again! I will be calling upon our local helpers much in this next phase, so please use our Lotsa Helping Hands site (sign in to see our calendar of needs). If you haven’t set up your account yet, please do!

Thank you again, to everyone who has us in your thoughts. It matters. It helps. Soon I will share more about that. For now, I am off to bed with the wonderful gift of relief and joy given our results today.