I don't really know where to start. Because I don't really know when the spiral downward began. I do know that things got slowly worse, to the point that we didn't know how bad things were when Lisa ended up getting hospitalized after her blood transfusion last month. The old boiling frog syndrome, I guess. We didn't see that the water was close to boiling all around us.

Maybe we can start with what I consider to be her last good day. Fittingly, it was the Race For The Cure day on May 11th. It meant so much to her to be there, to see friends and family, and to be part of a huge day of fundraising to find a cure for this awful disease. She smiled the whole time, she talked with friends, she even walked up a few steps to address the large crowd!

The rest of that weekend was very tough - lots of coughing, lots of gasping. It was just a couple days later when she got assessed for and started to receive supplemental oxygen. The first couple of days, she would use it when she needed it, but it quickly turned into a 24/7/365 need. So those of you who saw Lisa on May 11, yes, by May 15 or 16, she was on supplemental oxygen all the time.

It was then on May 21 when she was hospitalized after a blood transfusion at Mercy Hospital. She was there for 9 days and discharged on May 29. It was during that time that we were really able to stabilize her symptoms of coughing and oxygen deficits. It truly was a huge relief to both of us that we were able to go home being able to better manage these things, because it had become a huge detriment to her quality of life prior to hospitalization. She also went home with a PleurX catheter in, which allowed us to continue to drain fluid from her left pleural cavity. When we keep that area free of fluid, she can breathe easier. That's a good thing!

However, before going home, we had that chat with Lisa's oncologist about forgoing any more life-extending treatment. It wasn't unexpected for either of us at that point, but still a very hard message to hear. I had done more than my share of online research as to prognoses for some of the advanced stage symptoms we were seeing, and so the shift in terms of life expectancy matched what I had been finding.

Since coming home, while her symptoms of coughing and getting oxygen have been much improved, her mobility and ability to take care of herself has deteriorated. Even in the last week it has changed significantly. She doesn't have the energy to do more than walk from the hospital bed in our living room to the bathroom. And even with that she needs plenty of assistance. Her need to sleep during the day has increased, and she is now sleeping more than 12 hours most days. And her appetite, already impacted pre-hospitalization, has gone to essentially zero. She is taking in less than 500 calories a day, and what she is taking in is only from gentle encouragement from me, friends and family.

While I said this wasn't unexpected, the rapid deterioration has been very difficult to watch for me, her sister who was here last weekend, and for her stepmother, who has been here since Sunday. And of course, it's been tough on Leo too. We waited to share the news about stopping treatment and entering hospice for about two weeks with the Caring Bridge community while we informed family and close friends. But we also did so for Leo, so he could finish 5th grade on June 6 without greater concern in his head. Lisa and I were both able to attend the 5th grade graduation ceremony together on May 31, which was bittersweet: fun and exciting moments to share in together, but with the realization that this would be the only graduation that Lisa would get to see. It's moments like those that bring me to tears the easiest.

We spoke to Leo on Sunday, June 9 to bring him up to speed on stopping treatment and that, without chemotherapy or other life-extending treatments, Mom was going to die. It is and will always be the most difficult thing we have ever had to do. He has been spending lots of time with her, lots of cuddles and hugs, and just being together. He is holding on to hope that a cure comes in time, which I think is just fine. We all need some hope to hold on to at times.

It was only after that conversation that we were ready to share this news with all of you, and I truly hope you all understand our deliberate pace at bringing this news to you. I have been reading all of the comments left on the last post to Lisa (we are through about 35 or so, more to go), so I do want you to know that she is aware of your love. If I'm being honest, the rapid pace of progression over the last 2 weeks has caught me off guard. I share this not to stoke fear with all of you, but just to be honest: I don' t think we have a lot of time left. We might be looking at 2-3 weeks of time left. And that could be wishful thinking.

So when you ask, I'll probably say that I'm doing OK, and that Leo is doing OK. Because it just doesn't feel good to get into the fact that I'm actually doing horribly. No one envisions things ending this way, and it's just really not fair. Not to me, not to Leo, and especially not to Lisa. I've got all the time in the world for Lisa's gratitude, and trust me, I feel it too. And I will live it in legacy to her. But overall, it's just an awful spot to be in, and it will take a lifetime to recover from.

I have been seeing a therapist for the last 3 months, and Leo has for several years now since Lisa was first diagnosed. Let me be clear: we will be OK. We are both strong individuals, and we will lean on each other and our family, our friends, our church community and others. And I know there are other family reading this right now, and close friends, who are getting their hearts ripped out just like we are. And you'll be OK too, as you lean on us.

For now, let's focus our grief and our gratitude toward Lisa, who is and always will be the most special person I've ever met in life. And I got the chance to date her, kiss her, marry her, have a kid with her, and have a beautiful life with her. It just won't be as long as it should have been. I would have loved to have known her later in life.

For now, she's still here, but visits may be hard to come by. She may be very sleepy, and might be more hand-holding than conversation. Please reach out to me directly if you're interested in a visit.

Thanks for your concern, your thoughts, your prayers, for reaching out, and for your love. We love you back. I will use this space to continue to keep you all updated.