Cancer cannot shatter faith, hope, or peace. It cannot destroy courage or erode confidence.


Yeah - and I have a bridge in London that I'd love to sell you, real cheap. Truth: That's a load of crap. Cancer can eat up all of that. Let's be real about this: none of that mushy, put a positive spin on a turd, bunch of bologna. Cancer sucks. Period. It just sucks. It eats away at everything, and anything, and everyone. It causes pain, hurt, anguish, sadness, misery, loneliness, and an endless sense of fear. It creates financial burdens, crumbles years of plans, and gobbles up futures.

This page is for my wife who, on July 17th, 2013 heard that dreadful word. Cancer.


In January of 2014, we then heard the words every cancer patient and their families pray to hear: "There is no cancer. You are cancer free". We spent 2 years riding that wave, enjoying life, loving our families...and always holding our breath. Cancer families always hold their breath you see. Waiting for the results of that next PET scan, the next MRI, and the next ultrasound.
....and then...those dreaded words returned in May of 2016

The last three and a half years have been a journey in which we have experienced all the words mentioned above. But, in the midst of it all, there has ALWAYS been hope, and love (so much love), promise, and the most wonderful memories all bundled up in the middle of that C word. She always fought it. Beating it back. Refusing to quit. She fights still. Never once has she ever given up, or said "I can't" or "it's too hard". She has endured numerous, painful surgeries, toxic chemotherapies, the burns of radiation after radiation after radiation, trial treatments bearing oodles of hope without a single promise of success, ablations, ports, infusions, and then there are the slew of medical words and terminologies once never heard of that are now part of our everyday vocabulary.

But let me back up. Let me back up to who my wife was. To who Laurie Holt was. To the amazing person she was, and still is, prior to that dreadful news.

Laurie will proudly claim that she is the 9th born child in a family of 16 children. They were born to a beautiful family, financially struggling, with a house filled to the brim with love, laughter, and generosity. She will tell you, "I never knew I was poor" as there was always good food on the table, a roof over her head and enough love to spread around to not only her 15 siblings, but also enough to spill out to many other children in any sort of need. Sometimes that need was just an ear to listen over a cup of coffee, and other times, it was a bed and a meal and a safe place to go. Most of those children have become lifelong friends and are considered, in every sense of the word, family.
That was always home for Laurie.

She was the first girl of her sisters to graduate high school.
She was the first ever female to be granted a boxing license in the state of Maine, signed by our then and now Senator, Susan Collins. She fought with courage and dignity, right into being the holder of the International Women's World Boxing Championship at a tender age of 23. She retired undefeated,

She marched in many political arens, fighting for the rights of women, for the rights of children, and most notably, for the rights of gay, lesbian and transgender persons. Many of the liberties that we now take for granted were the thigs that she personally marched for, spoke for, was assaulted for, was harassed for and was applauded for. We as women, owe her a lot.

Since the return of her cancer in May of 2015, she has done nothing but fight. She has accepted every form of treatment, never once complaining. Cry? Express fear? Sadness? Confusion? Denial? Absolutely. These emotions lived in us daily and live in us now. But love and hope and the joy that can be found in the simplest of things are also there. Sunlight on your face. A warm breeze through an open window. The soft, warm hugs of family and friends, the sounds of children laughing from across the street: all of these things are with us every day. The words from a loved one hundreds of miles away are what sustain us. The hopes and dreams expressed by those around are in our souls and the memories shared by all the years of friendships keep smiles on our faces and love in our hearts.



You see, in October of 2015, we sold virtually everything we had: our home, our vehicles, and decades of belongings. We held our families tightly and celebrated what we had. We spoke to doctors and researched all that we could find and, with many second thoughts and questions about whether or not we were doing the right thing, we loaded up what little we had left, kissed all of our loved ones (ALL of whom live in Maine) and we moved to Florida in hopes of finding greater treatment options.

What we found in Florida was far from what we had hoped for. When we arrived here, the first course of action of course was another round of tests. In order to treat the cancer, doctors had to know exactly where it was and how much of it there was. That would allow them the ability to specifically target her specific cancer. We were hopeful. Maybe here, there would be more options - the large brunt of our reasoning in leaving all we knew and loved was tied into the possibilities for a longer life, a stronger life, and hopefully, a cancer free life. The trepidation of waiting through another testing period was something we had become used to. When the test results were finally back, doctors, though holding a myriad of treatment options, had none for her. The cancer had gone too far, had spread too much and we were told further treatments would do more harm than good. We were literally told, "Take a vacation - go on a cruise - do the things you want to do, while you still have time.
Time

When you're young, it seems to be endless. When you are young and told you have cancer, it is suddenly a very precious comodoty.

My wife, told a friend of the results. Expecting nothing and now knowing the bitter, horrible truth, we decided to no longer spare our friends and family the terrible details of cancer and it's ravages that we heard on a regular basis. We would tell them the truth. All of it. This friend, when told this news, said "Laurie, book a cruise. Go where ever you want. (We had never been on a cruise) We will pay for it all, even your passports (which we also did not have). Do it now. "
So we did. We booked a cruise. Went on motorcycle rides sans the helmets and all the protective gear. We felt wind on our face, in our hair and on our skin. We soaked up the sun. We visited friends who were here. We made new friends. We cried. We grieved. But we laughed and we loved and we tried oh so hard to Live. Live. Another word, like time, that has new meaning when you have cancer. It doesn't mean to simply wake, work, go about your day and sleep all to start again. Live means something different when faced with the terminal nature of cancer. It means, to let go. To be one with everything around you. To absorb the love and light and energy of all of those around you. To forgive. Mostly though, to live now means to accept. To accept what we cannot change. To accept what our lives have become.


And then - more change. This one being at least as hard as learning the cancer had returned. Shortly after Christmas, a tumor, now firmly lodged in her spinal column, compressed her spine and paralyzed her from the waist down. Paralyzed. Seriously? Really cancer? You haven't taken enough already? You're going to steal her life and you're stealing her legs too? My amazing, strong, fiercely independent, very athletic, (world featherweight champion), hard working wife now could not walk. We literally rode the motorcycle one day, and found her bed ridden the next. We were devastated, and accept was a word that we had lost.

But only temporarily. A month later, we are learning. She is learning how to gain her independence back. The seemingly simple things of rolling over and sitting up in bed now are all being relearned with new meaning and purpose. Laurie is so fiercely strong. The word accept has been found again and we are accepting this new life. We want to LIVE this new life. We would change it of course, if we could, but we cannot. This is the journey we have been given. She has accepted it. I have accepted it. My love and true admiration for her are immeasurable in words. I am so blessed to be on this journey with her. It is not the path I would choose, but if I can walk it with her, I will choose it over and over again. She is my heart and soul and she is just absolutely an inspiration. No matter what the hurdle, she is fighting. She is winning. Cancer has done many things to her, and to me, and to our friends and family, but it will not take her ability to LIVE.

So that brings me to the purpose of this page.
We need a van. We need a van that allows Laurie to get her while in her wheelchair, into a vehicle. I am not currently working though I am employed. My company has been kind and generous and they have offered me much time at home, however, the vacation time and sick time has run out. There is not a lot of money on hand. We are now surviving on her monthly social security and it is not very much. The bills have wreaked havoc on my credit so I cannot simply go buy a vehicle. While it is possible I could trade my current vehicle for a wheelchair accessible van, it is not realistic to have a large wheelchair equip vehicle as the only vehicle. The bills are mounting. I don't even open them anymore, I just file them away but they total literally hundreds of thousands of dollars. Much of that was paid by insurance but a 20% co pay on hundreds of thousands leaves a pretty big chunk left for us. And in truth, I want to be home. I want to spend my time with her, and she wants me to spend that time here with her too. We need a little to get us by for a while longer, enough to get a van that is safe and reliable and enough for us to do a few things - go fishing, go to the beach, go to the flea markets, the farmers markets, to be able to visit our friends. We just want to do the simple things. We are not extravagant people and we don't want an extravagant life. I can make a little money go a long, long way. I am certain I can find a safe and reliable van for less than 10k but that is far more than we have. So please, if you have a little to spare, we would be ever so grateful.