<div>This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to write.

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>My brother Steve has cystic fibrosis—a brutal genetic illness he’s been fighting since the day he was born. Steve and I share the story of both having cystic fibrosis but our life's journey with it could not be more drastically different. His life has never been easy. But if you know Steve, you know he’s never complained. Through all his trails and tribulations I have never once heard him complain. He has always found a way to laugh, to love, to live.

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>Eleven years ago, Steve received a double lung transplant—a miracle that gave us more time. More birthdays. More Christmas mornings. More memories. But this year, his body began to reject those lungs, and slowly, painfully, breath by breath, they started to fail.

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>He’s spent nearly all of 2025 in and out of hospitals. There have been infections, feeding tubes, days he couldn’t walk, nights full of pain. And through it all, he kept fighting.

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>On July 22nd, he was actively put on the transplant list. Just three days later, on July 25th, he got the call: lungs were available, a match had arrived. Much, much quicker than anticipated. Last time we had 7 months to mentally prepare as that's how long it took to find his match. So this past Friday he went into surgery for his second double lung transplant—a rare and incredibly high-risk operation. The surgery took over 11 hours. Due to being on the bypass machine for so long, his kidneys are now in acute kidney failure. His chest was originally left cut open due to so much scar tissue and blood that they were having difficulty closing him up.  Every day since has been filled with uncertainty.

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>But of course he continues to fight.

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>And while we hope and pray that these lungs will take, that his kidneys will recover, that he will wake up and begin the long road of healing—there’s a reality most people don’t talk about:

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>Healing costs money. A lot of it. What no one talks about is the financial toll that comes with surviving. What do you do when staying alive becomes a full-time job? When healing becomes a luxury only some can afford? That question keeps me up at night. I’ve bought lottery tickets, whispered to the sky, prayed for a way to provide Steve a calm, clean, nourishing place to rest. A space where he doesn’t have to think about how to pay for a motel or if he can afford a hot meal. A place where his only job is to heal.

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>Once he’s discharged, Steve will be required to stay within an hour of the hospital for at least a year. This brings up stress for many reasons. It means temporary housing, food, caretakers, medications, gas, follow-ups, therapy. He won’t be able to work. And neither will the loved ones caring for him.

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>We are doing everything we can. But the financial burden is enormous—and it’s breaking our hearts. Not just because of what it costs, but because of what it takes from us emotionally. Steve has enough to carry. He shouldn’t also have to carry the weight of how he’s going to pay to recover.

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>This is where you come in. The cost of healing is staggering—and it weighs on our entire family like a silent shadow. We’re doing all we can to support him emotionally, physically, and spiritually, but the financial strain is immense. It’s the part of sickness people don’t always see: the quiet, constant anxiety of how to pay for the very things that make recovery possible. If you’ve ever prayed for us, loved us, laughed with us, or rooted for Steve—please consider helping in whatever way you can. Every dollar goes directly to Steve’s aftercare, housing, medical needs, and recovery support. Every share spreads this story wider. Every act of kindness brings us one step closer to giving him the peace and support he needs to survive this chapter.

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>We want to give him a space to heal that is calm, clean, and full of peace. A space where he can breathe deeply. Where he doesn’t have to worry. A space where his only job is to heal and to live.

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>If you’ve ever loved Steve—or me—or this family… if you’ve ever rooted for the underdog, if you believe in second chances, please help. And if you can’t give financially, please share this page far and wide. You never know who might see it and feel moved to help.

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>Steve has fought his whole life for every breath.

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>Help us give him the chance to take his next one.

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>With all our love and deepest gratitude,

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>Jess (Steve’s sister) &amp; Family

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div>#BelieveInTheSteve #BreathOfLife #TransplantJourney #SecondWind #WontYouLendYourLungsToMe #DoubleLungTransplant #CysticFibrosisSiblings

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

<div><br />

</div>

Anonymous

Tracy Titus

Genny Bolton

Eleanor Lind

Matthew Foley

A. Matthew Foley

Carli Lockwood

Daralynn Wright

Darlene Harman

Tanya Quinn

Launi Johnson

Ezekiel Fleissner-Kates

Billy Depriest

Alyssa Kushner

Holding on to Every Breath - Together.

Holding on to Every Breath - Together.

Still $2,125 to go. Help us build momentum.