In August of 2005, my Dad, who was a Pastor of a small Baptist church in rural Pennsylvania, was behind his pulpit delivering his sermon when he fell to the floor in a grand mal seizure. He had never had a seizure before in his life. My mother had experience with epilepsy professionally, and we brought him back to our local hospital in Virginia. He had a head CT in the ED, which revealed a brain mass in his left frontal lobe.
A brain biopsy told us he had a grade IV glioblastoma, and our lives changed forever. Soon after that day, my dad was given six weeks to three months to live. His story is a long and complicated one. He ended up living for fourteen years with the help of some wonderful physicians at UVA. His bonus time was wonderful, hard, fabulous, and also filled with torture.
We participated in the Race for Hope in DC, and his brain cancer healed fractures in our family that had been there for generations. Brain cancer was both a cruel disease to our family and a blessing. I miss my dad, and I am still heavily involved in searching for a cure.