Dear Cancer, Since we haven't formally met before, I thought I should introduce myself. My name is Allison, and last week, you tried to take down my dad. And that made me angry. There's something you should know about me: When I'm vaguely ticked off or annoyed, I react like most people. I swear. I grumble. Sometimes I even cry. But when I'm really, really angry--the kind of angry you've made me--I get quiet. I get calm. I get scary. And I get to work. Because here's the deal:

6:00 a.m. has quickly become my favorite time of day, because that's when I get to see my mom and dad's faces and hear their voices. This morning Dad couldn't come to the phone (or rather, the phone couldn't come to him) right away because he was hanging out with his PT team. He got to stand again and even do a little marching in place, but he still hasn't got to the chair yet. Baby steps. He also has a lot less stuff attached to him (so maybe he won't turn into a cyborg afte

Dad is sounding less and less like Darth Vader every day, which, now that I think of it, is kind of a bummer. I should've had him say "Allison, I am your father" in that voice while I had the chance. Although, unlike Luke Skywalker, I would have been neither shocked nor upset by the statement. On the other hand, I have two hands (see what I did there?), so perhaps it's best that I missed that opportunity. Dad FINALLY got to shave (with Mom's help), and made what I consider to

Hey #TeamEric, check out what team member Eli Katz Castellano made us! Cool, huh? I printed it out and hung it in my cube at work. When I look at it, I feel strong. Thanks, Eli!

Carl, Auntie Barb, and I are all safely back to reality--although, at least to me, my St. Paul world of home and work and family seems a lot less real than that London ICU hospital bed bubble. But I imagine that will wear off. I woke up promptly at 6 this morning (really, body?) missing Mom and Dad, so the first thing I did was go downstairs and call them on FaceTime. Dad had just had a lunch of yogurt and ice cream. I told him he's eating like a toddler, but has earned in sp

If the events of the past week have taught me anything, it's that I am an unbelievably lucky woman in many different ways. To wit: Although my colleagues had arranged to help cover my commitments through tomorrow (not knowing exactly when I would be back from London), they still managed to have gorgeous flowers and an absolutely perfect card awaiting me on my desk this morning. All the while being dedicated members of #TeamEric. Have I mentioned I've only worked with this sma

Half an hour before we left for Heathrow, Dad's medical team took his breathing tube out. I got to hear my dad's voice for thirty precious minutes. It was wall-to-wall joy

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I asked #TeamEric member (and top-notch graphic designer) Andrew Tomko to create this for me. When the Germans were bombing the holy hell out of London during WWII, the British government put up posters all over the city that read "Keep calm and carry on." I'm sure you've seen it and other versions, but not everyone knows where the original comes from. Imagine: Going home from work every night not knowing whether it would be a pile of rubble with the remains of your family in

You guys. YOU GUYS. THEY'RE GONNA TAKE THE TUBE OUT TOMORROW. (You probably need a moment to put your phone or iPad down and whoop for joy. Maybe do a little happy dance or hug the unsuspecting stranger next to you on the bus. No, I totally get it. You celebrate. I'll wait.) Done? Okay. So they got 3.7 liters (sorry; we're in England: litres) of fluid off him yesterday. His hands now look like my Dad's hands rather than Mickey Mouse gloves. Dr. McLuckie said, and I quote, "