'No Surrender'

We've begun Day 4 in Houston, but it seems like we left Nashville weeks ago.

Dori has a bit of the cabin fever, so she's walking on the treadmill in the hotel's exercise room. I ran about four miles in the midday heat yesterday and five miles early this morning. We're near Reliant Stadium, so there is little greenery. The entire landscape is asphalt jungle. I miss Radnor Lake and Percy Warner Park, two of Nashville's gems.

The separation is beginning to wear on everyone. I remember the feeling of loneliness on seven-month cruises in the Navy and not seeing land for 60 days. Today's feelings are similar. The naval commitment was my choice, however; as a single man, I had no family obligations. I knew what I was getting into when I became directly subservient to Uncle Sam. Now, we're making choices that are best for Dori, and that's the way it will continue to be (and the way I want it).

While watching the Vanderbilt baseball game online yesterday, Dori said, "I know you would rather be at the ballgame than here in Houston." I said, "No, that's not true. I want to be here because we need to be with these doctors." She persisted, but so did I. I meant every word.

The shock of the relapse news has abated. Some friends have e-mailed me with words like "keep fighting" and "no surrender." I think Dori has received similar encouragement. I sense Dori is getting her game face on. Mine already is. One thing I've refrained from doing the last four years is having a pity party. Pissed-off parties are fine, in moderation; I'm a fan of steam whistling.

That's the approach, as we prepare to talk to the brightest minds in medicine this week. That, and a whole lot of prayer.