One of my children related an interesting story last night. I Googled key words in every which-way-fashion and couldn't find documentation of its source. There's a similar story that originated on the TV show West Wing, but the one told last night ended differently. I'm beginning to think the story is of my son's own invention. I like it. I like it a lot.

A man was walking down the street and fell into a hole. As hard as he tried, he couldn't get out, so he started calling for help. Another man walked by, stopped, and leaned over the hole. The man in the hole shouted that he couldn't get out - that a ladder would be required, and would the man do that for him.

The man looked down at the man in the hole and told him he didn't have a ladder - and suddenly, he jumped into the hole and landed beside the man who was stuck.

The first man was exasperated and said to him, "Why would you do that! Now we're both stuck in the hole!"

The man who'd just jumped in replied, "I'll stand beside you. I'm here to be with you. We'll do this together and wait until someone with a ladder arrives."

That's the best story ever ever for me at this juncture in my life, my illness. I'm in a hole needing a ladder. One hasn't arrived yet, but until that time, I've had all of you down here with me... waiting and supporting me... standing beside me.

While relating this story, David specifically mentioned Kathleen and Wendi from Vanderbilt's Pulmonary Clinic. Shortly after my diagnosis, they jumped into the deep hole of IPF to stand beside me. They've never left my side, made my well-being a priority, bolstered me, encouraged me, soothed me, and given wonderful hugs when wonderful hugs were needed.

*****

Thanks you for getting me through a sore week. My ouchy of disappointment was tender last week.

I reflect back and wonder how and why I lost my footing. I think it all stared on that first day of my transplant evaluation and I saw the really big letters on a technician's screen referring to my prognosis as *END STAGE*. Call me silly, but I think that would rattle just about anyone. My thinking wasn't even close to end stage. I felt pretty good. My emotional health was super-duper, which made the physical health manageable.

Yup. I think that's when I started to feel like I was standing on quicksand.

Last night David reminded me of something important... and this is why it's crucial to always have people beside you while navigating a serious illness. Dr. Lambright, the lead lung transplant surgeon, sized me up by saying, "You're not even close. You're in great shape. Continue what you're doing."

Oops. I'd forgotten his encouraging words. Instead I brought home the words *end stage*. Why do we do that to ourselves?

Anyway, it's a beautiful day on the mountain. I'm going to enjoy it. But I first wanted to thank you all for standing beside me while we wait for a ladder. It will come - I know it will!