A+VERY+PERSONAL+PAGE

=WARNING: THIS PAGE CONTAINS INFORMATION YOU MAY NOT WANT. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK.=

This is a note to my friends, students, and coworkers.


 * 10/13/08** About two weeks ago Mike had an emergency MRI pursuant to his waking up with his left pupil "down and out". The MRI showed that his ventricles in his bain were peppered with new tumor growth. We were told to measure our time in "months and weeks" After the initial shock of the news had worn off, Mike decided "It ain't over 'til it's over." So we decided to change his chemo to see if we could get more 'good days'. The oncologist had run out of rabbits to pull out of his hat, so we were sent on our way with a cheerful "Call me Monday morning and let me know what chemo you want him on. Laurine has been reading journal articles like mad. We decided to certainly go with Avastin and Irinotecan. The question was: what other agents should we use? One of the agents targeting the mTOR (mammalian Target Of Rapamycin) pathway would be a good choice. Which one? Also a tyrosine-kinase pathway inhibitor would also be a good. At long last, having read many articles, Laurine consulted with Dr Nigourney or Rational Therapeutics. Between them they figured Tarceva and serilimus would be the ones to add.

Mike has the Gunfight Behind the Jersey Lilly coming up on the 23rd through 26th. We hope he will be able to shoot.

May God have mercy on us all.


 * 08/20/08** We are all still alive. Mike has been continuing with his Cowboy Action Shooting -- which is still the best advice we have received since Mike's diagnosis. He has attended the monthly shoots out at Norco as well as shootiing at the "Ambush at Mill Creek" SASS event. Mike is slated to hit the John Wayne Shootout hosted by the Chorro Valley Regulators near Morro Bay. That will be Sept 17th through the 21st. He is also looking forward to the Gunfight Behind the Jersey Lilly come October. Mike attended the funeral and wake/reception for Dennis "China Camp" Ming this past August 9th. Our hearts go out to the bereft family and we also celebrate the life and legacy of such an honorable man.

These past months have flown by so quickly. We purchased a wheelchair van from Ability Center in Stanton, CA. It is a Dodge Grand Caravan with a rear-entry Vision (brand) wheelchair conversion. That van has made all the difference in Mike's ability to get out to see the world. Mike has been able to go to movies, to get out to go practice shooting, and visit friends. We have also discovered Games-WorkShop in Westminster. Great folks, great selection, and a large store that lets Mike get around in his wheelchair. Mike has been busily working on his models and planning on joining some of the games there. We have done more together since May than we have done in the previous year all told. ...So, yes, the months have flown by.


 * 02/02/08** Saturday Mike is in the hospital. He was admitted Thursday morning to LBMMC after spending the night in the ER. Trying to get some of his docs to just order what was needed has been like pulling teeth. Some of them are such weenies. Mistakes have been rife this admission. I do not know if that is because Mike was admitted to the adult unit rather than peds, or if we are getting the loserly employees. Granted, there are some great nurses we have had, but many have made mistakes with meds (50 mg of a medication instead of the perscribed 2.5 mg). I have had to use refusal of service more often than I have ever had to.


 * 01/30/08** Tonight Mike is in a bad way. He has a headache to end all headaches, the surgery scar where he had his last operation is ballooned out -- probably due a cerebral spinal fluid leak. Put this together with the fact that Mike has been spiking fevers for the last week or so, but we have not been able to get a positive on any blood cultures or samples. This sounds like a recipe for a meningitis. We will have to take Mike in to the ER to get a spinal tap to get a sample of his CSF. He is lying in a darkened room, his sleeping breaths coming with heavy, laborious effort. This is all too overwhelming.

I do intend to be lecturing tomorrow.


 * 01/27/08** Mike did recover in time for the Gunfight Behind the Jersey Lilly (GBJL). It was three days of GBJL: two of shooting and one of awards. Mike took first place in his category, Stoved-Up Cowboy Traditional -- of course he was the only one in his category, but he did well. He shot all of the two days, even when folks were telling him he had nothing to prove, that he could knock off and just enjoy the vendors and sitting around. Simeon Reno, Hollywood, Black Raven Bob, Jake Reno and the rest of Posse #6 were all very gracious and took Mike under wing to see he had a good time. Check out the photos at Gunfight Behind the Jersey Lilly . Looking back on it, it was the happiest three days of our lives since the diagnosis.

In November a friend invited Mike and I to go shooting at the Burro Canyon Range. As we were driving up there Mike made the comment that he needed to see an optometrist because he was seeing double. A few days and an MRI later, our worst fears were confirmed: MIke had a new tumor on the floor of the fourth ventricle between the brain stem and the cerebellum. Mike still went shooting with the Cowboys at the November 25th shoot, though he had to wear an eye patch to prevent the double vision. Surgery was performed on Dec 4th at LBMMC by Dr Ceverha to remove the tumor. Dr C got all visible traces of it. Mike was on a respirator for about three days and in the hospital for about three weeks. He is still worse for wear. He has a right facial paralysis and some word finding difficulties, even now. As on person said, "If someone sliced open your head and messed with your brain, you'd have a few problems, too." Hopefully these difficulties will lessen with time and therapy.

The Saturday before Mike went in for surgery, we were at Creger Custom Leather (364 So. Tustin Ave, Orange, CA (714) 538-7704) getting a pair of custom made holsters fitted to Mike's wheel chair, when we met a very tall, distinguished looking cowboy action shooter named Sin Killer, aka Pastor Halladay of St Paul's Presbyterian Church in Anaheim. During Mike's three week stay Sin Killer came by four times, to chat, visit, encourage and pray with Mike. Each time he came by, he was dressed in his best cowboy finery -- no guns -- just clothes one could expect a pastor to wear during the 1870's. We do thank God for that meeting at Mr Creger's shop. (We always come away from Creger's better for the visit!) Here is a picture of Sin Killer taken at the grand opening of Walker '47 in Anaheim [|Sin Killer at Walker '47]


 * 10/24/07** Mike has been pretty ill these past two days. I hope he can recover in time for the Gunfight Behind the Jersey Lilly.

Later, at the gas station, Mike asked why I always closed the door to the car when i hopped out to fill the tank. I told him I was just trying to protect him from the gasoline fumes -- you know, health warnings and such. Mike says, "Good point. You gotta protect me from those carcinogens."
 * 10/18/07** Mike WALKED today! At physical therapy, Mike used the parallel bars to support himself and he walked -- actually moved his right leg on his own. It had to be swung from the hip, but he moved the right leg by himself.

Tumor be damned, paralysis be damned. Mike is going to compete. He will participate for better or worse. The good folks at Walker '47 in Anaheim have been very supportive of Mike. May heaven bless proprietors Simeon Reno and Nasty Nick, and gunsmith par exellence Mr Bob Shaw.
 * 10/3/07** It is official: Mike is going to compete in the Gunfight Behind the Jersey Lilly -- a cowboy action shooting meet. He will register in the 'Stoved Up Cowboy'. His Single Action Shooting Society alias is 'T. humorStone' Say it fast, its TumorStone. The folks hosting the GBJL are The Cowboys, check their site out at [|http://thecowboys.org/.]

Star Steakhouse and Saloon, at PCH and Westminster. The dinner was a success. The good folks at Lone Star were able to accomodate Mike's wheelchair, and served up a tasty dinner. Though Mike did not gorge himself, he was able to get in some steak, crab legs, and a dinner roll.

The dinner was a much needed encouragement and sign of progress. The week started out with the discovery on Sunday that Mike's rabbit, Cheshire - the Rabbit of the Apocalypse, had died. We suspect it had something to do with the thunder shower Saturday night in that we had a few thunder claps that sounded like folks were knocking on the walls with a wrecking ball. The good rabbit was laid to rest with all rites and honors due an apocalyptic lagomorph.

Mike is currently hospitalized. His last hospitalization, July 29 through Sep 6, for in-patient physical and occupational therapy, did wonders for him in terms of his ability to move, transfer from wheelchair, etc. Unfortunately it also gave him a Methacillin Restistant Staph Aureus (MRSA) infection. MRSA is one of those bugs that is just darn hard to get rid of. Mike's MRSA infected, recently infected his Hickman line (see [|NIH PDF on Hickmans]). Monday, the 17th Mike had to be hospitalized for antibiotic treatment and the removal of the Hickman, and a couple of other issues that might-or-might-not be related to the MRSA. Mike is okay at this point -- justed irritated at having to be in the hospital so soon after he was discharged.
 * 9/19/07** There has been a significant gap since my last posting. I will fill that in later.


 * 3/19/07** On 3/16/07 Mike had an MRI and his chemo at LBMMC. The MRI showed that the tumor is stable, neither growing nor shrinking. We had been concerned since Mike had reported new symptoms in his right hand. That the tumor has not grown is good news. That it has not shrunk means we may have to consider adjusting the chemo. Mike's spirits have been up over all. For that we are very grateful. On the day before chemo, Mike received a gift from two students he had tutored awhile back. He was so touched that they should remember him so kindly.

Mike is very much aware of a sense of helplessness and a lack of control over things. Not a real happy state of affairs. He still has nausea from his Chemo treatments -- the last was 2/16.
 * 2/18/07** On 2/9/07 Mike was admitted to LBMMC for the placement of a G/J-tube -- basically a feeding tube that goes though the skin over the stomach into the stomach and continuing into the small intestine (jejunum). He was released home on 2/13. Mike had not been able to keep any significant amounts of food down for about a month and a half. It is due to a condition called gastroparesis -- a paralyzed stomach. Food does not get digested there, it just sits until the body kicks it back out again. Mike had lost 16 pounds in a 4 week period, so we all realized the necessity for the tube. We all hate it. It does give him nutrition, and the hope is that once he is sufficiently nourished, his stomach "will come back on line and behave itself." We could then get rid of the G/J tube.

School starts up again tomorrow. In so many ways I look forward to it. Even more, I want to be here by my son.
 * 1/15/07** One month since the scare. Mike had chemo on Friday, so he pretty much slept the week end through. Though we had trouble with fatigue and nausea, Mike is a fighter. Today he sat on the side of the bed, balancing his own weight for almost 15 minutes. This is progress. Tomorrow, the tentative plan is to try to get him to be able to transfer from bed to the wheel chair using a 'slider board', we have been using a crane/sling contraption called a Hoyer Lift. Mike is moving his feet and legs more and more each day. He wants so bad to walk again. An MRI on Friday showed that his tumor is less enhanced than before, this is good, I hope it is not the effect of his MRI taking place on a different machine. More definitely, the swelling in his brain stem (that had prompted the PET-CT a month ago) is gone.


 * 12/20/06 GOOD NEWS!** Today, Laurine, checked the PET-CT scans herself. There was an error in the communcations. There is still active malignant tumor, but it was not progressing toward Mike's brain stem. We are not out of the woods, but we have not been plunged into a timeline measured in weeks -- yet. Is this an answer to the prayers offered up on MIchael's behalf? I know there are those who will argue the point, but to me it feels like it. Tonight, we had friends coming over to the house. One set of folks brought a Christmas tree for us; folks at church, made dinner for us that was delivered by another friend; and Mike had folks showing up just to say, "Hey". Today, we are truly blessed. My son still has a tumor trying to kill him, but the days -- and friends -- are so precious.


 * 12/19/06** Today we brought Michael home. The advice we received was that we should bring him home and focus on making him comfortable. Even so, Mike wanted to restart the Avastin/Irinotecan protocol chemotherapy that had been working so well. He had his first infusion Saturday, the 16th, he feels better (less neck pain) already, even though he is exhausted. We will fight with what we have until Mike and God say "Enough."


 * 12/15/06** The news today was as bad as it could get. A PET-CT scan showed the tumor was active and growing toward Mike's brain stem. The oncologist told us we should probably measure our time in weeks. My God, how have we arrived at this point? How will we continue on?

It may seem so strange that a call or an email expressing simple concern -- a desire that, if the person could, they would take this trial and trouble away -- is a comfort. Figuratively, when those waves come crashing down around Laurine and I and we feel we are drowning, a hand comes in to lift our heads out of the water - to buoy us up. Mike is taking this all like trooper. He is making jokes and singing songs or parodies thereof. There are times he is more thoughtful, and there is always the pain that comes along to just remind him, lest he be too happy. Twice a day, he is sealed into a thick, transparent plastic tube (It looks like something that a torpedo would be shot out of!), the atmosphere inside is changed to pure oxygen, and the pressure is ramped up. He loves it. A lot of folks get claustrophobic inside those things. Mike lays there doing Koi-fish imitations, moving his lips as if he were talking to the person outside while the person outside is frantically trying to adjust the sound controls to hear what Mike (is not) saying, and just generally making the best of a surreal situation. There is hope and comfort and gratitude. God has not deserted us, nor left us alone.
 * 11/3/06** This week has been such an emotional and physical roller-coaster. The neurosurgeon, immediately after Mike's surgery, shook his head sadly and said "I do not know that this procedure will make any difference." Yesterday, after noting that Mike had regained sensation, that Mike was able, with effort, to twitch a muscle in his thigh, and seeing some of the reflexes in Mike's feet, chirped, "That's great. Motion is only a matter of time!" I realize that this road will be a long one. Mike will need spinal rehab, will probably have to learn a heck of a lot that so many of us take for granted, and there will probably be a lot of twists and turns ahead. But there is hope, and faith, and determination. There are those who come along side to help as well, and those who express there concern and care.


 * 11/1/06** Yesterday evening, Mike was rushed to emergency surgery to relieve pressure on his spinal cord due to Spinal Epidural Lipomatosis, a condition associated with high dose, long term steroid use. After surgery, Mike regained sensation in his legs and feet, but still does not evidence muscle control. We are waiting. There are time when I wonder, "How long can we endure this?" I do not know.


 * 10/31/06** Yesterday, Mike was hospitalized at Long Beach Memorial Med Center for progressive paralysis of his lower body. Mike started radiation and Temodar on in the beginning of September and finished a couple of weeks ago. He seemed to sail through it with only some minor back pain that seemed to be slowing him down. His gait was a little altered, but it did not seem so bad. Mike started having a problem with his knees buckling under him from time to time. Since about July, Mike's MRIs have shown a fat build-up in his spinal column. Looking at his symptoms and the MRIs, Laurine was sure he had a condition known as Spinal Epidural Lipomatosis. Mike was seen yesterday and admitted to the hospital. The doc who saw him laughed at Laurine's suspicions. SEL is too rare, SEL takes years to manifest. Mike could still walk some, but it was pretty sketchy. By 11:00 pm last night, Mike was numb and paralyzed from the waist down. There seemed to be some improvement in his sensation by 2:00 am to 3:00 am, but no more after that. This morning his condition has been pretty much unchanged. His steroid dose, already high, has been increased in the hopes that the paralysis is due only to inflammation secondary to his radiation treatments. He is being moved to the ICU so they can monitor him since the steroids pose a high risk to him. Laurine, is staying by Mike's side. I am keeping the animlas at home fed and will try to resume work on Wednesday.


 * 8/23/06 ** Careful on this one, I am on the rebound from 'a lapse in my composure' and am very bitter right now. Self-awareness is a good thing, right?

School has, of course started again. Mike is taking some classes. This is a good thing. It sure as hell beats sitting around contemplating your own mortality. I have my classes, too. I can at least immerse myself in a lecture for an hour-and-a-half, or two, or three. The problem is, when I surface again, hoping to find it was all a figment of my imagination, this reality is still here staring at me. I worry about Mike and Laurine, do they ever escape it? I feel guilty that for the space of a lecture I have not obsessed over Mike's situation. Have I forgotten him? But what good does my worrying do? This is so morbid. (Was that a pun?) Right now there is so much fear of the future and grief.

It is called 'anticipatory grief.' Much as if, not content to know the train is coming to smash you, you repeatedly stab yourself -- not mortally, of course, to do so mortally is illegal and sets a bad precedent. Now, keep in mind, "the energies of anticipatory grief can be channeled into positive directions." (I imagine a youthful, healthy, smiling, physically fit, exquisitely tailored salesperson beaming those words to me through perfectly straight and whitened teeth.) Perhaps this is the time we should go plot shopping? Casket sampling? Get the best buy on stone engraving. Perhaps we can even scrap-book this entire affair -- prints of lab tests with deckled edges. We could print copies of the MRI's with brightly colored party hats, streamers, and balloons surrounding the tumor. Should we have saved the first I.V. line?

Forgive me this selfishness. I do not write these things to defend them, nor do I express them to offend or hurt you. I write these so that I can get them, hopefully, out of my head. Maybe you can understand.

It is so strange -- it is almost like a totally different landscape. This tumor threatens to define us. It is a damned mass of tissue the size of two thirds my pinky. One of the things that Mike hates the most is that those around him who know what is happening cannot seem to discuss anything except chemo, or cancer, or doctors; those who do not know what is going on make comments about how he is losing hair, or how he is letting himself slip, or how he really looks like hell today. It would be nice for him just to discuss anything other than tumors. Discuss classes, guns, single action revolvers, rabbits, Jeeps, Rammstein, politics-religion-the mideast-whytheskyisblue.....

I am really careening all the hell over the place today. I think I need a nap... or maybe someone needs to shoot me in the butt with a deer tranquilizer -- just keep your distance till I hit the ground and am out, I may kick, scratch, or bite.

Ten minutes to lecture. Take a deep breath and shake those hoofies.


 * 8/23/06** Again, I have not known what to say. Break-neck-speed activity takes place amid mind-numbing idleness and waiting. The feeling is like waiting for a searing electric shock to chase you down the corridors of a maze until you suddenly find a neutral space where you wait for the next shock.

We returned home to California on 5/20. I finished out the semester, Mike waited at home for Chemo. In the ensuing weeks, some progress was made. We had an appt with an oncologist who seemed almost totally devoid of concern about my son. (I have since learned this was not the case, he simply had other concerns during our interview.) Mike started physical therapy (PT) and occupational therapy (OT). We waited on the oncologist. At last Laurine decided to pursue the radiology component of Mike's treatment. From a another source it was suggested we consult another (local) oncologist. Chemo is ideally started anywhere from 4 weeks to 6 weeks post-op. We were now entering June. Can YOU count how many weeks it had been? (Surgery 5/4 to 6/1, 4 weeks.)

We returned to the internet to research further treatments for Glioblastoma Multiforme (GBM), the formal designation for Mike's diagnosis. We learned: the median survival is about 14 months from diagnosis (To my stats students: Why would a median be used here?); the standard therapy of Temodar and radiation results in a statistically significant prolongation of life of a median 4 months beyond the usual prognosis (To my stats students: Do you understand the difference between statistical significance and REAL significance?); the rate of cure is in the neighborhood of 2% of cases. We also learned there are alternatives. We found and contacted Dr Henry S Friedman at Duke University who uses a protocol involving initial treatment with Avastin (Bevacizumab, a monoclonal antibody) and CPT-11 (irinotecan or Camptosar), FOLLOWED by Temodar/radiation to treat GBM. Dr Friedman has had much better results with this treatment than with the standard. The good Dr F invited us out to Duke and arranged to meet with us on Saturday afternoon (6/17) because his weeks were booked solid. We were convinced that Avastin/CPT-11 was the protocol we should pursue. Dr Friedman sent us home with instructions to 1) Contact Dr J. Finklestein, a pediatric oncologist at Long Beach Memorial, with whom he would work; and 2) convince Blue Cross that Mike needed Avastin/CPT-11.

Dr Finklestein was 'dialed right in' from the get go. When he came into the room and asked, I was not sure whether he was seeking info on Mike or quizzing us to see if we knew as much about Mike as he did. He had done his homework!

Blue Cross was another matter. After dragging their feet, Blue Cross denied the Avastin/CPT-11 treatment for Mike on the basis that he had not tried and failed the Temodar/radiation -- much the same way one might tell a person adrift in the ocean that they could not have a row boat until they could show that they were being eaten by sharks when they (the person in the water) used a life-jacket. We appealed the denial to Blue Cross. They upheld their denial. We then appealed to the California Department of Managed Healthcare for an independent medical review (IMR). The IMR ordered Blue Cross to authorize Avastin/CPT-11 for Mike on the basis that it was the only treatment that offered any hope of a good outcome. Mike started the Avastin/CPT-11 on July-6th. Can we count how many weeks post-op?

Mike finished his chemo on 8/3. He had lost some hair and was exhausted. An MRI on the 9th and 10th of August showed reduction in the size of the tumor. Consultation between the physicians was unanimous that radiation therapy - the lightning round, as Mike calls it - is the next step.

Mike looks good. He is taking classes at LBCC this semester. He walks with a cane -- at least it is a stylish cane. Mike suggested that at some point during radiation treatment, after a session, he should disappear into the hospital bathroom, change his clothes to torn, ripped jeans, spray his upper body with green body-paint, and run out of the radiation center yelling "Hulk mad! Hulk smash!!" If we do pull that stunt, we will have to do it before the radiation has sapped Mike of his desire to do anything but curl up in the fetal position.

Why are we on this road?

O God, why are we even still alive?


 * 5/19/06** I am sorry I have not updated for so long. The truth is that I really did not know what to say. This whole situation seems so surreal.

About 80% to 90% of the tumor was removed. There was a little smidgeon at each end of it that was left since removal of those pieces would have risked Mike's life. The pathology report came back as a malignant astrocytoma. When we heard, we were devastated at the news. (Dr Jallo told us in the kindest possible way. He is a good man following his vocation. We have been blessed to have been lead to his doorstep.) What the pathology report means is that we are going to be on this road for awhile. We will have to seek radiation therapy and chemotherapy to destroy what remains of the tumor and to keep it from spreading.

Mike is doing very well. He is tapering off many of the meds he is on for pain control and inflammation control. He is almost back to pre-disease condition. We will have a little physical therapy (large movement) and occupational therapy (fine movement).

(When I look at him now, it is hard to conceive that he still has two little bits of tissue that can wreak so much havoc. Sometimes, it feels like this past month has been some sort of trobled dream from which I have awakened. Then reality hits -- the bottom of my stomach drops, my breath catches, and I have to steady myself.)


 * 5/7/06** This entry finds us in Baltimore, MD. We met with Dr George Jallo, a pediatric neurosurgeon at Johns Hopkins, on Wednesday, May the 3rd. He reviewed the case with us and agreed to do the surgery. The procedure took place on Thursday, May the 4th. Michael sailed through the procedure and was able to wiggle toes and fingers and breathe on his own at the end of it. Everyone was very pleased with his progress after the surgery. We will have to wait on the pathology report to get the full picture. Unfortunately, on the second to third day post-op there were some difficulties, but we hope these are only temporary. I have had to delay my return to school for a day, which I know is a problem for everyone, but both my colleagues and my students are being very kind about this situation.


 * 4/28/06** I think I have aged ten years in the last 24 hours. The interview with the neurosurgeon at USC took place, was promising, but not conclusive. (Not the doctor's fault -- our uncertainty.) The neurosurgeon at Johns Hopkins Medical Center called us to check on Michael. We have an appointment for next Wednesday. If that appt goes well, surgery will take place on Thursday. Looks like we will be traveling. If it does not go well, we will probably head straight to Chicago.

Michael's symptoms seem to be getting worse, but is it the tumor or the medications? We had an MRI this afternoon. The radiologist left before giving us the results. After several gut wrenching hours, my wife was able to get his report faxed to us. **There is no change in the tumor, and the inflammation around the tumor is actually decreasing.** This is **very** good news. The increase in symptoms are most likely medication and activity related.


 * 4/27/06** Today we will go to see a neurosurgeon at the USC Medical Center. After that visit we are tentatively slated to go to Johns Hopkins Medical Center in Baltimore Maryland to consult another neurosurgeon. This is becoming very real and very threatening.


 * 4/23/06** On Friday, April 14th, my son Michael (age 18 years, student at LBCC) was diagnosed with a tumor in his spinal cord. The tumor is located in a very risky area, the C2 to C4 region. (The following is provided so you can see where the tumor is. Click on an x-ray and select the labelled view: [|Radiographic anatomy of the cervical spine]). The tumor was also determined to be intramedullary -- that means it is //inside// the spinal cord, not just on the surface or next to it. There was a lot of inflammation around the tumor and this was causing Mike numbness and weakness in his arm and pain in his neck.

Mike was admitted to the neurology service on the 4th floor of LBMMC. They started him on Decadron, a steroid to reduce the inflammation around the tumor. He was so improved by Sunday, April 16th, that we were able to bring him home. Unfortunately, now, April 22nd, the symptoms are beginning to return. This is a very frightening time. Right now, our primary focus is on finding the best place and best person to remove the tumor. Life is not very fun. It is a labyrinth of referrals and confusion, sending emails, FEDEXing MRI's and records. Things are further complicated in that there is a big neurology conference taking place in San Francisco right now, so many surgeons are away and not seeing patients.

Please bear with me in the coming weeks if I am out-of-sorts or distracted. Please forgive me if I have to leave town without warning. I will do my best to provide continuity for my classes. These last four weeks may not be the smoothest.

If you are willing to pray for Michael, I would appreciate your prayers. If you are a student of mine: No, you do not get extra credit for your prayers.