Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

A recent interview I did with the Boston Globe about what I'm reading, what I've read, and why I read.

BOOKS: Are there any types of books that are especially good for your brain?

GENOVA: Any book that keeps you mentally engaged. I don’t mean jumping around from Twitter to Instagram to e-mail. You want to engage your imagination and the senses. Something that is challenging or immerses you in a world will affect the structures of your brain. You can feel the difference between scrolling through Facebook and reading a provocative chapter in a book. You don’t need science to tell you that.

I created this guide back in 2007, just before self-publishing STILL ALICE and selling copies from the trunk of my car. I was blogging for the National Alzheimer's Association at the time, and we offered this guide to many of the state chapters. Support groups for people with Alzheimer's, and not just for the caregivers, was still a new idea in most parts of the country, just starting to gain traction. For over a decade now, STILL ALICE has been used as a vehicle for conversation, as a bridge for connection and empathy, and as a guide for exploring feelings, fears, symptoms, and different perspectives.

Someday, STILL ALICE will be shelved as historical fiction, and we'll have no use for this kind of discussion guide. Until then....


Still Alice Discussion Guide for Readers living with Early Onset and/or Early Stage Alzheimer’s

1. Alice thinks her first signs of forgetting and confusion are symptoms of menopause. Her primary care doctor thinks that she’s not getting enough sleep. Her husband thinks she might be depressed. What did you, your family, and your doctor attribute those early symptoms to? Was Alzheimer’s on anyone’s radar?

2. In the interest of demonstrating what the diagnosis of Alzheimer’s should look like and of not writing a story that was 800 pages long, I gave Alice a straight path to her diagnosis. In reality, most people struggle to get to a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s, and the journey is typically long and arduous. What was your journey to diagnosis like?

3. When Alice is first diagnosed, she feels like she’s having an out-of-body experience. This couldn’t be happening to her. We then see her go through some stages of grief: Shock and Denial, Anger and Bargaining, Depression and Loneliness, Acceptance and Hope. What did you feel when you were first told you had Alzheimer’s? Have you experienced any of these stages of grief? What stage are you experiencing now? What about your family members and friends?

4. Unable to know if she’ll get the drug or the placebo, Alice enrolls in a clinical trial. Are you participating in a clinical trial? What has that experience been like?

5. Alice eventually leaves her position at Harvard, a job that has been the source of Alice’s identity and status for most of her adult life. Without it, she feels lost and isolated. “If I’m not a Harvard professor, who am I?� Have you experienced similar feelings? Who are you after you lose your job/parts of your self to Alzheimer’s?

6. Alice does her best to combat the progression of Alzheimer’s. She runs, practices yoga and meditation, eats a Mediterranean diet, tries to get plenty of rest, plays cognitive games, and even brushes her teeth with her non-dominant hand. What sorts of activities and strategies do you use to fight Alzheimer’s?

7. At times, Alzheimer’s brings Alice and John closer together and at other times, it drives them apart. At times, it creates great tension with her children, but it also creates the opportunity for Alice and her daughter Lydia to know each other in a new way. In what ways has Alzheimer’s changed your relationships with your spouse or partner, children, and friends?

8. Author Lisa Genova has said that Alice’s speech is “the essence of what people with young-onset and early stage Alzheimer’s want us to know.� Would you agree? What else would you add to Alice’s speech? What does it feel like to live with Alzheimer's?

I met Arthur Cohen and his wife Janet at last year's Compassionate Care ALS gala in Boston. We sat next to each other and chatted throughout the night. I adored him immediately. He told me about being a photographer, seeing Hamilton, and his PickALS project to raise money for ALS--"From a cucumber to a cure." We kept in touch through FaceTime and email, Arthur typing with his eyeballs.

Here's an email from me to him after that gala:

Hi Arthur,

I just said the same thing--how lucky I am to meet and know the most wonderful people through my writing journeys. Spending time with you was the highlight of the gala for me. You have such an enormous, joyful, loving spirit--You are love, and it bursts beyond the boundaries of your body. Loved every second that I got to hang with you! And watching you and Janet--makes me happy teary as I type. I've never had that kind of love, Arthur (I'm still hopeful!). You both are so beautiful to watch.

Ron Hoffman (from CCALS) is an angel and a hero--I'm so grateful that you found each other.

And I love the PickALS! I'll spread the word on social media about them. You do the pickles, I'll write the book, and together we'll make a difference, right? And get to know and love and help people along the way....

XO,
Lisa
PS. If you get more tix to Hamilton, bring me! :)


-----

Arthur died in August 2017. This weekend, while signing books at the Annapolis Book Festival, a reader gave me a jar of PickALS. The reader was Arthur's sister. It was such a beautiful moment and unexpected gift. Here is a link to my favorite video of Arthur and more about PickALS;

Have you seen The Theory of Everything? It's Not Yet Dark? Imber's Left Hand? I review 6 films about ALS here....

So Much, So Fast
This was the first documentary about ALS that I watched. An inspirational and heartbreaking story about architect/builder Stephen Heywood, diagnosed with ALS at age 29, and his brilliant brother Jamie, who became obsessively driven to find a cure. I fell in love with the Heywoods. I wanted to be part of their family and Jamie’s renegade quest.

Jamie founded ALS Therapy Development Institute (ALS TDI), the world’s first non-profit biotechnology company, a place I came to know well while writing EVERY NOTE PLAYED. I met with Jamie and Stephen’s other brother, Ben, in doing the research for my book. They shared the brutality and intimacy, the reality and the hope in loving someone with ALS. If, like me, you can’t get enough of these brothers, Jonathan Weiner pens their story in His Brother’s Keeper. Stephen died in 2006.


Imber’s Left Hand
I LOVED this documentary about artist Jon Imber. As ALS paralyzes his right hand, he learns to paint with his left, and then with both hands held together at his waist. He painted more than 100 portraits in 4 months like this. His determination to keep painting, to keep seeing, to keep loving and growing in the presence of crippling physical demise is awe-inspiring and heroic. His wife Jill said, “What you do at the end of your life is an interesting doorway.� Wow.


The Theory of Everything
I saw this movie about theoretical physicist Stephen Hawking about a week before the Golden Globes in 2015. I was mesmerized by Eddie Redmayne’s portrayal of Hawking with ALS, how he embodied the changes in physicality that accompany increasing paralysis with such authenticity and believability. A few days later and the night before the Golden Globes, I attended a swanky party for Still Alice in Beverly Hills. Before walking through the front door, I told myself to be cool. But the first person I met was Eddie, and cool laughed at me as it flew right out the window. I gushed all over him. I was horrified with myself as I was gushing but couldn’t stop myself. When I was done vomiting compliments, Eddie very graciously thanked me and asked, “Who are you?� I unassumingly answered, “Lisa Genova. I wrote Still Alice.� And then, Eddie Redmayne gushed all over me. :-) PS. The next day, Eddie won Best Actor. #truestory #mindblown


Transfatty Lives
Patrick O’Brien (not Katie’s older brother in Inside the O’Briens) was DJ Transfatty and a filmmaker, 30 years old and living in NYC when he was diagnosed with ALS. He turned the camera on himself, making this extraordinary, darkly humorous, thought-provoking, and inspiring documentary about his journey. “What if my diminishing physical abilities can be inversely proportional to my journey inward? And, more importantly, will there be bacon and unicorns once I get there?� I met Patrick at the Leonard Florence Center for Living in Chelsea, MA where he now lives--unable to walk, talk, or breathe, his creative mind still alive and well, typing with his pupils.


Gleason
This documentary about former New Orleans Saints safety Steve Gleason stirred many big emotions in me. Shot with handheld cameras, this film gets up close and personal, yanking back the curtain, exposing an extremely intimate view of the realities of living with ALS. Both Steve and his wife Michel are amazing, beautiful human beings, determined to live and love with courage and purpose. While Steve is portrayed as a “no white flags� heroic public figure, and he is, I found Michel to be the real hero of their story. My heart broke hard and in many places for her, and I have wondered and worried about her often since seeing this film. Caregivers will definitely identify with her. With his eyes, Steve wrote, “I cannot move or talk or breathe on my own, but because of evolving eye-tracking technology, which I use in conjunction with a tablet, I can do anything an ordinary person can do: text, talk, play music, watch movies, conduct online meetings…� And he can do these things because Michel and other caregivers devote their time, energy, and love to washing, dressing, toileting, and feeding him.


It’s Not Yet Dark
I didn't see this film until after I finished the final draft of EVERY NOTE PLAYED. Narrated by Colin Farrell, IT'S NOT YET DARK reveals the story of Irish filmmaker Simon Fitzmaurice who was diagnosed with ALS at the age of 34. It’s an intimate portrayal of a young family hurled into the unthinkable and unexpected crisis of ALS. Simon’s steadfast and optimistic determination to live, to not give up on love or his dreams is inspiring and uplifting. Because ALS never happens to just one person, this is also the story of Simon’s wife, Ruth. As I watched her take care of him and their five young children, I kept wondering what she wanted, what her dreams were. We don’t see either of them ask or answer those questions. Arms, legs, breath, and voice paralyzed, Simon amazingly continues to live a productive and meaningful life, writing the book upon which this film is based and directing his first feature film through eye-gaze technology.

Chapter 7, baby!!

Okay, what happens next? We need Karina and Richard in the same room again. Actually, I probably need a chapter about her and her life—home, teaching, with Grace. What is unsettled in her and why is seeing Richard again such a necessary risk? What does she want?

I need to work more on her backstory, make her three dimensional, more believable. How does she spend her days? Who is her best friend? A neighbor? What would this person lend to Karina and the narrative—would she push Karina toward a career in jazz? A new relationship, moving on past Richard? Would she be a voice/opinion about Richard? Comedic relief?

The neighbor teaches at Berkeley School of Music and has no classes on Fridays. She and Karina always meet for a coffee or a walk. She’s always treated Karina as a colleague, like a real musician, a status of equality Karina doesn’t feel she deserves.

She and Richard moved to Boston, and then she was pregnant and on bedrest with pre-eclampsia, and Grace was five weeks premature. Richard was always traveling or practicing. She didn’t know anyone in Boston—she had no family to help her with Grace. She had no time for piano, for finding a footing in her career. She blames Richard, Grace, her religion, Boston. But in truth, she was afraid.

Richard’s career rocketed into the stratosphere so fast, a dot in the sky. She felt that no matter what she did, she’d never reach that height. She could see no possibility of success for herself as a jazz pianist that could match his, so she never even tried.

That her own career had to be in comparison to his is ridiculous. The shadow he cast left her in perpetual shade, cold. His huge success made her feel small.

Making a career in music is next to impossible. It’s a fringe undertaking—most people end up playing weddings, bar mitzvahs, in schools, private lessons. But what Richard achieved—it’s the holy grail, winning the lottery, like saying you’ve been to the moon. He’s in an elite crowd. His success intimidated her. Every opportunity felt too miniscule, too unimpressive, too rinky-dink to bother. She convinced herself that her time was better spent raising Grace, supporting Richard, being the good wife.

Okay, so write a chapter with Karina walking with her neighbor, Elise, around the reservoir.

I found these pages from my writing journal, a scene from EVERY NOTE PLAYED that never even made it into the first draft. It has its moments, but I see why I didn’t choose to go with it. What do you think?


Chapter 6, baby! What happens next? No idea. I need to loop back with Karina. At some point, we need to visit her history with Richard. I’m not sure if this happens within a chapter or is a chapter of its own. Write it and see, Lisa!

Love that we finally had an ALS clinic day with Richard. I need to send him back there at least one more time in the book to check lung function. This will be the decision point of whether or not to go on a vent—like where Chris Engstrom is right now.

So what happens next? How do we move the story forward—the story is about regret and forgiveness and healing, so I have to get Karina and Richard in the same room again. Maybe Karina returns to Richard’s apartment--the scene of the crime—with a bottle of wine to replace the one she smashed. That really wasn’t her best moment. She hates that they left things on such a horrible note—a song playing with that single note repeating, haunting her ever since. She should make things right between them, but she’s been procrastinating, afraid to return to the lion’s den, afraid of being devoured.

If she has even the slightest trouble finding a parking spot, she’ll view it as a sign and abandon the mission. But she finds a space straight away. No excuses.

She presses the doorbell and waits with the bottle of wine in her right hand, a glass dish of Perogi in her left. A peace offering. Again, she didn’t call. The element of surprise—why the drama? She’s afraid that he’ll reject her, that he wouldn’t pick up the phone if he saw her number.

So here she is again, unannounced. The day is chilly, windy, and she’s shivering on the top step. Finally footsteps. The door opens. A woman. Glasses, pearls, made-up eyes, bare lips, expensive sweater, tall, gorgeous blonde hair. Karina’s blood instantly heats, her heart burning. Of course he’s with a woman. But even after all this time, she’s still not prepared to see it, to see her, and this woman feels like a sucker punch, a slap in the face.

It’s not even about the woman in front of her. She’s every woman, every betrayal, every affair Karina knew about and didn’t. She was stuck at home with a colicky newborn; home with a toddler with an earache; home with a first grader with head lice—while he was at a five star hotel for a week with some groupie. Or he was rehearsing in the room he used to rent at Berklee School of Music, and he’s “practicing� with a 20-year-old cello student with big tits. She walked in on that one, the image emblazoned in her brain forever. She can’t remember what she had for dinner last Tuesday, but her brain won’t erase the memory of that grotesque sight.

The woman at the door says, “Yes?�
“Um, I’m here to see Richard.�
“Oh, he doesn’t live here anymore.�

OMG. He’s dead. Karina can feel her face go ashen, blood drained, every cell in her body going slack, including the muscles in her hand. The bottle of wine slips through her fingers and shatters on the step at her feet. She looks down. Her cream-colored booties look as if they’re covered in blood. Ruined. And that’s how she feels. Ruined.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,� she says to the woman in front of her, for vandalizing her front stoop.

The woman had reflexively jumped back to protect herself from the wine and the broken glass and the crazy stranger at her front door. Red dots are splattered across the top of her moccasined feet.

“I’m so sorry,� Karina says again. Sorry to this woman, to Richard. “When did he die?�
“Oh goodness, no. He moved out. He didn’t die. He’s just a few blocks from here, at One Charles.�
“Oh,� says Karina, embarrassed and relieved, which she can barely believe.

After wishing him dead for years, here she is, wine-stained and shivering and embarrassed in front of a complete stranger, relieved that her ex-husband is still alive. Go figure.

When Stephen Hawking was diagnosed with motor neurone disease (ALS) at the age of 21, he was told he had two years left to live. Astoundingly, he lived another 55 years with this disease. Average life expectancy with ALS is 3 years. About 20 percent of people live five years after their diagnosis, 10 percent live ten years after diagnosis and 5 percent live twenty years or more.

How did Hawking live so long with ALS? This disease typically strikes between the ages of 40-70. Some physicians theorize that Hawking’s younger onset might reflect a version of the disease that proceeds more slowly and plateaus.

Yet, his ALS did proceed. The motor neurons that fed his voluntary muscles degenerated. He lost the ability to walk, type, chew, swallow, speak, and eventually breathe. Without a trachestomy, invasive mechanical ventilation, and 24/7 life support, he would’ve died of respiratory failure 33 years ago.

Invasive ventilation can, in theory, allow someone with ALS to achieve an unabbreviated lifespan, but living on a vent is typically fraught with difficulties that make a long life improbable. Mucus accumulates and regularly forms a plug that blocks the airway and needs to be vigilantly detected and suctioned else the patient will suffocate. Pneumonia, bed sores, infections, and human error are persistent threats. Life on a ventilator must be constantly monitored and tended to, and so, unless a family member like Stephen’s first wife Jane Wilde, has devoted her or his life to this role, it is expensive, costing $200-400,000 per year in private care. Only 7% of people with ALS choose to go on invasive ventilation, and of those, very few live as long as Stephen Hawking.

So aside from the possibility of slow-moving neurodegeneration and top-notch care, what kept him going for 55 years? I think it had something to do with the will to live a meaningful life.

Most people with ALS become prisoners in their paralyzed bodies, only able to participate in life as passive passengers. A life of adventure, productivity, and inspired purpose is not easily imaginable or achievable.

But Stephen Hawking didn’t need his body. He flourished in his mind. I touch on this in my new novel, Every Note Played, in which the main character is a concert pianist with ALS:

Stephen Hawking is a theoretical physicist and a genius. He can live in the realm of his mind. Richard can’t. He looks down at his dangling hands. His world, his fascination, his reason, was the piano. If he were a brilliant theoretical physicist with ALS, he might hope for thirty more years. As a pianist with ALS, he’s not buying any new calendars.

75% of people with ALS remain intellectually intact. A quarter develop symptoms of frontotemporal lobe dementia. Here, Hawking caught a break. He trained his mind to think without the use of pen and paper, chalk and board.

He did the mathematical equations that led to his discovery of Hawking radiation in his head. In his quest to find a single complete theory that would explain the beginning and the laws of universe, he contributed to ideas, conversations, and advancements in thought on the singularity theorem, black holes, wormholes, baby universes, and more. His extraordinary imagination, curiosity, and brilliance were unaffected by the ravages of ALS, and he found great meaning in living, leaving his mark in space and time far beyond the confines of his wheelchair.

From my writing journal�.

Okay, clearly I need some time with no kids to bang out some chapters. 9am-noon isn’t enough right now. I’m still at the beginning of the book when there’s so much resistance, and I dick around for too long before starting. Man, I really don’t feel like writing today---wah, wah, wah. Too bad, Lisa. The only way to finish this book is to write it, one page at a time. You have to put in the time to get the words down. There is no other way.

Looking forward to connecting with Barbara Shapiro next week. I need a pep talk.

I know the next three chapters, which is amazing. I almost never see that far ahead this early in the story. It’s like having high beams on. So this should be easy—not sure what all the resistance and procrastination is about. Just get to it already.

You need to write a kickass, awesome, beautiful, important book. Don’t be afraid of this story. Tell the truth. Make the characters real and relatable and flawed and trying and wanting to heal and make things right but not knowing how to do it. They keep making the same mistakes (life is such a habit!) and holding back and holding in and holding on to pain and being right and refusing to take responsibility because it’s easier to blame, deflect, look away.

Okay, so chapter 9. How do I begin? Richard is in bed. He’s not tired, but what’s the point in getting up and starting the day before Bill gets here? He can’t do anything. He’s a tourist in his own home, a visitor in a museum where he’s allowed to look but not touch.

There are things he could buy, investments in this disease he could make to make his day easier, better, more independent. Suggestions from his OT—install a bidet, remote control shades, buttons for light switches he can step on with his foot. Richard never had any problems spending money when he was making it. He was often a big spender, extravagant, enjoyed living large and playing the part of a famous pianist. But he also knows how to be frugal. He grew up poor. His father worked in a granite quarry. They knew how to live with little and be content.

But he hasn’t purchased a bidet or the remote control shades or the special light buttons. This is his way of saying FUCK YOU to this disease. Maybe a splash of denial. If he gets the bidet, then he’s admitting he can no longer wipe his own ass. Why can’t he wipe his own ass? He has ALS. So in some weird, twisted neurological circuit in his brain, he reasons, “If I don’t have a bidet, then maybe I don’t have ALS.� Or at least his ALS is a little less severe than it might be if he had the bidet—and the feeding tube and the wheelchair and the BiPAP. All of these investments feel heavy, like he’s succumbing to ALS. Each one is an admission, a handshake, his signature on the dotted line of a contract agreeing to ALS.

He’s not doing it.

It's Oscars season. I love movies and try to catch as many of the Oscar-nominated films as I can before the Academy Awards. So far, I've seen Lady Bird, Three Billboards Ouside of Ebbing, and The Post (all great, but my vote goes easily to Three Billboards). And I can't help but get a bit nostalgic now, thinking back to Oscars night three years ago. I still smile as I remember clutching onto producer and dear friend James Brown, holding our breaths, waiting for Matthew McConaughy to open that envelope and then hugging, laughing, and crying after he read, "Julianne Moore for Still Alice." I think I almost passed out when Julianne Moore included thanking me in her acceptance speech. It was magical, surreal, thrilling, beyond compare.

As I get ready for the release of EVERY NOTE PLAYED next month, I've been going through my emails with Richard Glatzer, the co-writer/director of STILL ALICE who had ALS. Unfortunately, he was in the hospital the night Julianne won her golden trophy. Even though he wasn't able to be in the theatre with us, I'm so grateful he was still here to see that happen, to have that moment, to know what he--and all of us together--helped make happen.

Here's an email I sent the morning of the Academy Awards, Feb 22, 2015 to Julianne Moore, directors Richard Glatzer and Wash Westmoreland, producers James Brown, Lex Lutzus, Elizabeth Gelfand Stearns, and Pam Koffler:


On 22 Feb 2015 08:03, "Lisa Genova" wrote:

GOOD LUCK today! Was thinking last night--if we were all born 100 years ago, none of this would've happened. We are all HERE, NOW. I hope you all enjoy every moment of today, of being here now. SO amazing!

I've been getting an overwhelming number of beautiful notes from people all over the world about your film--too many to send. But this one, from a lovely woman named Beth, came in today, and I thought you might all love to see it.

My love and gratitude to you all! xoxo

Here's the note:

Just came home from seeing Still Alice. For me, this was very close to home. From seeing the familiar face of Lisa Genova in the theater scene, to my mother having the same pillowcases that were at the beach house, to the improving relationship between mother and daughter.

Then the speech - the game changer - for all to hear. That people with AD still have feelings and are able to love and cherish their lives. It was poignant, understandable and relatable.

With my husband seated by my side, I hoped he was taking it all in. Just in case. After all, we have a strong family incidence.

Then, when she found the butterfly video, she was functionally happy, communicating with her daughter, etc., living life. I loved the line in the yogurt shop, "I'm not done yet, do we have to go?" I live that question every day with my mother.

I saw the faithful daughter come home just as I have done - a savior masked in a daughter's willingness. I used to read my writing to my mom just as she did. It felt safe sharing with her. "Nothing is lost." My time with momma has been an investment. The payoff is love.

At some point I reached behind me to the next row and took the hand of a friend who had moved home to care for her mom. For six years. We share a common bond. Just how Lisa Genova reached out her hand to embrace all of us by opening the door of awareness by writing the book. By the way the film was produced to touch each one of us.

This movie will make a huge difference for understanding life with dementia. And hopefully, change the perception of people with dementia. Go see it.

I outline my books AFTER I’ve completed the entire first draft. Is that weird? I begin writing most of my chapters with a question: What happens next? The answer is almost always some version of: I have no idea! Don’t freak out! Stay in the seat and find it!

I begin every book with a set of characters and a neurological crisis. And then I follow what happens to them. This process requires that I stay extremely present, that I open myself to all the sensory and emotional moment-to-moment details, that I inhabit the characters and their stories as they develop, unfold, and change. While writing without an outline can be terrifying, it’s also exciting and at times, it allows for genuine surprise. I ended chapter 23 by writing something that completely shocked me. I literally didn’t see what I wrote coming. I remember looking up from my laptop and saying to my boyfriend, “Oh my God! I can’t believe that just happened!�

So why bother with the outline when I’m already “done?� I outline my books after the first draft so I can see on one page what I’ve got. I can get a snapshot of the pacing, see what’s missing, imagine the graph of each character’s arc. After creating the outline for EVERY NOTE PLAYED, I added three chapters in Karina’s POV—chapters 5, 17, and 20—to give her character and story more depth and weight. The chapter outline by month reveals the pacing and how time seems to slow as this disease progresses. I love that the book begins with Richard and ends with Karina.

Prologue: Richard, 'Miami', June
Chapter 1: Karina, 'Fate', June
Chapter 2: Richard, 'How Many Miles?', June
Chapter 3: Karina, 'This One Smells Like Cherries,' July
Chapter 4: Richard, 'Right Hand Gone,' August
Chapter 5: Karina, 'Family Weekend,' September
Chapter 6: Richard, 'Ravel's Left Handed Concerto,' September
Chapter 7: Richard, 'This is Care,' September
Chapter 8: Karina, 'Walk with Elise,' November
Chapter 9: Karina, 'Lion's Den,' November
Chapter 10: Richard, 'Alone,' December
Chapter 11: Richard, 'God Bless Bill,' December
Chapter 12: Richard, 'Walk in the Park,' December
Chapter 13: Karina, 'Shit Happens,' December
Chapter 14: Richard, 'Why?' December
Chapter 15: Richard, 'Wigilia,' December
Chapter 16: Richard, 'Feeding Tube,' January
Chapter 17: Richard, 'Girlfriend,' January
Chapter 18: Karina, 'Walk with Elise,' January
Chapter 19: Karina, 'Uncaring Caregiver,' January
Chapter 20: Karina, 'I Dream of Murder,' January
Chapter 21: Richard, 'He Picked Piano,' January
Chapter 22: Richard, 'Dr. George,' January
Chapter 23: Richard, 'Dear Dad,' February
Chapter 24: Richard, 'The Brothers,' February
Chapter 25: Richard, 'The Fall,' March
Chapter 26: Karina, 'NOLA,' March
Chapter 27: Richard, 'Wheelchair,' March
Chapter 28: Richard, 'Wanting,' March
Chapter 29: Richard, 'BREATHE,' April
Chapter 30: Richard, 'ICU,' April
Chapter 31: Karina, 'HOME,' April
Chapter 32: Richard, 'Final Notes,' April
Chapter 33: Karina, 'Gone,' April
Epilogue: Karina, 'Free', April