Rally for Terry: Fight Brain Cancer Together

UPDATE 11/11/24

The hardest thing, sometimes, I think, is just getting out of your own way. When you’re standing there, caught in the middle of everything, it's like the weight of the world is pulling you down. But Terry—she is so brave. She's moving forward with a treatment plan that we’ve been told is one of the fiercest, the most aggressive ways to fight this: TMZ chemo and radiation, at the same time. This is our best chance. We’ve been given a glimmer of hope, and we’re holding onto that as tightly as we can, because without hope, it’s hard to see a way forward.

Yet the reality of it all can be crushing. The cost of the treatment — between surgery, medical costs, and radiation, it’s well into the hundred thousands, and will be significant even after insurance pays part of it. Additionally, neither of us are able to work much right now, and we’re doing everything we can to figure out how we can afford it. Another significant need is to support Terry’s time with friends and family, which means covering costs for travel and accommodations when friends and family want to be there with her but can’t afford it themselves. Knowing that people care enough to help us shoulder some of that burden has been incredibly humbling. Every contribution is a blessing, and it’s giving us the strength to keep pushing forward. This has introduced a whole new aspect of managing resources.

We hope hope hope Terry will receive Proton radiation, it’s more precise, it targets the tumor with incredible accuracy—only affecting the tumor and limiting damage to healthy brain tissue. Photon radiation, on the other hand, radiates a larger area, meaning that more brain tissue will be affected, which could lead to more brain damage in the long run. The difference between the two is huge. Proton therapy could potentially give Terry a better quality of life, with fewer long-term effects. It’s a hope we hold onto with everything we have, and we’re praying that she’s able to get this cutting-edge treatment, even though it comes with its own challenges, including availability and cost.

Some days, I feel like it's a new day, a fresh breath of oxygen, new possibilities, new chances. On those days, the world feels like it’s full of hope. But other days, it’s hard. Some days, Terry is in so much pain—headaches that nothing seems to ease. And I feel helpless, watching her go through this. It’s a strange kind of grief, knowing that nothing can take the pain away, not fully. I want to take it all away, to fix it, but there are no quick fixes here.

The real question that haunts me in the quiet moments—when I’m not holding her hand or talking with the doctors—is the one I can’t answer: *Will this work?* Will these treatments lead her into remission, or will all the suffering she’s enduring now just be for nothing? Will the side effects be something she can survive, or will it make her life harder? Will it leave her with an even lower quality of life? It’s a question I have to ask myself every day, but one I don’t want to answer. Not yet. The fear of not knowing, of not being able to control what’s happening, can be paralyzing.

But despite all of that, there are rays of light that make this dark road a little bit more bearable. Terry finds so much joy in the smallest things—the support we’ve received from people all around the world, people who are swimming in the ocean for her, reaching out to her in ways I never imagined. And those voices, those connections, they lift her. She lights up when she hears from old friends, people she hasn’t spoken to in 30 years. That’s been such a gift, such a source of strength. It reminds us that love and kindness can transcend all things—even cancer. Every message, every note, every call—those are the things that keep us going.

Of course, the financial support we’ve received is amazing. It has taken a lot of stress away, and we are eternally grateful for every single person who has contributed, in any way, to helping Terry get the treatment she needs. Your generosity, your kindness, it means more to us than I could ever fully express. Knowing that people are standing with us, fighting for Terry in their own way, is something we’ll never forget. It has given us room to breathe when we were suffocating under the weight of it all, and that space—those moments of relief—have been priceless.

So, from the very bottom of my heart, from the deepest part of my soul, I thank you. And I thank you not just for the help, but for the love that surrounds us. The love that reaches all the way out to the furthest galaxy, to the farthest corners of the world. You are helping us fight, and you are helping Terry fight. And for that, we will be forever grateful. We are living in a world that is so much larger than we realized, a world where love and community can reach across vast distances to make a difference. We feel that love every day, and it gives us hope.

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Hey friends,

Terry had brain surgery. Here’s the update: On October 8, Terry and I went to the ER, where an MRI revealed a golf ball-sized tumor in her right temporal lobe. The doctor said it had to be removed, as it was causing her brain to swell after about six months of severe headaches.

The surgeon did a great job, and she is now recovering at home. However, on the day she came home, we met with the oncologist, confirming my darkest fears: she has brain cancer—specifically, a glioblastoma, the most aggressive type. Our lives have changed drastically. Right now, neither of us can focus on our careers, and that's why we need your help.

I write this with a mix of fear, hope, optimism, and tempered realism. You know me, but you may not know Terry. She is the real rock star—my wife of 16 years and my manager for 27. Through her expertise, which I call "Terry Travel Magic," we have toured over 20 countries, performing in places like bomb shelters in Israel, in Gaza at a Girls Day Camp, the Sydney Opera House, and Gallagher's, a lesbian favorite in Baltimore, Maryland, among thousands of others.

From Lilith Fair to the Gay Games in Amsterdam, Woodstock 25, and the March on Washington, Terry has always championed love and inclusion. She helped draft the disability act that ensures wheelchair access on buses, sidewalks, and stages, and she embodies this mission in her life.

Remember the demonstrators who chained themselves inside the Capitol building? That was Terry, fighting for ACCESS and getting legislation passed. She volunteered to be arrested in Washington, D.C. She is the one who gets big things done, and now it’s time for us to put aside our egos and show up for Terry.

Terry is a force of nature, a beacon of resilience and love who has dedicated her life to making the world a better place for everyone. Now, as we face this difficult journey, we need your support more than ever to help cover medical expenses and ensure she gets the care she deserves. Together, we can rally around her, and I know her incredible strength will shine through with your help.

Love Out Louder,

SONiA