Three and a half years ago, I booked a family trip to Club Med, Ixtapa. It sounded ideal – an all-inclusive beach resort with non-stop activities for the kids, an easy direct flight from LA and a time change in the right direction. My sister and her own family had gone for years and raved about it. I wanted in on the action too. When I told my sister about our plans, she gently warned me that it may be hard for me to get around such a large resort. I initially dismissed her concern, in part because that’s always my initial reaction when confronted by yet another disease-imposed limitation, but also because I figured (hoped) she was just staying true to her lovingly over-protective big sister self. But after a few weeks of thinking more seriously about it, I canceled the trip. It wasn’t a major tombstone to add to the cemetery of losses, but giving up on a vacation because of this disease was a tombstone nonetheless.