She's two-and-a-half years old, sick with cancer spread to the spine from her brain, and she's sleeping quietly underneath a pink-purple ruffled quilt, her petite features and gentle peach lips unconscious of the college students that right now flood her room. Laney's mother, a slender, young, doe-eyed woman, wipes her wet cheeks as she stands over the hospital bed at St Luke's in Denver, gazing down at the helpless child that is her only. She, her daughter and her husband live in Wyoming and travel a grueling five hours to the medical center for the treatments every week. Everybody's quiet until sniffles accompany our tears. One minute in this necessarily sterile facility; one sobering look at Laney; one conversation with the somber social worker who tells us the prognosis is not good. You too would ride 4,500 miles, and then some.