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PITTSBURGH (AP) — Terminal cancer doesn't stop high school sweethearts from making vows Chris Togneri By Chris Togneri ? ' Saturday, Feb. 27, 2016, 11:30 p.m. Updated 2 hours ago The young groom paces in the sacristy. He adjusts his suit, which hangs loosely from his gaunt frame. A large binder clip — like the ones used to hold reams of paper together — cinches his pants at the waist, to make them smaller. The young bride pulls a shawl over her shoulders. In a room below the church, she giggles with friends and touches up her makeup. She looks beautiful, full of life and optimism, despite everything. Family and friends wait in the church. Nearly 200 have come to witness this union and, as the moment draws near, they turn and stare up the aisle, anticipating. Finally, it begins. Luke Blanock comes into view, his bald head shining under the bright overheads. His limp is pronounced, but it's not nearly as noticeable as his smile. He takes his place in front of the altar. Natalie Britvich holds her father's arm. She feels weak. From the moment she and Luke fell in love, they knew this day would come. Just not this soon. She thinks she might faint. But as she enters the sanctuary and sees him, she, too, smiles. "Today is sort of a graduation day," the priest says. "You are leaving adolescence and entering adulthood. You won't be kids anymore. You will be husband and wife." Facing the priest Feb. 19 in St. Mary Catholic Church in Cecil, Luke and Natalie, both 18, turn their heads and look into each other's eyes. They cannot stop shaking. ___ I'm not marrying you just to make you a widow. I'm not giving up hope for one second, no matter what the doctors say. I'm going to fight. — Luke ___ The first sign was in December 2013. Luke, tall and strong, was a two-sport standout at Canon-McMillan High School, lettering in baseball and basketball. One night, he woke up with severe pain in his legs and back. His family thought it might be a pinched nerve. They first went to Canonsburg General Hospital, then Children's Hospital in Pittsburgh. There were tests, scans and hours of waiting. Then doctors came with terrible news: Luke had Ewing's sarcoma, a rare bone cancer, in his spine. Subsequent scans showed the cancer spreading to his femur, hip, arm, pelvis and more of his spine. Chemotherapy began at once, then radiation. During the next two years, Luke would have two major surgeries, 28 rounds of chemotherapy and 58 days of radiation. He lost and regrew his hair three times. Not once did he complain. Luke would drive to Children's in the morning, undergo radiation, then head to school and, that night, suit up for a basketball game. If he hurt, he never let it show. "I was always the type of father that, a kid skins his knee and it bothers you," said Luke's dad, Kurt. "Having him go through this — it's definitely been hard. "But the way he handles it makes it easier on me as a parent. If it was hard on him, it would be harder on myself and my wife. And that's true for my daughter as well. People ask, 'How's Katie handling this?' I say, 'Well, she's fine, because Luke's fine.' We all feed off him. He helps us get through it more than we help him." ___ If you would have told me this in the seventh grade when I had a little crush on you, I would never have believed it. Everything just feels very right. — Natalie ___ They were part of the same group of friends, but they didn't date. Then one night in summer 2014, Natalie texted Luke and he replied. They sent messages back and forth until 5 a.m. "That's when I realized that it was something more," Luke recalled. "I realized she wasn't so far out of my reach, which is what she seemed like. She seemed so — oh my gosh, I don't know how to describe it." She seemed so out of his league, but that didn't stop Luke from trying. And it didn't stop Natalie from falling for him. She invited Luke to her family's cabin at Deep Creek Lake in Maryland. They started dating. She knew he had cancer, but the prognosis was good. "I like his perspective on things," Natalie said. "He's very wise for his age. I guess after everything he's been through ..." ___ All the previous scans showed improvement, and it actually was narrowed down to one spot. But on this scan ... I think I took the news well, considering the implications. — Luke ___ Everywhere else, the cancer had disappeared. But not from his left femur. They opted for surgery. On Oct. 12, surgeons at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston cut out the affected bone and replaced it with a titanium one. As Luke recovered 1,300 miles from home, he received a FaceTime call from Natalie. Staring at his screen, he filled her in on the procedure. Natalie walked as she listened; Luke watched the background flash by. "Hey," he said after a moment. "That looks like a nurse's station." Seconds later, he added: "Hey, that looks like my hospital room." Only when he saw himself on the screen did he realize where she was. The surprise visit was just one example of Natalie helping Luke through his most difficult days. For Luke, Natalie makes cancer "a lot more tolerable. Just her presence, really." They returned to Pittsburgh full of hope. They had beaten back the cancer in every part of his body but one, and that part was gone. Luke, a fifth-year senior at Canon-McMillan, resumed his studies. Natalie, a freshman at Kent State University in Ohio, returned to school. Thanksgiving approached. Luke went in for scans, to be sure the cancer was gone. It wasn't. Doctors found it in his pelvis, arm, leg, spine, lungs, ribs and a lymph node in his chest. His pediatric oncologist explained the diagnosis. This time, she said, the cancer is not going away. This time, it's terminal. Luke already knew. Even as those around him clung to hope, he felt the tumors growing in his body. He just didn't tell them. ___ He's asking, what's going to happen? They told him: As the cancer gets worse, we'll do everything we can to stop the pain, but you're going to sleep more and eat less. After a while, you won't be able to eat as much and you'll sleep more. Then you won't be able to eat at all, you'll sleep a lot, and — that will be it. — Kurt Blanock ___ The moment Natalie saw him, she knew. "His eyes were sunken in," she said. "That's when he sat me down. We cried a lot. We let it all out." And they started planning. We would have been married someday, they told each other. We would have had the ceremony in the church, the reception with family, the honeymoon with just us. But time was running out. Luke asked for Natalie's parents' blessing, and they gave it. He took her to North Strabane Park, where they had spent hours together watching movies on laptops and talking about the future. He asked. She said yes. ___ Natalie, with each passing day, I become prouder and prouder to call you my sister. And Luke, you make me proud to call my sister a Blanock. While you may be young, your love is timeless. — Jessica Britvich ___ "We figured the sooner the better," Natalie said, "because we didn't know what to expect with his health." Moments after the ceremony, Luke and Natalie ducked into a closet as the crowd left the church. Like the teenagers they are, they laughed nervously and stared at each other. They shook their heads with disbelief. "I thought I was going to faint," Natalie said. "Then I cried, and that made me feel better." "You look amazing," Luke said. He showed her the clip holding his pants up. "I'm so much skinnier now." "Oh, it doesn't matter," Natalie said, brushing the lapel of his suit jacket. "You look good." His prognosis had not changed: His cancer is terminal. Doctors give him a year, at most. But in that moment, all he could think about was the reception, where he would take his bride into his arms and dance. ___ I don't know what I'll do. I'll deal with that when the time comes. — Natalie ___ On Dec. 12, his mom's birthday, Luke and his family went out for dinner. Natalie joined them. Luke, still recovering from surgery, was lost in a medicated fog. He fell asleep at the table. The sight of Luke so weak, so defeated, made Natalie cry. And that broke Luke's heart. Late that night, though he could barely walk, Luke scaled the stairs to his parents' bedroom. When he reached them, he broke down — not because his battle with cancer was too much for him, but because it was too much for Natalie. "It was the one time — the one time — he cried," Kurt said. "And he wasn't crying for himself. He was crying because he saw how upset Natalie was. That was the reason." On this night, though, his wedding night, Luke sheds no tears. Just two months ago, he says, "I was on my death bed, and now here we are and we can talk about the future. I mean, nothing is for certain, but we can talk about that now. And we couldn't before." He doesn't care what the doctors say. Luke Blanock has hope. Hope because he rallied from near-death and made it to his wedding day. Hope because the girl who was once unattainable no longer is. Hope because of what he sees in her eyes when she looks into his. Hope because with her, he can do anything. ___ Online: http://bit.ly/21t6xpc ___ Information from: Pittsburgh Tribune-Review, http://pghtrib.com

Cancer doesn't deter high school sweethearts from vows