Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Why I do what I do...
I received this email today and it touched me in such a profound way. People always ask me why I do what I do. Why do you get up and run when it is 8 degrees out on a Saturday morning? How can you run all of those miles? They tell me I am crazy. Well when I read something like this, to me what I do seems so minuscule. And it is the reason that I keep fighting.
I wanted to share this email with all of you to help you all understand why I participate with TNT and why I will continue to do so until there is a cure. You have all supported me throughout my endeavors and I want to let you know what you have done to help keep me moving forward in the right direction. THANK YOU to each and every one of you for everything you have done for me. You all inspire me to keep going.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Two years ago, on what I like to imagine was a clear, early-spring evening, a commercial aircraft departed from a city somewhere in Europe. Its destination: Boston, Massachusetts. On the plane, sitting at the feet of a courier whose sole purpose was to deliver his precious cargo, was an ordinary looking plastic cooler. Inside the cooler, surrounded by smoky liquid nitrogen, were two pouches, each about the size of a plastic sandwich bag. They contained nothing less spectacular than my husband’s future. He was fighting a battle against a virulent and aggressive form of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and the stem cells contained in the bags were on their way to Brigham and Woman’s hospital to be transplanted into his bloodstream.
As the plane flew over the Atlantic, I sat in the subdued light of the intensive care unit, surrounded by the beeping of monitors and my husband’s steady but labored breathing. In a rare moment of solitude, uninterrupted by nurses or doctors, I thought about the moment nine months earlier when the bottom fell out of our world.
***************
During a family vacation in the summer of 2002, my husband, forty-eight years-old and the picture of health, was nursing a nagging pain in the middle of his back, just above his left kidney. Thinking it was “too much tennis” (we were at a tennis resort in Florida and the service drills were killer) Bob spent much of the week lying on the floor of the condo doing a series of stretches to work out the kinks. The pain became worse after our arrival home, and Bob sought advice from our family doctor. “It sounds like a kidney stone”, the doc decided, and said he thought it would pass on its own. But the pain increased in spite of mega doses of morphine, and the doctor ordered a CT scan. On the following evening, the phone rang with the news that there was an area behind Bob’s left kidney containing inflamed lymph nodes. The doctor scheduled a biopsy for the following Monday. I walked into the room as Bob talked to the doctor on the phone and all I heard was “could it be cancer?” I stopped in my tracks. I was stunned by the question which, until that moment, had never occurred to me.
That weekend, Bob went to the Emergency Room in excruciating pain. A surgeon performed a needle biopsy to obtain samples of lymphatic tissue. Our worst fears were confirmed. My husband was diagnosed with highly aggressive non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. He was admitted to the hospital for the first in a series of what was hoped to be four or six chemotherapy cycles that would, according to the oncologist, most likely cure the disease. We hung on to those words as a hope that the nightmare would soon end and our lives would eventually return to normal.
From that moment on, the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society became my ally in the fight to save my husband’s life. I scoured the website for information about his disease, stories of patients with similar diagnoses that were eventually cured (reinforcing my notion that this was a difficult journey with a happy ending), and resources that I could contact for treatment options. We were directed to the Dana Farber Cancer Care Center and Dr. Corey Cutler, a hematological oncologist.
When the chemo regimen proved to offer only a short-lived remission, Dr. Cutler told us about a treatment option: an allogeneic stem-cell transplant. Derailed but not defeated by this news, the hospital made plans to find a suitable donor. The transplant would take place at Brigham and Women’s hospital in Boston.
The Society stepped in to help. The transplant required a month-long stay in the hospital which was two hours away from our home. I needed to be with my husband, but our nine year-old daughter needed my care as well. While I made plans (rivaling those of any wartime Army general) to provide caregivers and transportation on the home front, the Society offered financial assistance for my accommodations at Shannon’s Place (a communal housing facility for families of patients undergoing cancer treatment). It is one of the many ways the funds raised in Team in Training events are used, and to families facing financial as well as emotional challenges from this type of illness, it can be a godsend.
The transplant date arrived. Everything was in place. As we walked into the hospital from the parking garage, I glanced back at Bob. He wiped tears from his face. Perhaps he was thinking it might be a long time before he would breathe fresh air again. Or worse, that he might be breathing fresh air for the very last time.
***************
The cells arrived at Bob’s bedside in late evening of March 28th without ceremony or fanfare. After months of waiting, the treatment was about to be administered as simply as if it were just another bag of red blood cells. Only its pale gold color, distinguished by an almost ethereal iridescence indicated that it was something different; more important.
As the bags slowly emptied into Bob’s veins, the cells began their journey to the heart of the bone marrow where, if all went as planned, they would slowly divide and multiply forming the basis of a new immune system; one free of the deadly cancer cells that resided like squatters, feared and unwanted, and unwilling to leave. It was nothing short of a miracle, this renewal, and our hopes were high that the days and weeks ahead would herald the beginning of a life free from illness and the worry that had become a member of our family.
The miracle never happened. Bob died on the 17th day post-transplant, of complications from of one of the drugs necessary to combat the potential rejection of the donor cells. His transplant showed all signs of having successfully engrafted, and I often think of the irony of such a “re-birth” even as his body was failing and unable to withstand the rigors of the treatment.
In the two years since his death, I have learned to play the role of both Mom and Dad. I spend lots of time trying to be a good example for our daughter and we often ask the question, What would Dad do?” when we are stuck trying to make a difficult decision. Sometimes we even laugh as we conjure up his responses. I have managed to keep our household afloat and some might even say it is thriving. I returned to college and this spring and completed the bachelor’s degree that I never finished. Now I have embarked on the quest to run this marathon.
**********
My husband was a remarkable man. He was smart and funny, and while he wasn’t quite sure he would be a good father (so we waited until he was 40 to have a child!) he was a natural at the role. Our daughter, Mackenzie, adored her father, and she recalls him with a mixture of love and sorrow that she will carry with her forever. Bob was a gifted singer, and arguably the best friend one could ask for. He hated spiders, but I know he would have walked across a forest floor teeming with them to help someone he loved.
Bob endured the ravages of his treatment with grace and courage. He was a generous soul who believed that family and good friends were the true measure of a man’s wealth and spent the months before his death mending a rift with his sister that had separated them far too long. As a result, our family has healed and she has become my closest friend and a loving aunt to Mackenzie. It was his gift to us.
I am not a runner. In the months ahead, as I subject my body to the rigors of training, I will be buoyed by the memory of this wonderful man, and the many like him who have succumbed to the ravages of these debilitating and too-often fatal blood cancers. The marathon will be grueling. Though I know there will be moments on October 23rd when I may believe I cannot lift my leg to take another step, I will remember the quiet grace with which my husband endured his illness. Then I’ll take that next step. Most of all, I will run with the ultimate hope that the dollars selflessly given in his memory by nearly a hundred supporters will make it possible for others to live a life after cancer. A most tender mercy, indeed.
-----------------------------------------------------
As you all know, I began this journey in my life because of Jeff and sometimes I ask myself "What would Jeff do?" There is one thing that always comes to mind, so I leave you with this closing word: ENDURE.
Sincerely,
Stacey Selleck
I wanted to share this email with all of you to help you all understand why I participate with TNT and why I will continue to do so until there is a cure. You have all supported me throughout my endeavors and I want to let you know what you have done to help keep me moving forward in the right direction. THANK YOU to each and every one of you for everything you have done for me. You all inspire me to keep going.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Two years ago, on what I like to imagine was a clear, early-spring evening, a commercial aircraft departed from a city somewhere in Europe. Its destination: Boston, Massachusetts. On the plane, sitting at the feet of a courier whose sole purpose was to deliver his precious cargo, was an ordinary looking plastic cooler. Inside the cooler, surrounded by smoky liquid nitrogen, were two pouches, each about the size of a plastic sandwich bag. They contained nothing less spectacular than my husband’s future. He was fighting a battle against a virulent and aggressive form of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and the stem cells contained in the bags were on their way to Brigham and Woman’s hospital to be transplanted into his bloodstream.
As the plane flew over the Atlantic, I sat in the subdued light of the intensive care unit, surrounded by the beeping of monitors and my husband’s steady but labored breathing. In a rare moment of solitude, uninterrupted by nurses or doctors, I thought about the moment nine months earlier when the bottom fell out of our world.
***************
During a family vacation in the summer of 2002, my husband, forty-eight years-old and the picture of health, was nursing a nagging pain in the middle of his back, just above his left kidney. Thinking it was “too much tennis” (we were at a tennis resort in Florida and the service drills were killer) Bob spent much of the week lying on the floor of the condo doing a series of stretches to work out the kinks. The pain became worse after our arrival home, and Bob sought advice from our family doctor. “It sounds like a kidney stone”, the doc decided, and said he thought it would pass on its own. But the pain increased in spite of mega doses of morphine, and the doctor ordered a CT scan. On the following evening, the phone rang with the news that there was an area behind Bob’s left kidney containing inflamed lymph nodes. The doctor scheduled a biopsy for the following Monday. I walked into the room as Bob talked to the doctor on the phone and all I heard was “could it be cancer?” I stopped in my tracks. I was stunned by the question which, until that moment, had never occurred to me.
That weekend, Bob went to the Emergency Room in excruciating pain. A surgeon performed a needle biopsy to obtain samples of lymphatic tissue. Our worst fears were confirmed. My husband was diagnosed with highly aggressive non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. He was admitted to the hospital for the first in a series of what was hoped to be four or six chemotherapy cycles that would, according to the oncologist, most likely cure the disease. We hung on to those words as a hope that the nightmare would soon end and our lives would eventually return to normal.
From that moment on, the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society became my ally in the fight to save my husband’s life. I scoured the website for information about his disease, stories of patients with similar diagnoses that were eventually cured (reinforcing my notion that this was a difficult journey with a happy ending), and resources that I could contact for treatment options. We were directed to the Dana Farber Cancer Care Center and Dr. Corey Cutler, a hematological oncologist.
When the chemo regimen proved to offer only a short-lived remission, Dr. Cutler told us about a treatment option: an allogeneic stem-cell transplant. Derailed but not defeated by this news, the hospital made plans to find a suitable donor. The transplant would take place at Brigham and Women’s hospital in Boston.
The Society stepped in to help. The transplant required a month-long stay in the hospital which was two hours away from our home. I needed to be with my husband, but our nine year-old daughter needed my care as well. While I made plans (rivaling those of any wartime Army general) to provide caregivers and transportation on the home front, the Society offered financial assistance for my accommodations at Shannon’s Place (a communal housing facility for families of patients undergoing cancer treatment). It is one of the many ways the funds raised in Team in Training events are used, and to families facing financial as well as emotional challenges from this type of illness, it can be a godsend.
The transplant date arrived. Everything was in place. As we walked into the hospital from the parking garage, I glanced back at Bob. He wiped tears from his face. Perhaps he was thinking it might be a long time before he would breathe fresh air again. Or worse, that he might be breathing fresh air for the very last time.
***************
The cells arrived at Bob’s bedside in late evening of March 28th without ceremony or fanfare. After months of waiting, the treatment was about to be administered as simply as if it were just another bag of red blood cells. Only its pale gold color, distinguished by an almost ethereal iridescence indicated that it was something different; more important.
As the bags slowly emptied into Bob’s veins, the cells began their journey to the heart of the bone marrow where, if all went as planned, they would slowly divide and multiply forming the basis of a new immune system; one free of the deadly cancer cells that resided like squatters, feared and unwanted, and unwilling to leave. It was nothing short of a miracle, this renewal, and our hopes were high that the days and weeks ahead would herald the beginning of a life free from illness and the worry that had become a member of our family.
The miracle never happened. Bob died on the 17th day post-transplant, of complications from of one of the drugs necessary to combat the potential rejection of the donor cells. His transplant showed all signs of having successfully engrafted, and I often think of the irony of such a “re-birth” even as his body was failing and unable to withstand the rigors of the treatment.
In the two years since his death, I have learned to play the role of both Mom and Dad. I spend lots of time trying to be a good example for our daughter and we often ask the question, What would Dad do?” when we are stuck trying to make a difficult decision. Sometimes we even laugh as we conjure up his responses. I have managed to keep our household afloat and some might even say it is thriving. I returned to college and this spring and completed the bachelor’s degree that I never finished. Now I have embarked on the quest to run this marathon.
**********
My husband was a remarkable man. He was smart and funny, and while he wasn’t quite sure he would be a good father (so we waited until he was 40 to have a child!) he was a natural at the role. Our daughter, Mackenzie, adored her father, and she recalls him with a mixture of love and sorrow that she will carry with her forever. Bob was a gifted singer, and arguably the best friend one could ask for. He hated spiders, but I know he would have walked across a forest floor teeming with them to help someone he loved.
Bob endured the ravages of his treatment with grace and courage. He was a generous soul who believed that family and good friends were the true measure of a man’s wealth and spent the months before his death mending a rift with his sister that had separated them far too long. As a result, our family has healed and she has become my closest friend and a loving aunt to Mackenzie. It was his gift to us.
I am not a runner. In the months ahead, as I subject my body to the rigors of training, I will be buoyed by the memory of this wonderful man, and the many like him who have succumbed to the ravages of these debilitating and too-often fatal blood cancers. The marathon will be grueling. Though I know there will be moments on October 23rd when I may believe I cannot lift my leg to take another step, I will remember the quiet grace with which my husband endured his illness. Then I’ll take that next step. Most of all, I will run with the ultimate hope that the dollars selflessly given in his memory by nearly a hundred supporters will make it possible for others to live a life after cancer. A most tender mercy, indeed.
-----------------------------------------------------
As you all know, I began this journey in my life because of Jeff and sometimes I ask myself "What would Jeff do?" There is one thing that always comes to mind, so I leave you with this closing word: ENDURE.
Sincerely,
Stacey Selleck
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Race Week!
Quote of the Week:
"If I have the belief that I can do it, I shall surely acquire the capacity to do it even if I may not have it at the beginning." - Gandhi
5 Days till Race Day!!!
Well the time has come. I never thought it would get here, and I never thought I would be doing this, but on Sunday I will be running 26.2 miles with Jeff by my side and in my heart. This has been a great journey and I have all of you to thank for helping make it what it has been and helping raise over $5,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, and now we are that much closer to a cure!
I can't wait to come back and let you all know how I did. I know I will be successful and I will be thinking about all of you when I'm out in San Diego. You have no idea what your generosity has meant to me.
Thank you once again to EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU!
My advice to you all is to start that project or thing you have been putting off. You will be successful if you just put your mind to it! Look at me - 5 months ago I'd never run more than 2 miles - now the next time you hear from me, I will be a marathon runner! Anything is possible. I am living proof of that!
Have a great week!
Stace-
"If I have the belief that I can do it, I shall surely acquire the capacity to do it even if I may not have it at the beginning." - Gandhi
5 Days till Race Day!!!
Well the time has come. I never thought it would get here, and I never thought I would be doing this, but on Sunday I will be running 26.2 miles with Jeff by my side and in my heart. This has been a great journey and I have all of you to thank for helping make it what it has been and helping raise over $5,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, and now we are that much closer to a cure!
I can't wait to come back and let you all know how I did. I know I will be successful and I will be thinking about all of you when I'm out in San Diego. You have no idea what your generosity has meant to me.
Thank you once again to EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU!
My advice to you all is to start that project or thing you have been putting off. You will be successful if you just put your mind to it! Look at me - 5 months ago I'd never run more than 2 miles - now the next time you hear from me, I will be a marathon runner! Anything is possible. I am living proof of that!
Have a great week!
Stace-
Monday, May 10, 2010
Week 15
Week 15: (4 weeks till Race Day)
Quote of the Week: "Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up." - Thomas Edison
Total Miles: 35
Long Run: 20 MILES!
This week I conquered one of my biggest successes (third to graduating from law school and passing the bar) I completed my first 20 mile training run. It was inspiring, rewarding, painful, fun and awful all at the same time. There were so many emotions and thoughts running through my head during my 3 hour 36 minute and 48 second run.
While running with my coach during the last 2.5 miles of the 20 he said I had it in me to finish. I told him that someone needed to tell my legs that they had it in them to finish because it was starting to become difficult. It was then that Rick gave me these words of wisdom.
"Run the first 10 miles with your head, the second 10 with your legs and the last 6.2 with your heart."
Tonight I found an article that spells out exactly what Rick was saying to me when I was finishing my 20 miles.
Marathon Running
Run With The Heart
By Blue Benadum
Jul 26, 2009 - 1:38:04 PM
LOS ANGELES—It’s mile five before you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into. The sun is rising and the temperature feels like it will remain cool enough for you to maintain your current pace, as long as your legs hold up. It’s the part of the race when you start to repeat the mantra, “first 10 miles with your head.” It’s time to conserve your energy and run smart so you have energy reserves later.
Mile 10 passes by and now you tell yourself, “The race has begun. Run the next 10 miles with your legs.” It’s okay to let it go a bit and count on the training you’ve put in for this moment. Your next 10 miles will be run with the power and conditioning of your legs. As mile marker 13.1 flies by, you think “it's downhill from here.”
Hydrating as you run through the next water stop, you gauge your pace and check in with your energy levels, “All systems go!” You let your mind wander slightly to pass the time and let the body do its work. Streaks of emotion rise and fall through you with the miles as you feel a sense of pride in your potential accomplishment and the work it has taken to get you here.
Mile 20 rises on the horizon and is left in the dust of your heels as you kick into the final leg. With only six miles to go, the time has come to see what you are made of. This is the part of the race that is “run with the heart.” You have extinguished the fuel needed for your body and, within the next miles, your brain. There is no more convincing yourself to run, the mind doesn’t have the power, you have to dig deeper. Your legs hurt, along with every square inch of your body. Every mile is a year and your instinct is to drink water to escape the pain but somewhere deep down you know it will only slow you down and you have the hydration to finish.
Looking down at your watch as you pass the 25-mile marker, you realize a personal record is within reach. A burst of adrenaline surges through your veins and you begin to kick with the intensity of the first mile, hours earlier when you excitedly rushed off the start line with thousands of others in your predawn delirium. This restored pace is slowly and steadily becoming a sprint and your head is flowing with emotion. The pain is gone and you’re not sure you even feel your body as you float down the corridor of cheering fans and cross the finish line.
As you come to a walk and a finisher’s medal is placed around your neck, the pain flushes your body like a flood and you feel the effects on your body for the first time. Struggling to walk, you realize that this moment is the reward. Stripped down to your soul, completely exhausted and hardly able to walk, you smile and realize you just ran a marathon.
My only hope is that I have the heart that I need to finish the last 6.2. But know this. I will finish. I will give it everything I have. I will not give up. This will be one of my greatest success stories. And perhaps Jeff will help carry me to the finish those last 6.2 on the wing of an angel.
Until next week...
Stace-
Quote of the Week: "Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up." - Thomas Edison
Total Miles: 35
Long Run: 20 MILES!
This week I conquered one of my biggest successes (third to graduating from law school and passing the bar) I completed my first 20 mile training run. It was inspiring, rewarding, painful, fun and awful all at the same time. There were so many emotions and thoughts running through my head during my 3 hour 36 minute and 48 second run.
While running with my coach during the last 2.5 miles of the 20 he said I had it in me to finish. I told him that someone needed to tell my legs that they had it in them to finish because it was starting to become difficult. It was then that Rick gave me these words of wisdom.
"Run the first 10 miles with your head, the second 10 with your legs and the last 6.2 with your heart."
Tonight I found an article that spells out exactly what Rick was saying to me when I was finishing my 20 miles.
Marathon Running
Run With The Heart
By Blue Benadum
Jul 26, 2009 - 1:38:04 PM
LOS ANGELES—It’s mile five before you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into. The sun is rising and the temperature feels like it will remain cool enough for you to maintain your current pace, as long as your legs hold up. It’s the part of the race when you start to repeat the mantra, “first 10 miles with your head.” It’s time to conserve your energy and run smart so you have energy reserves later.
Mile 10 passes by and now you tell yourself, “The race has begun. Run the next 10 miles with your legs.” It’s okay to let it go a bit and count on the training you’ve put in for this moment. Your next 10 miles will be run with the power and conditioning of your legs. As mile marker 13.1 flies by, you think “it's downhill from here.”
Hydrating as you run through the next water stop, you gauge your pace and check in with your energy levels, “All systems go!” You let your mind wander slightly to pass the time and let the body do its work. Streaks of emotion rise and fall through you with the miles as you feel a sense of pride in your potential accomplishment and the work it has taken to get you here.
Mile 20 rises on the horizon and is left in the dust of your heels as you kick into the final leg. With only six miles to go, the time has come to see what you are made of. This is the part of the race that is “run with the heart.” You have extinguished the fuel needed for your body and, within the next miles, your brain. There is no more convincing yourself to run, the mind doesn’t have the power, you have to dig deeper. Your legs hurt, along with every square inch of your body. Every mile is a year and your instinct is to drink water to escape the pain but somewhere deep down you know it will only slow you down and you have the hydration to finish.
Looking down at your watch as you pass the 25-mile marker, you realize a personal record is within reach. A burst of adrenaline surges through your veins and you begin to kick with the intensity of the first mile, hours earlier when you excitedly rushed off the start line with thousands of others in your predawn delirium. This restored pace is slowly and steadily becoming a sprint and your head is flowing with emotion. The pain is gone and you’re not sure you even feel your body as you float down the corridor of cheering fans and cross the finish line.
As you come to a walk and a finisher’s medal is placed around your neck, the pain flushes your body like a flood and you feel the effects on your body for the first time. Struggling to walk, you realize that this moment is the reward. Stripped down to your soul, completely exhausted and hardly able to walk, you smile and realize you just ran a marathon.
My only hope is that I have the heart that I need to finish the last 6.2. But know this. I will finish. I will give it everything I have. I will not give up. This will be one of my greatest success stories. And perhaps Jeff will help carry me to the finish those last 6.2 on the wing of an angel.
Until next week...
Stace-
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Week 13
Week 13 – 6 weeks to Race Day
Miles for the Week = 37 (Long Run 18 miles)
Quote of the Week:
“I’m gonna miss that smile
I’m gonna miss you my friend
Even though it hurts the way it ended up
I’d do it all again
So play it sweet in heaven
‘Cause that’s right where you wanna be
I’m not crying 'cause I feel so sorry for you
I’m crying for me” – Toby Keith
This week my emotions got the best of me after my long run. I cried. I can’t pin point exactly what I was crying about. I think it was a combination of being physically exhausted, being proud of myself because I had just run 18 miles (and wanted to stop after about 13!), because I thought about Jeff a lot, because I didn’t know I had the strength in me to complete such long runs, and so many other things.
When you are running for over three hours your mind tends to wander. I think a lot about Jeff when I’m out on the open road. I’d like to share a memory that came to my mind when I was running this Saturday.
Jeff was one of my biggest fans for going to law school. In more ways than one Jeff helped make law school possible for me. I loved coming home from my first year of school in Lansing and meeting Jeff up at J. Alexander’s for a drink and to catch up about life.
Throughout my three years of school Jeff and I kept in contact, via email and visits up at J’s. During my second and third year the visits were less frequent as Jeff spent a lot more time in California those years, but when we did get to see each other the conversations were great. He was an amazing friend. And even though the visits were less the emails still went back and forth,
Jeff got sick in my last year of school. I remember sitting in class and getting an email from him telling me he was sick and had been diagnosed with Leukemia and was at City of Hope Hospital in CA for experimental treatments. I got up and left class crying.
We still emailed each other until Jeff passed. He was always saying how happy and proud he was that I was taking the Michigan Bar Exam. Jeff passed before I received my results.
At his funeral Jeff’s ex-wife, Sharon, the mother of his children, said that she wanted to hear about how the bar exam went when I got my results. That she knew how Jeff had helped me and she just wanted to know.
After I got my great news, I kept my promise. I emailed Sharon. Here is part of what I wrote to her. “I really felt like Jeff was and is watching over me. He was always so supportive of me with school. I just wish he was here so I could share my news with him.”
Here is part of her response back, “I know Jeff would be very happy and proud. I believe that he is around all of us even though he is in heaven so I'm sure he already knows you passed your exam and is celebrating with the angels.”
It was a beautiful email that put things in perspective for me. It’s what happened next though that made me realize that what Sharon said was true, and that Jeff was still here and he was watching over me – over all of us.
Several days after I got that email I was working on my computer and needed to print something. I did not have my email account open. I did not have this email from Sharon open. I plugged my computer into the printer and it automatically started printing something, without me pushing any buttons. Out of the printer came the email from Sharon. I started crying. I knew at that moment that Jeff really did know that I had passed. I felt like this was his way of letting me in on this secret – that he was still here.
I was thinking of that day when I was running on Saturday. I was thinking when it was quiet and raining and there were not a lot of runners out on the path – that even when no one is out there cheering us on, people still know what we are doing.
I think of Jeff as my personal cheerleader when I am running. He is the inspiration that keeps pushing me (even when no one else is around and I think it would be ok to sneak and walk for a little while). Because even though no one is here watching, he is watching. He has already let me know that he is watching and he knows what I’m doing.
Jeff I hope I am making you proud. I hope that when you set out to help me with law school that I have become an attorney and a person that you could be proud of and put your faith behind. I miss you and it gives me great comfort that you are still here and are watching over all of us. I love knowing that I have people on my side up there. I miss you my friend.
Until next week…
Miles for the Week = 37 (Long Run 18 miles)
Quote of the Week:
“I’m gonna miss that smile
I’m gonna miss you my friend
Even though it hurts the way it ended up
I’d do it all again
So play it sweet in heaven
‘Cause that’s right where you wanna be
I’m not crying 'cause I feel so sorry for you
I’m crying for me” – Toby Keith
This week my emotions got the best of me after my long run. I cried. I can’t pin point exactly what I was crying about. I think it was a combination of being physically exhausted, being proud of myself because I had just run 18 miles (and wanted to stop after about 13!), because I thought about Jeff a lot, because I didn’t know I had the strength in me to complete such long runs, and so many other things.
When you are running for over three hours your mind tends to wander. I think a lot about Jeff when I’m out on the open road. I’d like to share a memory that came to my mind when I was running this Saturday.
Jeff was one of my biggest fans for going to law school. In more ways than one Jeff helped make law school possible for me. I loved coming home from my first year of school in Lansing and meeting Jeff up at J. Alexander’s for a drink and to catch up about life.
Throughout my three years of school Jeff and I kept in contact, via email and visits up at J’s. During my second and third year the visits were less frequent as Jeff spent a lot more time in California those years, but when we did get to see each other the conversations were great. He was an amazing friend. And even though the visits were less the emails still went back and forth,
Jeff got sick in my last year of school. I remember sitting in class and getting an email from him telling me he was sick and had been diagnosed with Leukemia and was at City of Hope Hospital in CA for experimental treatments. I got up and left class crying.
We still emailed each other until Jeff passed. He was always saying how happy and proud he was that I was taking the Michigan Bar Exam. Jeff passed before I received my results.
At his funeral Jeff’s ex-wife, Sharon, the mother of his children, said that she wanted to hear about how the bar exam went when I got my results. That she knew how Jeff had helped me and she just wanted to know.
After I got my great news, I kept my promise. I emailed Sharon. Here is part of what I wrote to her. “I really felt like Jeff was and is watching over me. He was always so supportive of me with school. I just wish he was here so I could share my news with him.”
Here is part of her response back, “I know Jeff would be very happy and proud. I believe that he is around all of us even though he is in heaven so I'm sure he already knows you passed your exam and is celebrating with the angels.”
It was a beautiful email that put things in perspective for me. It’s what happened next though that made me realize that what Sharon said was true, and that Jeff was still here and he was watching over me – over all of us.
Several days after I got that email I was working on my computer and needed to print something. I did not have my email account open. I did not have this email from Sharon open. I plugged my computer into the printer and it automatically started printing something, without me pushing any buttons. Out of the printer came the email from Sharon. I started crying. I knew at that moment that Jeff really did know that I had passed. I felt like this was his way of letting me in on this secret – that he was still here.
I was thinking of that day when I was running on Saturday. I was thinking when it was quiet and raining and there were not a lot of runners out on the path – that even when no one is out there cheering us on, people still know what we are doing.
I think of Jeff as my personal cheerleader when I am running. He is the inspiration that keeps pushing me (even when no one else is around and I think it would be ok to sneak and walk for a little while). Because even though no one is here watching, he is watching. He has already let me know that he is watching and he knows what I’m doing.
Jeff I hope I am making you proud. I hope that when you set out to help me with law school that I have become an attorney and a person that you could be proud of and put your faith behind. I miss you and it gives me great comfort that you are still here and are watching over all of us. I love knowing that I have people on my side up there. I miss you my friend.
Until next week…
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Week 12
Weeks to Race Day: 7 Weeks - Oh my God only 48 days!!!
Miles for the week: 29 (Long run 16 miles!)
Quote of the Week: "The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start." -John Bingham.
Training this week proved to be slightly difficult. I had a sinus infection that put a small detour in my training. Here's a funny little story to go along with it: I was running my 4 mile route around Newburgh Lake on Wednesday - that is if you could call it running. It was more like run a little walk a little because I couldn't breathe. I had come to the end of my rope and was just dragging ass home (cursing at myself on the inside for being so stupid to go out and run feeling as crappy as I did). As I was coming to the home stretch down Ann Arbor Rd. I saw what was an "oasis" in the middle my own personal "desert"....my mom's car at the local grocery store!!! I walked into the store (sweaty and looking as BEAUTIFUL as ever - getting funny looks from the customers and workers, to find my mom for a ride home. Thanks for looking out for me on that one Jeff - I needed a ride home that day more than ever!
Here's a little fun fact about what your donations help achieve:
Since the first funding in 1954, the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society has awarded more than $600 million in research grants. It was through these dollars raised and the research that was done that scientists were able to discover the life saving drug - Gleevac.
Since it’s introduction, approximately 28,000 people have been diagnosed with chronic phase CML- before Gleevac, approximately 6,600 would have died within 5 years; with Gleevac, that number has been reduced to approximately 980- that’s 5,620 lives saved and counting!!
Because the drug is available in pill form and singles out cancer cells, a patient can manage CML while living with a high quality of life.
Without support of people like you, the discovery of drugs like Gleevac would not be possible. But Gleevac is just one drug, and we still have work to do. Thank you for all of your hard work - you’re doing something wonderful.
My words of advice - stemming from the quote of the week...If there is something you've been thinking about doing - just get up and do it. I thought about doing this last year and never worked up the courage to join. Now, finally joining this year it has been one of the best decisions of my life. It was scary at first - but has been so rewarding on so so many levels. So keep this quote in mind and perhaps you will get the opportunity to start something new! "The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start."
Thank you all again! Your generosity is overwhelming!
Until next week...
Miles for the week: 29 (Long run 16 miles!)
Quote of the Week: "The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start." -John Bingham.
Training this week proved to be slightly difficult. I had a sinus infection that put a small detour in my training. Here's a funny little story to go along with it: I was running my 4 mile route around Newburgh Lake on Wednesday - that is if you could call it running. It was more like run a little walk a little because I couldn't breathe. I had come to the end of my rope and was just dragging ass home (cursing at myself on the inside for being so stupid to go out and run feeling as crappy as I did). As I was coming to the home stretch down Ann Arbor Rd. I saw what was an "oasis" in the middle my own personal "desert"....my mom's car at the local grocery store!!! I walked into the store (sweaty and looking as BEAUTIFUL as ever - getting funny looks from the customers and workers, to find my mom for a ride home. Thanks for looking out for me on that one Jeff - I needed a ride home that day more than ever!
Here's a little fun fact about what your donations help achieve:
Since the first funding in 1954, the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society has awarded more than $600 million in research grants. It was through these dollars raised and the research that was done that scientists were able to discover the life saving drug - Gleevac.
Since it’s introduction, approximately 28,000 people have been diagnosed with chronic phase CML- before Gleevac, approximately 6,600 would have died within 5 years; with Gleevac, that number has been reduced to approximately 980- that’s 5,620 lives saved and counting!!
Because the drug is available in pill form and singles out cancer cells, a patient can manage CML while living with a high quality of life.
Without support of people like you, the discovery of drugs like Gleevac would not be possible. But Gleevac is just one drug, and we still have work to do. Thank you for all of your hard work - you’re doing something wonderful.
My words of advice - stemming from the quote of the week...If there is something you've been thinking about doing - just get up and do it. I thought about doing this last year and never worked up the courage to join. Now, finally joining this year it has been one of the best decisions of my life. It was scary at first - but has been so rewarding on so so many levels. So keep this quote in mind and perhaps you will get the opportunity to start something new! "The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start."
Thank you all again! Your generosity is overwhelming!
Until next week...
Weeks 9 and 10
Weeks 9 and 10 (10 weeks till race day)
This week I would like to give you some information about Team in Training and their Honored Hero's.
Team Honored Heroes are very special people who have battled and survived, or who are currently battling, leukemia, lymphoma and myeloma, and who have agreed to share their experience to inspire and motivate Team In Training ® (TNT) participants. TNT participants train for and complete a marathon, half marathon, hike in a national park, century (100 mile) bike ride, or triathlon in honor of these extraordinary people.
By honoring a member in their own community, and hearing their story firsthand, TNT participants are able to understand the extreme value of their fundraising efforts.
Kensington's Summer Team's Honored Hero is Mike Larson (my team). Here is Mike's bio.
TYPE OF BLOOD CANCER: C-cell follicular non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma
DATE OF DIAGNOSIS: May 29, 2009
CURRENT STATUS: Watchful Waiting, with scans every 3-6 months
My wife, Jane, and I live in Brighton, MI with our 3 children, Ellie, Katie, and Tommy. Our house is usually pretty hectic with homework, playing, and extracurricular activities for the girls, cleaning up toys and removing Cheez Its from the heating vents for the boy, with mom running the house and volunteering, and dad working and doing fantasy football research.
On Memorial Day weekend, I was camping in the backyard with my daughters and woke up in the middle of the night with some severe discomfort in my chest. During the subsequent trip to the emergency room, I was first told that the discomfort was probably indigestion induced by sleeping on the cold ground in a tent. During the examination, several masses were discovered and, after several additional days of testing, the diagnosis was C-cell follicular non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. This type of lymphoma is not particularly aggressive, but is fairly advanced in my system. The doctors advised me to delay treatment for awhile to better assess a treatment plan.
After a few weeks of coming to terms with the hand we have been dealt, Jane and I decided this “watchful waiting” mode was an ideal time to do something to fight the disease — not on an individual level, but on an overall cure-the-disease level. We are both just completed our first Team in Training event in Orlando in January (Jane for the half-marathon, and me for the marathon). We are “hooked” on TNT and hope it continue to be a regular part of our family’s life.
Mike is an inspiration. He has been training with our team. He comes out almost every Saturday to run with us. He shares his "story" and give us that extra push to run the distance - because when the miles seem hard we have to remember that we are running for Mike and people who are also in Mike's situation. The fundraising we are doing goes to research which might find the cure so Mike and his family no longer have to face this disease.
This Saturday was a big training day for the Spring team (their 20 miler for the full marathon and 12 miler for the half marathon - I only did 15 miles, my 20 miler will be in about one month). At the round up in the morning our Leukemia and Lymphoma staff member Sally told us that Mike would not be there to run with us.
Mike had been in the "watchful waiting" phase of his disease. Mike has C-cell follicular non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Follicular lymphoma is the most common type of slow-growing NHL and is the second most frequent type of lymphoma, accounting for about 20 percent of NHL cases. Most cases of slow-growing lymphoma are chronic illnesses that are treated when indicated. In such cases, there is no known initial treatment that fundamentally alters patients’ survival rates. Deferring initial treatment is often a very appropriate treatment option. Many physicians consider observation (watch and wait) to be an active form of therapy, which involves careful monitoring of the disease status and follow-up.
As we learned on Saturday, Mike is no longer in the "watchful waiting" period of this disease. Mike began chemotherapy treatments on Friday. This brought the team right back into reality. Although I am here for myself, and to get into shape and meet new people, what drew me into TNT in the first place was losing Jeff - and wanting to do something to help so that others don't lose the "Jeff" in their life. I am here to help find a CURE. I am here to help so that Mike's family do not lose him.
People constantly ask me questions about why I am doing this: what keeps you going? How do you run that much? Isn't it boring? How do you get up on Saturdays at 6:45? I think my Coach summed it up in his weekly email:
"What keeps you running when it gets really hard? What gets you out of the house early on Saturday mornings to run? What brought you to this program? These are the things to remember when the miles get long and the going gets tough. Also remember that pain is temporary and the discomfort that you feel is nothing compared to the what our Honored Hero's go through each and every day when dealing with this disease. If they can deal with that EVERY SINGLE DAY, then we can put up with some discomfort during our run."
Thank you again to everyone for your generous donations. With all of your help I hope that we all cross the ultimate finish line - A CURE.
Also, please remember to take the time to appreciate the ones around you and be thankful for your life and your health.
Happy Easter!
This week I would like to give you some information about Team in Training and their Honored Hero's.
Team Honored Heroes are very special people who have battled and survived, or who are currently battling, leukemia, lymphoma and myeloma, and who have agreed to share their experience to inspire and motivate Team In Training ® (TNT) participants. TNT participants train for and complete a marathon, half marathon, hike in a national park, century (100 mile) bike ride, or triathlon in honor of these extraordinary people.
By honoring a member in their own community, and hearing their story firsthand, TNT participants are able to understand the extreme value of their fundraising efforts.
Kensington's Summer Team's Honored Hero is Mike Larson (my team). Here is Mike's bio.
TYPE OF BLOOD CANCER: C-cell follicular non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma
DATE OF DIAGNOSIS: May 29, 2009
CURRENT STATUS: Watchful Waiting, with scans every 3-6 months
My wife, Jane, and I live in Brighton, MI with our 3 children, Ellie, Katie, and Tommy. Our house is usually pretty hectic with homework, playing, and extracurricular activities for the girls, cleaning up toys and removing Cheez Its from the heating vents for the boy, with mom running the house and volunteering, and dad working and doing fantasy football research.
On Memorial Day weekend, I was camping in the backyard with my daughters and woke up in the middle of the night with some severe discomfort in my chest. During the subsequent trip to the emergency room, I was first told that the discomfort was probably indigestion induced by sleeping on the cold ground in a tent. During the examination, several masses were discovered and, after several additional days of testing, the diagnosis was C-cell follicular non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. This type of lymphoma is not particularly aggressive, but is fairly advanced in my system. The doctors advised me to delay treatment for awhile to better assess a treatment plan.
After a few weeks of coming to terms with the hand we have been dealt, Jane and I decided this “watchful waiting” mode was an ideal time to do something to fight the disease — not on an individual level, but on an overall cure-the-disease level. We are both just completed our first Team in Training event in Orlando in January (Jane for the half-marathon, and me for the marathon). We are “hooked” on TNT and hope it continue to be a regular part of our family’s life.
Mike is an inspiration. He has been training with our team. He comes out almost every Saturday to run with us. He shares his "story" and give us that extra push to run the distance - because when the miles seem hard we have to remember that we are running for Mike and people who are also in Mike's situation. The fundraising we are doing goes to research which might find the cure so Mike and his family no longer have to face this disease.
This Saturday was a big training day for the Spring team (their 20 miler for the full marathon and 12 miler for the half marathon - I only did 15 miles, my 20 miler will be in about one month). At the round up in the morning our Leukemia and Lymphoma staff member Sally told us that Mike would not be there to run with us.
Mike had been in the "watchful waiting" phase of his disease. Mike has C-cell follicular non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Follicular lymphoma is the most common type of slow-growing NHL and is the second most frequent type of lymphoma, accounting for about 20 percent of NHL cases. Most cases of slow-growing lymphoma are chronic illnesses that are treated when indicated. In such cases, there is no known initial treatment that fundamentally alters patients’ survival rates. Deferring initial treatment is often a very appropriate treatment option. Many physicians consider observation (watch and wait) to be an active form of therapy, which involves careful monitoring of the disease status and follow-up.
As we learned on Saturday, Mike is no longer in the "watchful waiting" period of this disease. Mike began chemotherapy treatments on Friday. This brought the team right back into reality. Although I am here for myself, and to get into shape and meet new people, what drew me into TNT in the first place was losing Jeff - and wanting to do something to help so that others don't lose the "Jeff" in their life. I am here to help find a CURE. I am here to help so that Mike's family do not lose him.
People constantly ask me questions about why I am doing this: what keeps you going? How do you run that much? Isn't it boring? How do you get up on Saturdays at 6:45? I think my Coach summed it up in his weekly email:
"What keeps you running when it gets really hard? What gets you out of the house early on Saturday mornings to run? What brought you to this program? These are the things to remember when the miles get long and the going gets tough. Also remember that pain is temporary and the discomfort that you feel is nothing compared to the what our Honored Hero's go through each and every day when dealing with this disease. If they can deal with that EVERY SINGLE DAY, then we can put up with some discomfort during our run."
Thank you again to everyone for your generous donations. With all of your help I hope that we all cross the ultimate finish line - A CURE.
Also, please remember to take the time to appreciate the ones around you and be thankful for your life and your health.
Happy Easter!
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