Mission Moment - Fall 08 Team

I wrote this mission moment on June 4 for our Summer and Fall Teams.

Hi Summer and Fall Teams,

First, to those of you who just finished the Rock N Roll Marathon / Half Marathon in San Diego and the Breezy Point Triathlon in Norfolk, a huge congratulations. I hope each of you had a great time and a great event, whether it was your first time or your 20th. I also hope that each of you is proud of your accomplishments, both athletically and fund-raising wise, to support the mission of LLS: to cure blood cancers.

And to the fall team, it was great to meet you all a couple of weeks ago at training. What a great group!

Yesterday marked my 6th anniversary of starting chemo. That long ago now, all the time that has passed, it is a bit blurry. But even so, I can still remember waking up that morning with a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. I had no idea what to expect, other than that chemotherapy would likely not be very pleasant – which did turn out to be true. I know I worried that I would throw up right there in the chemo room, maybe on a nurse or – God forbid – another patient. Fortunately none of that happened, but I sure worried about it, and definitely felt some fear going in there the first few times. The first week, I went five straight days, and by around Thursday of that week I was feeling ill enough that I had to force myself to go back in there. But I never did throw up on a nurse or another patient, which is a good thing for all involved.

Besides that very real sense of dread, and some fear, I also had a little bit of excitement. My potential killer finally had a name, Hodgkin Lymphoma, and going into the oncology room and having 4 poisons injected into my brand new portocath would be the very first step in kicking “Hodgy’s” butt. Because of all the research, clinical trials, and patients who came before me, they knew exactly what drugs would be effective and how much without killing me. (Although it turned out there was this one drug that any amount would likely prove to be lethal if I stayed on it, but that is another story). So despite the dread, I felt really lucky to have something that could be defeated. I still feel very lucky, and I never look back on this time as a misfortune, because I was fortunate enough to live.

I know that there are so many others not as fortunate, which is why I got involved in TNT and am staying involved. It is a way to make a difference. It is a way that maybe in five years – less time than I have been off chemotherapy now – there will be even more cures. And more patients will hear: “This won’t be a lot of fun but you are going to beat this. A few years ago this would kill you, but now you will survive.” For every future patient who hears that, who is at first scared that they will die but learn that their disease is treatable or even curable, you will have a part in that, because you chose to get involved and make a positive difference. So here is a big THANK YOU and congratulations for doing so.

I hope to see you all out at training again and/or at future events.
Best wishes,
Art

This was me, June 2, 2002, the day before starting ABVD chemotherapy. I'd gotten a buzz cut a couple of days before, knowing my hair would be falling out anyway over the next month or so. I had gone for one last hike, realizing it would be a while before another one. It was a gorgeous day, and the mountain laurel was in bloom in the Shenandoah Mountains. Many times during chemo, I would look at this picture and eagerly anticipate being healthy and strong enough again to go for a hike.