The Race for the Cure!

A few days ago, I looked at my schedule and decided to participate in the Susan G. Komen "Race for the Cure" this morning.  At the end of the month, my sister Ann will be gone for three years, and there is not a day that I don't miss her.  So I wanted to walk today for the 5K "race" and make a little statement to Breast Cancer:  "You took my sister, but as long as I breath you will not take her totally because I still remember and love her."

Pink was the dominant theme today.  I wonder how I would have looked in a pink tutu?

Not often you get to see the Good Health Fairy!

I wore the shirt I had made for the 2011 3-Day for the Cure with my sister's photo on the front.

Brown's Island down by the river is a popular venue for all kinds of events.

 Liked this view of the James River in the distance behind the banner.

Not much I can add...

More pink!

At the start of of the race, everyone is pumped up.  I was walking, not running.  I have not run since the Crawlin' Crab Half Marathon in October.  All of these photos were taken with my new iPhone, by the way.  It was a good crowd.  30+ minutes into the race, crossing back from the south side of the city, we could still see people heading across the Manchester Bridge in the distance, 30 or more minutes behind where I was - and I was hardly at the front.

Mother Nature decided to wear pink today,

as did these two dogs.  Pretty in pink!

It meant a lot to me to do this walk today in my sister's memory.

Sneaky, Nasty Thing!

Cancer is a sneaky, nasty thing.  It lurks in the shadows, building strength, biding its time.  You can think you are all in the clear and then, bam, it strikes.  This happened last week to Donna, who came out to cheer for me at the Komen 3-Day nearly two years ago now.

Donna had breast cancer five years ago, and was in remission.  To anyone with cancer, five years is the magical mark of survivorship.  When you reach five years, you start thinking "Maybe, just maybe, I've beat this thing.  Maybe I will continue living."  Realistically, as you learn more, you know that there is truly not a magical milepost.  So five years is as good as any.

Donna was feeling some terrible back pain.  When she checked it out, she found that metastasized breast cancer had taken up residence in her spine.  Some cells had survived her chemo of five years ago, taken a trip in her blood stream, and stopped at her spine.  Now, they are hard at work replacing strong bone tissue with useless breast cancer tissue.  Not a good trade off.  This was five years and two months for Donna.  Now, she once again is in a fight for her life, this time against stage 4 breast cancer - the most dangerous and hardest to fight stage.  She is starting radiation, which will hopefully be effective for a while, to attack the spinal tumors.  But stage 4 breast cancer is almost never really ever defeated, so there could be many more tough times ahead for her.  She is in my thoughts and prayers.  In my mind, I am now the one holding the sign for Donna.  It says: "Donna - You're the Best!  Fight Hard, and Beat This Sneaky, Nasty Thing!"

One More Cancer Comrade

I've been meaning to write about this for some time. Just after I got back from the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure, I learned about one more person I know who just found out that she has cancer. In this case, it is breast cancer. Amy is a TNT alumni, a mentor, a runner and triathlete. In fact, she just completed her first Ironman in August. Then, a month later, she learns that she has breast cancer. She is perhaps late 40's - I hate guessing people's ages, especially those of women. Her prognosis is very good. The cancer is in one breast, and the tumor was surgically removed in a lumpectomy. But even so, it makes me sick to know that one more person has to go through this crap.

I woke up early this morning - too early - and I am not sure why. But as I lay in bed, trying in vain to fall asleep again, I started thinking about Amy. And while she was on my mind, I decided to write a little about her. Maybe someone reading this will give Amy a little prayer or some good vibrations, or a positive thought. I think she is going to be fine. She told me she was determined to survive, something I remember from myself nine years ago. But even so, a kind thought about her or a prayer for her can't hurt.

So here I sit, early morning, writing my blog. I have a mug of Earl Gray with honey. I have Beethoven on my CD player - Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, the piece of music that was so important to me nine years ago as I battled lymphoma. One of my cats is keeping me company. Still, I feel tired and I am thinking of my TNT buddy Amy, hoping she is doing well, saying a little prayer for her. One more good person with cancer. One more name to go on my next race shirt. The list never gets smaller.

Requiem in Pacem, Ann

On Monday, May 30, I got the news while on vacation that my beloved sister Ann had died that afternoon, after courageously battling breast cancer for 51 months. I knew that she didn't have a lot of time left - just five days before, the oncologist suspended treatment and told her she had a few weeks left. But I never thought that she would die just a week after I last saw her, and when I said goodbye to her that morning, I never suspected that it was the last time I would ever see her.

I wrote this the next afternoon, scribbling it out on paper on the cruise ship and deciding not to edit it, since it reflected my emotions at the time without any assistance from rhyme searching software. I know I will miss Ann the rest of my life.

"For Ann"

Today, Ann, is the first day since the day I was born
That you're not here upon this earth, and I feel so forlorn
Perhaps some time there'll come a day when of grief I am shorn
But if so, that is not today, as from your death I mourn.

Remember times when we were kids, and we would laugh and play?
Not once did it occur to me that you'd be gone someday.
Though sunny where I got the news, inside 'twas dark and grey
You're at eternal rest now, but from us you've gone away.

For months now, I have struggled to not break down and weep
I'd watch your face with sadness as exhausted you would sleep
Your grit and spunk inspired me as you climbed a hill so steep
And every step along the way, your courage did you keep.

That evil cancer hit you hard in this, your final, year
I came as often as I could, though you lived nowhere near
I feared that someday in the spring, I'd lose my sister dear
'Twas on the thirtieth of May the sad news did I hear.

Now death has come and taken you so very far from me
But as long as I can draw a breath, then in my heart you'll be
Oh, God and Blessed Mary, I beseech you, hear my plea:
Grant my beloved sister joy and peace eternally!

Art Ritter
May 31, 2011

Two On My Mind

There are two people with cancer particularly on my mind right now as I start preparing to race for a cure once more.

One is my sister, Ann, who is battling late stage breast cancer, and who is my prime honoree for my upcoming 60 mile walk. She had surgery last week: pleurodesis, which adheres the pleura to remove the pleural space around the lungs and prevent the buildup of fluid around the lungs. The operation was a failure, and she was back in the hospital a week later to have two liters of fluid removed and a drain put in. The damage to her lungs from the metastasized tumors appears to be accelerating, because she was getting a liter of fluid removed every few weeks and now it is two liters in a week. She has fought so hard, and it is heartbreaking to know that the end could be coming. When I walk the Komen 3-Day in September, she will be with me every step of the 60 miles. I’d walk 6,000 miles if it would give her one month of good health to just enjoy a normal life. Does God make deals like that?

The other is my friend Ed, who is a Team in Training buddy and a 20+ year leukemia survivor. He is also a six year melanoma survivor, but it has come back with a vengeance. Ed has been battling active melanoma for the past year and a half, and has gone through hell in the last few months with his left leg. It remains swollen and immobile, with lots of awful lesions. He can finally walk slowly upstairs and at least get a shower, and is grateful for that. But now, tests are showing suspicious areas in his lungs, and he is going to need a biopsy. Melanoma spreading to the lungs, if that is what it is, would be a terrible thing. He is always brave and upbeat, but I know it is not easy to always put on a brave face.

I wonder about cancer. Why do so many of us, me included, survive it with relatively little hardship, and others like Ann and Ed go through such hellish experiences? All the billions of dollars and millions of person years spent fighting these diseases, and yet, here we are!

Something Totally Different

If I asked anyone who knows me to use 10 adjectives to describe me, I am not sure what words they would select. But I am certain that these words would not be included: stylish, fashionable, hip, chic, or trendy. I am comfortable in jeans and a tee shirt, or running shorts, running shoes, and a dry-fit running shirt – with my TNT racing cap, of course. Maybe a pair of hiking boots, with hiking pants, a dry-fit hiking shirt, and my Tilly hat would fit the bill in the right circumstances. But fashionable? Stylish? Hip? Nope, not even remotely me.

So that is why my participation as a model in a fashion show in a few weeks is so far out of my comfort zone. But this is not just any fashion show – it is “Cure by Design”, and the cause is to raise money for the American Cancer Society. And every one of the models – some 45 or so of us – is a cancer survivor.

My friend, teammate, and fellow survivor Nicki was in this last year and told me it was a lot of fun. So after thinking about it for a week or so, I decided why not? It is for a good cause, and will be something totally different for me. I volunteered, and was chosen as a model. I will be modeling a very stylish thong! Ha, ha – just kidding about that. The goal of this show is to bring in paying spectators, not drive them away screaming in horror! ;)

Anyhow, we had our introductory meeting tonight at the ACS building, and I think it will be a lot of fun. I actually have to go for a fitting in a couple of weeks, then on the 14th of August we will all be spending the afternoon practicing walking down the runway as models, and getting dressed for the show, which will then go on all evening.

It felt amazing to look around this room and realize that all of the participants are cancer survivors. Most of us looked pretty good, I must say, given what we went through. There were kids, young men and women, and people older than me. The organizer told us that some of the models are 20 year survivors, and others just got diagnosed two months ago. I chatted with a few of them and heard some amazing stories. A young woman who survived ovarian, uterine, and liver cancer all in her 20’s, and went on to have two children. A 19 year old who had chronic myelogenous leukemia and had a bone marrow transplant – from her sister – last August, and a woman of about 50 something who had the same thing 7 years ago. A 17 year old girl who had kidney and lung cancer at age 5. A breast cancer survivor. A prostate cancer survivor who joked with a pretty young woman about going out for a drink after his fitting – “It was a joke, I had prostate cancer and can’t do anything!” A fellow Hodgkin lymphoma survivor who like me, does First Connection for LLS, and unlike me, still suffers from "chemo brain".

I’ll blog again about this after the show on the 14th, but I really think that this will be fun. And different. And although I am never going to be a stylish person – it is just not me – I will be for one evening!

Remembering Dr. Jerri Nielson FitzGerald

Going though cancer, and the treatments for it, is tough under the absolute best of circumstances. Now imagine that you learn that you have cancer and:

** You are at a small research station at the South Pole, the most remote and inaccessible location on earth

** It is winter, totally dark 24 x 7, cold and windy beyond anything most of us can even imagine

** It is impossible to leave or to have help flown in

** There is only one medically trained person at the station - a doctor - and that is you

That is what Dr. Jerri Nielson went through in 1999. She had to do a biopsy on her own breast, figure out what type of cancer it was by consulting with specialist via email, and treat herself with chemotherapy drugs dropped over the pole by daring pilots. And she had to continue to provide medical care for the entire research station, even while dealing with all the side effects of chemotherapy. She got through it, and was flown out in an amazing rescue by some really brave pilots – the earliest date that a flight had ever come into the Antarctic spring.

She wrote about her ordeal in her book, “Ice Bound”. It was a book that was inspirational to me in 2002 when I was going through my own battle with cancer.

Unfortunately, Dr. Jerri Nielsen FitzGerald succumbed today from her breast cancer at age 57. Being that age myself, I can assure you that it is very much too young to leave this earth. She was a brave human being, and I believe that her amazing story will inspire people for decades.

Rest in peace, courageous Dr. Jerri.

Beyond Boobs

Don’t worry, this is not X-rated. Maybe PG at the most.

When my friend Mary Beth learned that she had breast cancer a few years ago at about age 40, she went through a lot – chemotherapy, double-mastectomy, and radiation. She could have adopted a negative, crappy attitude but far from it – not Mary Beth. Instead she stayed strong and positive, and resolved to make a difference. She formed a new organization, Beyond Boobs.

If you are interested in breast health, check out her web site and organization. Right now they are selling their wonderful and tastefully done 2009 calendar, which is really a breast health manual disguised as a calendar. This is very reasonably priced, helps to support what her non-profit organization does, and most importantly, contains a wealth of educational, inspirational, and just plain fun information. I encourage you to look into this amazing calendar, which is far more than just a calendar.

So who cares about breast health? Well, if you are a woman reading this, then I hope that you do. If you are a man, like the person writing this, should you care? After all, men only very rarely get breast cancer. Well, if you have a wife, sister, mother, girlfriend, sister-in-law, mother-in-law, daughter, granddaughter, daughter-in-law, grandmother, or female friend, then I submit that you, too, should care about breast health. In fact, you should also care about the way that women are treated, violence against women, exploitation of women, equal educational and economic opportunities world-wide for women, and so forth, but I digress.

Check out Mary Beth’s great organization, Beyond Boobs! And check out her “calendar to live by”. It would make a great Christmas gift. And it is a gift that could help save your life or the life of a woman that you love.

To see other posts in my blog related to breast cancer, search the breast cancer label.

The Energizer Bunny

On Saturday May 10, 2008, I did the Susan G. Komen for the Cure 5K in Richmond. It was a lot of fun. Dig my pink bunny ears, a reminder to keep going and going and going, just like cancer patients must do every single day.




I wore the ears for the whole race. Now you have to be pretty sure about your masculinity to wear pink bunny ears in public for 3.1 miles! Where I grew up near Philadelphia, I guarantee that this would not have been a great thing to try.

I raised $625 for Komen, trying not to bug the same people who I pester each year for Team in Training. That was really great, but the biggest thing was to do this race to show support for my sister Ann and my step-mother Rhoda – both currently undergoing breast cancer treatments – and my sister-in-law Christine, a 19 year breast cancer survivor (and 16 year ovarian cancer survivor). And at the same time, show some support for the other dozen or so women I know who have dealt with breast cancer. I printed up pictures of Ann, Rhoda, and Christine and pinned them to my race jersey:



On my purple TNT race shirt were dozens of names I had written on it for the Arizona marathon. Each name represented a person who battled cancer. As always, it was my honor to wear these names.

I was going to be a 6 year lymphoma survivor in a couple of weeks from the race, so doing a race in May – my diagnosis month – to support those with cancer also felt very appropriate.

It was a festive event, lots of teams (my favorite team name was “Save the Ta-Ta’s”) and plenty of breast cancer survivors in pink shirts – very inspirational to see them out there.

I’ll be doing Team in Training again, and preparing for another marathon soon enough, so it felt good to just to run/walk a little 5K with no fund-raising pressure!

Susan G. Komen for the Cure

In June 2004, I did my first fund-raising for the National Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in Washington DC. I raised about $550 for this race. I left home about 4:30AM to drive to Washington in a driving rain storm, and caught the Metro about 6:30. I felt proud that I was the only man in the train that I was in to offer up my seat to a lady, but I felt ashamed of all of the other men who didn’t do so. What would their mothers say? Most of the other guys were a lot younger than I am, and certainly didn’t seem any less physically capable of standing for a while than I was.

The race was great. As a two year cancer survivor, it was so inspirational to do this and to see the huge crowd doing the race, and especially all the pink-shirted women who had survived breast cancer.

Now with my sister dealing with breast cancer, I felt like I had to do something for this cause in 2008. My first choice was the Komen 3 Day, which is a three day, 60 mile walk. I even knew a lady on a local team, America the Boobiful (http://www.americatheboobiful.com/) that I could have joined and thus had people to train with. But the date of the 3 Day was the same weekend as a planned family reunion and celebration of my sister’s birthday, so that was out.

So what I decided on was the May 10, 2008 Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in Richmond. This was a 5K race, and should be a great event. I signed up and created a fund raising page. Among other things, here is what I wrote:

One in seven women will be stricken with breast cancer in her lifetime. Included in that number are three of my family members:

*** My sister, Ann, battling breast cancer every day for the past 14 + months - 4 different chemo treatments, many surgeries, and radiation.

*** My sister-in-law, Christine, survivor of breast and ovarian cancers for nearly 20 years.

*** My step-mother, Rhoda, just diagnosed in March.

These three ladies will be my special personal honorees for this race. But in addition, I am running for the following women that have had to face breast cancer:

*** In memory of Linda Cox

In Honor of:
*** Bev Kuhlman
*** Janice Wedwick
*** Mary Beth Gibson
*** Magdalena Gentile
*** Jen Stewart
*** Linda Silver
*** Jeanne' Thompson
*** Lisa Auerbach
*** Sue Patton

Everyone of these women is personally known to me except Sue, who is the mother of a friend. It is actually kind of scary that I know so many people who have had breast cancer, but kind of uplifting that so many of them have survived it.

I set my goal to $365, as follows:

3 – represents the three family members of mine who have had to battle breast cancer
6 – represents the number of years, as of May, that I am a lymphoma survivor
5 – represents the number of races I have done now to raise money to battle cancer: Komen in 2004 and 2008, and TNT in 2005, 2006, and 2008.

With my participation in the 10K over, I now looked forward to this next event.

My Sister’s Battle

When I had lymphoma in 2002, one of the things I felt was that at least I was taking care of my four siblings chances of getting cancer for the next 20 years or so. Sadly, I was very wrong about that. In February, 2007, I got a message from my sister Ann that she almost certainly had breast cancer. I had gone through my own cancer very stoically, but my sister’s news had me fighting back tears, even at work, for several weeks.

Ann has had a very rough go of it. Her treatments have made my six months of chemotherapy look like a walk in the park. She had HER-2 positive breast cancer, which was very hard to treat until recently, when a new drug, Herceptin, was developed. Unfortunately, we would learn that her cancer was resistant to this treatment. She has now gone through 17 straight months of treatment, including 4 totally different chemotherapy regimens, a mastectomy, and a couple of months of radiation. She had a whole new cancer form while on her third chemotherapy, which was designed to prevent new cancers from metastasizing. She has been a real trooper throughout it all.

Ann’s name was the first name that I wrote on my Arizona Marathon shirt, and any time the training or the race got tough, all I had to do was think of what she had been enduring. She is still far from out of the woods, although the combination of radiation, mastectomy, and the fourth chemotherapy has us hopeful that she is done with all this very soon.

Having my sister go through cancer so soon after mine just affirmed the importance of raising money to fight cancer. I knew that I couldn’t go into full bore fund raising mode for breast cancer so soon after raising over $11,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, but I wanted to do something for this cause.


Here we are in April, 2007, a couple of months after her diagnosis.