Nothing Like a Girl's "Sweet Sixteen!"

Wow, three weeks since I posted!  So much for my goal of posting in this blog at least once a week.  I was doing pretty well, though, and will get back to it - promise!

Today, I am going to write about my Team in Training friend Nicki's "Sweet Sixteen."  No, she is not a 16 year old girl, but it is 16 years just over a week ago since she survived lymphoma.  She had a 5% chance of survival IF she got a bone marrow transplant, and a 0% chance of living without the transplant.  Someone - a total stranger in a state far away - gave her the miracle of life that February so long ago, and that stranger's and Nicki's lives will never be the same.  And they are strangers no more - Nicki has met the lady who breathed life into her, and they have become friends.  In a way, they are like mother - daughter, and they try to get together each year.

Nicki has made the most of her 16 years of extra life.  She graduated from college.  She's had a career.  She has been the loving "mother" to many pets and made a huge difference in their lives.  She's gotten married.  She has been a friend to many.  She's traveled a bit.  She's been an inspiration.  And she has become a marathoner and half-marathoner many times over, running events for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and a few on her own as well.  Here we are almost exactly a year ago before the start of the Shamrock Half Marathon.

Nicki is now training for yet another half marathon, The Nike Women's Half-Marathon, and raising more money to celebrate her "Sweet Sixteen" in style.  Want to make a donation in her honor?  Go here. How about 16 bucks?  Want to do something else to help?  Register with the national bone marrow donation registry.  It is simple and painless.  Maybe someday, this simple action will be part of saving another person's life.  How amazing would that be?  Blood cancer survivors like Nicki and me can never donate blood or marrow to anyone, but if you are healthy, you can.

Six years ago, Nicki's sister had special wrist bands made in the purple, green, and white of Team in Training to celebrate Nicki's 10 year survival mark, her "Decade of Strength."  Nicki gave me three of these and for the last year and some months, I've worn it every day.  Originally, I only wore for special occasions because I wanted the one I had to last, but once she gave me the others, I started wearing one every day.  I still have two left.  When my current one breaks, I'll save the last one for special events.  But last year being my 10th survival year, it was a real honor to wear Nicki's 10 year wristband every day.

In the past three years, I've had three friends and my sister perish from cancer, all well before what should have been their time.  So there is still plenty of work to do to find a true cure.  But amidst the sadness of losing loved ones, it is great to see examples like Nicki, surviving and living strong against odds that were so stacked against her 16 years ago.

So, happy "Sweet Sixteen," Nicki.  There is nothing like a girl's "Sweet Sixteen!"  And there's no one like you!  May you give us many more decades of strength, and of inspiration!

My Silent Mile Message

On Saturday, our local TNT groups will do the Silent Mile once again.  I wish I could be there, but I cannot be.  So I wrote something for Kate to read to the group.  Here it is.  If you, too, are engaged in Team in Training (or some other cure for cancer fund raising) right now, then this is for you as well - so, THANK YOU!


Remission Accomplished! In December 2002, nearly exactly 10 years ago, this was the message I received from my oncologist. For anyone going through treatment for any type of cancer, this is the news they want so badly to hear. Doctors are reluctant to say “cured,” but they will say “remission,” or “NED” (No Evidence of Disease). These were among the sweetest words I have ever heard – sweeter than if I were to learn that I had won the half a billion dollars Power Ball this week (although that would be a close second).

Chemotherapy is tough. In my life to date, it is the hardest thing I have gone through. It was tougher than my three marathons and three half marathons – even the marathon in Alaska in a pouring, cold rain with mosquitos the size of small airplanes. And keep in mind that compared to some other cancer patients that I have heard about, my cancer treatment was like a first-class vacation on a tropical island – complete with one of those drinks with the little umbrella sticking in it.

I am very lucky to have reached 10 years remission from Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and I plan to keep on going. I feel like I have a lot of living yet to do before I see my last sunset and hike my last trail. Yet, I know that there are no guarantees. I know people who say, “If I had to go through chemo again, I would not do it.” I don’t feel that way. I would not want to do it again, of course, but I would. But if I ever have to, I hope that it will be easier the next time around because of people like you – people raising money not just for a cure, but for a cure that doesn’t make you feel so ill that sometimes you don’t focus on getting through the day, but just through the next minute. Where your stomach does flips so spectacular that a Cirque de Soleil performer would turn green with envy. Where your brain is so foggy that the light from an explosion from a Chinese fireworks factory wouldn’t cut through the fog. Where you go into the ER in the middle of the night, and the doctor suggests that dynamite just might be required to get things moving again. (“Give me the paper to sign and light the fuse!” I told him).

From this cancer survivor, and on behalf of the thousands going through cancer therapy every day, thank you for what you do. Thank you for having our backs! Thank you for racing for a cure!

The Silent Killer

With the Olympics just past, I am still thrilled by the performances that I watched on television.  It is hard to imagine all of the things that these amazing athletes are able to achieve.  Most of us probably think that the toughest thing they will ever face is the world-class competition as they strive for a medal - gold, silver, or bronze.  And for many, that may be so - but not for all.

Witness the case of Shannon Miller, a member of the USA's "Magnificent Seven" in 1996, the women's gymnastics team that was indeed magnificent.  Early last year, Shannon faced a new competition, one where first place is a gold medal, and any other place is the grave.  She battled ovarian cancer, the "Silent Killer."  Read her story here.

Relay for Life Survivor Walk

Last Saturday, I walked the first survivor laps in the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life.  I went at the request of my friend Bill, who is about 9 months into treatment for metastasized colon cancer, and on his second round of chemo after two surgeries, the second of which was really rough.  It was a very hot afternoon, upper 90's, and I found myself glad that I was not walking laps all night like some of the folks would be.  I didn't raise money for this great cause, but came out for a little bit to walk as a survivor and support Bill.  As things turned out, he was too wiped out to walk more than a partial lap due to the heat and his exhaustion from chemo.  It's 10 years after cancer for me, and I feel very grateful to be able to still be breathing and moving.

The main speaker, an ovarian cancer survivor, lost her sister to leukemia a couple of years ago. I could relate to her experience, as a survivor myself (not ovarian cancer, in case you are wondering) and also having lost my sister a year ago. I wanted to post a few photos from the night, and publicly thank those who walked the walk that night after raising a lot of money for this cause.

Here are Bill and I before the walk.  I like the new purple shirt and the new purple "survivor" wrist band they game me.

 People set up tents and canopies inside the "track."

 "Team Joe" walks along in the 97 degree (in the shade, which they are not) heat.

 I used to work near here and often walked around this lake at lunch.  It is about 1.25 miles as I recall for a single lap.

 One of the speakers told us: "Take a minute and go down to the lake.  Throw in a pebble.  Notice the ripples you create.  In the same way, when you do some positive thing, small or large, it has its own ripple effect."  So I tossed in a pebble and reflected on the ripples it created.  I wonder what ripples I have created with my life?  I wonder what ripples I have still to create in the (hopefully) years ahead?

Cancer Survivor's Day

Today marks 10 years since my very first chemotherapy treatment for Hodgkin's lymphoma.  I can still remember the emotions of that day fairly well.  I marked my 10 year anniversary - which happens to be National Cancer Survivors' Day - in two ways.

First, I laced up my running shoes at 6:30 AM and went for a run - my first real running since the Monument Avenue 10K on March 31.  The knee pain is a lot better, and it was time to try some running.  I did more walking than running.  For my five mile workout, I ran about 1.7 miles of it in intervals of three minutes walking and one minute running.  That seemed like enough for me, but it felt good.  Why five miles?  Well, I was thinking of how the holy grail of cancer survivorship is five years, and neither my sister Ann nor my friend Faith made it to five years.  So since I dedicated my TNT Silent Mile yesterday to the two of them, I decided to dedicate five more silent miles to them today.  When you run or walk by yourself, being silent comes kind of naturally.

Second, Mary and I joined our friend Bill at an event for cancer survivors put on by a local hospital.  Bill found out last fall that he had stage 4 colon cancer.  It was a pretty good event - food, music, educational talks on various subjects, and clinics on massage and meditation.  It was another chance to reflect on my amazing fortune of surviving cancer, because so many people don't.

Toasting Ten Years!

The expression “Time Flies” is used a lot. It sounds trite. But in what feels like the blink of an eye, 10 years have gone by since I found out I had a very big medical problem, which turned out to be Hodgkin’s lymphoma. And it makes me realize that time does indeed fly. Where does it go?

Exactly ten years ago, feeling perfectly healthy except for an odd pain in my side, I stood in a dark room as my doctor examined my thoracic X-ray. “You have a large mass in the middle of your chest, something that should not be there,” he said. I felt as if time, and I, were frozen in place. It was like a bolt from the blue! I wondered what it was, knowing somehow it was going to be terrible, and I wondered how long I would live.

I still don’t know the answer to that last question, but I do have a partial answer: at least 10 years. 10 more years now experiencing the joys, along with a few sorrows, of life. 10 more years to create good memories and to grow as a person. 3,653 more days (a few leap days were in the mix) to attempt to seize the day. I believe that I've tried to make good use of those days, most of them anyway. I am very grateful to still be here. And not just to be alive, but to be strong and healthy as well.

During those 10 years, I held my granddaughter on the day of her birth, and have watched her grow to become a happy five year old. I’ve seen places I’d never seen before, including Alaska, Yellowstone, and Glacier National Park. I've hiked in the mountains and at the shore, and seen amazing wildlife - including wolves pursuing Dall sheep. I've enjoyed great books and music.  I've experienced great get-togethers with family and friends. I comforted my sister during her final months. I walked 60 miles in three days last fall in her memory, with tears in my eyes a few times.  And I became a marathoner and a half-marathoner six times over, five of them with Team in Training! The sixth time was in March in the Shamrock, to celebrate my 10 year mark a month or so early.

During my 10 years of surviving, over 525,000 Americans have died from a blood cancer. I easily could have been in that group instead of in the group of survivors. What made me different from those 525,000 people, a few of which I have personally known? Luck? Good medical care? Divine intervention? Determination and grit? Winning scientific research? Family support? All of the above? I don’t know, but I am grateful.

No cancer is easy to endure or survive. Even the supposedly “curable” cancers often are not. If you are out there raising money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, or one of the other organizations fighting for a cure, this survivor thanks you. You, and people like you in the past, helped to give me 10 years that I would not necessarily have had otherwise.

You know what? I think I am going to go for 10 more now!

Mission Moment for the Fall Team

So, if you can't really walk or run yourself, what might you do on a Saturday morning? Well, I called Coach Chuck, marathon coach of the fall Team in Training team, and asked him if he would like me to do a water stop or two, and a mission moment. The answer was yes, and so I was at the boat lake at Byrd Park at 6:30 AM. I got to catch up with several friends I hadn't seen in a while, including fellow survivors Nicki and Mindy. It was a nice looking crew they got training for various fall events, including Dublin (green being an appropriate color for Ireland and jealousy!)

I told the team about my friend Linda. She has been dealing with three kinds of cancer since she was 29, multiple times. She is now 62. When she had A.L.L. 33 years ago, survival rates were nil, but with experimental drugs, Linda survived. It was a terrible ordeal. Her uncle watched her daughter for 11 months, and her boss kept her job open and paid her mortgage. Into her 30's, she relapsed and went through it all again. Then in her 40's, the chemo she got for the ALL caused non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, and later, breast cancer. She has had multiple occurrences of both of these, and a lot of suffering. In a note to me this week, Linda told me that she feels totally defeated and is just hoping to see her 63rd birthday in August. She said "tell the team to keep moving for people like me who can't."

Linda has endured tremendous suffering over the last three decades and this continues. It is past time to find cures that work, first time, every time, and without causing other cancers and such intense suffering.

The Bolt From the Blue

“The Bolt From the Blue”

The Twenty-sixth of April, Two Thousand and Two:
Life seemed so good on that day in the spring
But then late that morning, like a bolt from the blue,
Tidings arrived that would change everything

The doctor proclaimed, as he studied the X-ray,
“In your chest there’s a mass that is foreign and large”
For ten seconds or longer, I had nothing to say,
Becoming mute as a corpse while terror took charge

My brain, in that time, was frozen in fear
I wondered how events would transpire in my life
Would my time all expire by the end of this year?
Oh God, how to break this dark news to my wife?

I struggled in vain to find serenity and peace
All my focus was on just one word: “Lymphoma?”
Scrawled on the X-ray with a pencil of grease
I knew the import despite no doctor’s diploma

As some months before, a single stealthy lymph cell
Had decided to conduct guerilla warfare with zest
And it relentlessly grew, once it chose to rebel,
Into cancerous masses in my belly and chest

I began to recover from my initial shock
I knew that my courage I must somehow revive
And so, in my thoughts, I began to take stock
Of the actions I’d take to make sure I’d survive

I didn’t yet know all the tough trials I would face
But I knew that a warrior I would now have to be
For to live was the trophy for winning this race
Second place was a grave; that I plainly could see

Nine years have passed by, living healthy and strong,
Discovering things of myself that I never knew,
Meeting wonderful folks as the years rolled along,
Learning much about life from that bolt from the blue!

Art Ritter

April 26,2011

Ten Years for Emma!

I’ve met a lot of great people in my six years being involved in Team in Training. Most were fellow participants or coaches, but some were patient honorees. One of the latter is Emma, who I met my very first season with TNT in 2005 when I was training for the Midnight Sun Marathon in Alaska. At that time, each event had their own patient honoree – now all the patient honorees are for the whole team each season. Emma was about six at the time, and this endearing little girl was the patient honoree for the group who was training for the San Diego Marathon. So while I didn’t see her much, I did hear her story, and I've seen her many times since then.

When Emma was just 10 weeks only, she was diagnosed with infant acute lymphoblastic leukemia, and the odds were long against her survival. She and her family suffered terribly, but Emma survived. The harsh chemotherapy taken as an infant might well cause her future unknown medical problems, though. I wrote last year in more detail about Emma, so I am not going to repeat all that – you can read it here if you wish.

This past Monday – Valentine’s Day – Emma reached 10 years in remission. This is great news, amazing news. I’ve gotten a ton of terrible news on the cancer front lately from friends and family, and being reminded about Emma’s survival to the ten year remission milestone – something that looked impossible when she was a tiny 10 week old baby – buoyed my spirits. So Emma, keep on going! Here is my favorite photo of her, finishing her first triathlon a couple of years ago, arms raised in triumph like the strong survivor that she is.

Incidentally, Emma’s mom Holly, who I don’t see nearly often enough but who was on my first team as a marathoner and whom I count as a friend, is back doing Team in Training again. She will be riding 100 miles on her bike in the Fletcher Flyer, and when she completes that race, she will own the coveted Team in Training Triple Crown, having done at least one marathon, century ride, and triathlon. And this summer, she will complete her very first ironman triathlon! Go Holly! You are amazing!

If you are touched by Emma’s story of near death and life, and would like to contribute to Holly’s efforts to honor the 10 year survivorship of her daughter, you could consider going here and making a donation to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

Remission Accomplished!

Today marks seven years of being in remission from Hodgkin lymphoma. Was this the actual date that the very last lymphoma cell, gasping and weeping, totally alone in the dark confines of my body, died a terrible death from being poisoned? Undoubtedly not, but there is no way for me to mark that exact date. So therefore, I declare two weeks after my last chemo as my total victory over cancer date, because this was the date I would have gotten my next chemo. But there was no evidence of cancer, so that chemo wasn’t needed. Remission accomplished!

I’ve done a lot with my life over the last seven years, blogging quite a bit about the last two of them. I am happy and lucky to be here. But my sense of celebration is muted by the sobering fact that my sister is once again in a fight for her life with her breast cancer returning. My remission has lasted seven years and continues. Hers lasted just over a year and has ended, as we recently learned. It is difficult not to feel sad and scared about that.

It reminds me how much more remains to be done in the war on cancer. The more treatable cancers, like the one I had, are still very difficult to deal with and there is no guaranteed outcome. The hard to treat cancers, like the one my sister has, are infinitely more difficult to treat. We have a long, long way to go. There are some cancers where patients will never really reach true remission, where the disease will be managed to the extent possible as a chronic condition.

On this day, one for me to celebrate my amazing good fortune, something like 145 Americans will die from blood cancers. In the short time while I write these words, a few of them will pass away, remission not to be attained. Their loved ones will weep and wonder why this happened. All I can say is, and it is no comfort, that it is the luck of the draw. When my cancer hand was dealt to me, I got cards that I could play to live, with the help of medical science. And I have used some of my time and energy since then to try to make a difference for others, so that more people will eventually survive these awful, awful diseases.

So on this day, I will give thanks to my four toxic buddies that saved my life seven years ago. Thank you, adriamycin, you Red Devil, you Jonestown Kool-Aid with your beautiful but deadly red color. Thank you, bleomycin, destroyer of lung tissue but also of cancer cells. Thank you, vinblastine, miracle gift of the Madagascar periwinkle. And thank you, dacarbizine, my slow companion with your drip-drip-drip delivery five days in a row. I appreciate all you did for me. You saved my life! You taught me a lot about myself and what I am made of. But most of all, I really appreciate that day - December 9, 2002 - when I could say “Remission Accomplished! I don’t need you anymore, ABVD! Goodbye!”

Survivors Making a Statement

So, about a month before my last TNT event, I was walking into the local supermarket wearing my purple Team in Training windbreaker, and a lady walks up to me. "Do you do Team in Training?" she asked. I told her that I do, and that I was training for the Country Music Half-Marathon. She said "I just want to thank you. I am a multiple myeloma survivor."

We chatted for a while, with me telling her about surviving lymphoma. She told me that her daughter had done TNT, and that once she is fully recovered, she thinks of doing it as well. At the time, she was only a couple of months past treatment and not feeling strong yet. Her name was Mindy. It was about that time that I had recently learned about all of the advances with multiple myeloma, which as a group is one of the most difficult blood cancers to treat. I felt such encouragement from this news, and from meeting Mindy and hearing this appreciation.

Fast forward to our informational meeting last week. There was Mindy, with her husband and a friend who also is a multiple myeloma survivor. They were all considering joining the spring team. The four of us chatted for a while, and I encouraged them to join. “Do it!” I said. “The feeling you will have when you cross that finish line as a cancer survivor will be indescribable!”

I learned last night that Mindy and her husband have joined the team, to walk the half-marathon (Shamrock) in Virginia Beach this coming March. I love it when cancer survivors make a statement. When they say “Cancer, you kicked my butt for months. But in the end, it was me who won this fight. Now look at me! I’m going to become a half-marathoner (or marathoner, or triathlete, or century rider)!”

I hope that when Mindy crosses that finish line in March, she will have a smile that lights up all of Virginia Beach! Go Mindy! Go survivors everywhere!

The Survivors’ Tales

At the team Silent Mile last Saturday, each of the patient honorees present spoke for a minute or so about their cancer experience. I thought I would summarize these remarks. Maybe someone out there will take inspiration or hope from them.

My message to the team was that four marathons and seven years ago, I was undergoing chemotherapy for Hodgkin lymphoma. I am very grateful to be alive, and wanted to thank everyone there for all they do so that future cancer patients can have the same hope. I used the rest of my time to talk about Madelyne, a local seven year old girl recently diagnosed with leukemia.

Then the rest of the patient honorees spoke – they are such inspirations! Every one of them has done one or more marathons, century bike races, and/or triathons (including Emma, who did a triathlon for children last summer).

Ed had acute myelogenous leukemia when he was 19, and nearly died. His life was saved when his sister made a bone marrow donation to him. We got to meet his sister, because she was there along with Ed’s lovely wife, Leslie. The three of them, another sister, and a nephew are all doing the Rock ‘N Roll Half-Marathon next month at Virginia Beach to celebrate his 20 year survival. In the last few years, Ed has survived two more cancers – a growth in his neck and also melanoma. He wonders if these were caused by earlier harsh treatments, and stressed how important it is to have better and more effective treatments.

Kristi spoke about developing lymphoma while pregnant. Her grandmother died from Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma, and her mother had the Hodgkin variety, so Kristi knew she had one or the other when the initial problems showed up. It was Hodgkin’s and she delivered her child, survived and got on with her life. It has been 13+ years now. Just this past winter, she found out that she had thyroid cancer and it is believed that the radiation that helped to save her life before probably caused it. Like Ed, she stressed the need for better and safer cures.

Nicki is a walking, and running, miracle. She survived Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma more than 12 years ago with a bone marrow transplant from a stranger who is now more like an older sister or aunt. Even so, her odds of living were about 5%. I don’t think there were many dry eyes when she talked about the recent death of two dear friends from cancer, and how we need better cures – a common theme that morning. Nicki's mom, Sue, herself a breast cancer survivor, also came out Saturday to support the team.

Holly, Emma’s mom, spoke for Emma, who had turned 10 the day before. When Emma was 10 weeks old, she was found to have acute lymphocytic leukemia, and she and her family went through hell. Holly felt a number of times that her baby wouldn’t make it, and you can tell she feels such a deep gratitude that her child is a healthy survivor. Go here to see a photo of Emma on the 8th anniversary of her remission from A.L.L., this past Valentine’s Day. Everyone of us feels such wonder at seeing Emma as a healthy young girl. And it brought tears of joy to my eyes to see this photo of Emma last year as she finished a triathlon:
Paul spoke last. A dedicated long distance cyclist, Paul is kind of odd man out in this group, because while he has a blood cancer, he is mostly asymptomatic. He stressed that he has not yet gone through the tough times that the rest of us have, but knows that they are coming. He has a very slow growing cancer, chronic lymphocytic leukemia. At some point significant symptoms will occur and he will do chemo, which will get the symptoms under control, until they return. This cycle will repeat until at some point, the chemo will no longer work. But the hope for Paul and other C.L.L. sufferers is that a truly effective cure will be developed well before that point.

And that, as well as for more cures for other blood cancers, and cancers in general, are why we are all doing Team in Training!

SO KEEP IT UP, AND GO TEAM!

The Silent Mile

Today was a Team Richmond first – we did an all-team training with a silent mile. The run/walk, cycling, and triathlon teams all met this morning, and survivors of cancer all told our stories in brief. Then, for the first mile of training, we did not talk and some of us survivors held signs for the rest of the team.

Not being a part of the fall team, for me it was almost like a little training reunion. I know only a few of the cyclists, but many of the triathletes, because so many of them started as runners. Several of them were on my very first team, the summer team of 2005 when I trained for my first marathon. So it was great to see so many old friends on this hot, muggy day.

Fellow Hodgkins survivor Kristi and I held our signs as some of the marathon team went by, and then we started walking together. I am a fast walker but Kristi is amazingly fast, so she slowed down a bit so I could keep up. We walked 6 miles, which felt really good. I had not seen her since we did the Nashville half marathon together. To give you an idea of her walking speed, she walked it in something like 2 hours and 54 minutes, not running a single step for 13.1 miles.

We chatted a lot about our next event, but I will write a separate post sometime later about that.

Here are some photos of this fun day with all the teams together for a little while.


Nicki, my friend and teammate - and a real inspiration to me - and her mom Sue - both cancer survivors.

From left: Amanda, Susan (my "Triple Crown Friend", little Emma, Emma's grandma, and Emma's mom Holly. Emma had leukemia at age 10 weeks and is now 10 years old yesterday. Susan, Amanda, and Holly were all on my first team and are going to be doing a half-ironman triathlon in five weeks.


Some of the survivors who were there and who spoke at the start. Everyone of us, including little Emma, has done one or more marathons, triathlons, and/or 100 mile bike races as cancer survivors. From left: Art, Rob, Emma, Nicki, Kristi, Ed, and Paul.

The whole team for all sports was a nice sized group.

Kristi - a double cancer survivor - walks along on our route.

Leslie and Coach Betty walking as part of 9 miles this morning.

Three amazing ladies - Holly, Jen, and Amanda - will all be doing a half ironman in five weeks in Augusta, Georgia. That is 1.2 miles swim, 56 miles bike, and 13.1 miles running. I am in awe of them and their teammates. Holly and Amanda were on my first team in aught-5, and Jen was our LLS team coordinator for my just past season. They are all tremendous!

Celebrating Elayne!

Today, my blogger-pal, friend, fellow survivor, and soon to be fellow marathoner Elayne celebrates 11 years of surviving breast cancer.

Congratulations on this milestone, Elayne! May you have many, many more, and may God be with you always!

Strutting Our Stuff Down the Runway!

I blogged this past Saturday about what it was like to be in the Cure by Design Fashion Show for the American Cancer Society. It was an amazing feeling to look at all my co-survivors, to hear stories of things they went through – some of them multiple times – and to realize this was one more statement to cancer that it did not defeat us. It was one more little act of defiance to this evil beast that tried to kill each of us. One more time to say to the world, to each other, and to ourselves that “I survived!” And to be so incredibly grateful for this fact, for many people are not this fortunate.

A few of my gentle readers have wanted to see pictures, and thanks to a friend who saw a photo on another friend’s Facebook page, I can now comply with that request. Don’t worry, I am not in a thong or anything like that! See below.

The show was pure fun, even aside from the celebratory aspects of it. We spent the afternoon learning about what we were going to do, watching people demonstrate it, and then practicing the whole routine a couple of times. Then we had some free time to eat, relax, read, or chat. An hour or so before the event, we got hair and makeup done. For the beautiful women in the show, this was fairly elaborate, but for we manly men – UH, UH, UH – it was thankfully simple: just some gel in our hair and some light base and lip gloss. Then the men retired to our man-cave to get dressed for the show. Most of we men were in the group of “tail-gaters”, dressed in our team colors and in fairly simple outfits. The women, on the other hand, generally had very elaborate and beautiful gowns and hair pieces, and looked stunning! And the children were just plain cute, also generally in really pretty outfits. Seeing these young innocents that had been through so much suffering was one more reminder to me of how evil cancer is, and how we must figure out a way to cure it without causing so much harm in the process.

Each of us followed a routine where we walked along, with the runway to ourselves, slowly looking from side to side. The lights were very bright, and I had been plagued by migraines all last week, and I was very thankful not to get one from the bright lights, which can trigger them in me. At the end of the runway, we stopped and struck the pose of our choice for a few seconds, then turned and walked back. Halfway back, we stopped and struck a brief pose to the left and to the right, as the next contestant came out on to the runway. We passed each other, and just before disappearing behind the screen, we turned briefly to pose one last time.

At the end of the show, each of us made one last appearance, walking close behind one another in a continual fashion. That is what the photo is from, and I am the one dressed in white (with some dark blue accents). It was a fun event, and a great experience to be a part of. Many people at ACS and in the clothing business and other places worked very, very hard to make this a success, and I would like to thank them all here.

Model Cancer Survivors

Cancer, you took your best shot at us! You took our hair, and at times, our dignity and serenity. Like a thief in the night, you crept into our bedrooms and purloined our sleep. If we were children, you stole our innocence. You turned our insides inside-out. You robbed us of our breasts, prostates, ovaries, and other body parts. You scarred us. You enshrouded our brains in a fog so thick, so murky, that we wondered if we would ever find our way out. We felt exhaustion we never believed possible. Now and then, we wept and trembled in fear as we searched for the strength to fight back. You were relentless, tireless, pitiless, and remorseless.

But despite all you did, and all you tried to do, you never took our courage, our will to live, our hopes and dreams, our strength, and most importantly, our spirit. While we might allow you a few body parts, those other things you may never take from us – now, or in the future.

You took your best shot – and we prevailed. And the 45 of us proved that again last night, when we strutted our stuff down the runway as models in the American Cancer Society’s “Cure by Design” fashion show. We survived just about every form of cancer there is: breast and prostate, ovarian and testicular, leukemia and lymphoma, brain, colon, cervical, bladder, and lung, among others. The women were all beautiful in their gowns, hairdos, and fashionable hairpieces. The men were all handsome, and the children, cute and innocent. As we walked proudly down the runway last night, we were model survivors!

The show was a lot of fun. I wish I could have taken pictures but that was not feasible, other than this one I got of the manly-men cancer survivors just before we went out before the audience:

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!

Gimme Five, Plus One More!

Today marks my six year anniversary date of officially being in remission from Hodgkin lymphoma! Last year, my five year mark, is the really big one, but actually, once you hit five years, you just want to keep going. My odds were pretty good – about 80% of surviving at least five years with stage 3 HL. I celebrated that milestone with a little get-together with my teammates after training with bagels and purple and green balloons, all organized by Coach Michal. Plus I really looked on participating in the Arizona Marathon about a month later as the true celebration.

This year is more laid back. My cold is over and I celebrated by feeling well enough to go out and run / walk 4 miles in the pre-dawn darkness. Although sleeping in always feels good (see my poem “Relentless”), I am so blessed and fortunate to be alive and healthy enough to do this. Then at lunch, I took a quick 2.5 mile walk down to Belle Isle and back. It feels great to start being active again after 3 weeks with a cold and one week on the road before that.

It is easy to take this health and level of physical fitness for granted, and I work very hard not to do so. Lots of people, never mind people coming up on so called “old age” in a few years, cannot dream of walking or running even five miles, much less a marathon – even if they have never had cancer.

I learned something pretty neat today – in 2012 on December 9, the 10th anniversary of my remission from cancer, the Honolulu Marathon will be held. How amazing would it be to still be healthy and fit enough to walk or run this, and what a great way that would be to celebrate 10 years remission! Plus I have never been to Hawaii. Now I know that is putting the cart before the horse and is assuming a lot of things, but it gives me something to think about and set my sights on for 4 years from now.

For now, I had better just concentrate on getting conditioned enough for Nashville and feel grateful for the six year remission mark. None of this was guaranteed, not by a long shot. I am very lucky and happy to still be on this amazing earth.

A Thankful Anniversary

So there I was this morning, preparing to speak at a TNT recruitment meeting to form a corporate team for the Monument Avenue 10K next spring. I was finalizing in my mind what I wanted to say in my five minutes, speaking as a survivor, a TNT marathoner, and as a mentor. I looked at my watch, and noted the date: 11/25. I thought about this for a minute, did some quick calculations in my head, and it hit me: exactly six years ago, at the exact same time of day, I was sitting in an oncology room a few miles away getting my very last chemotherapy treatment!

It was the Monday before Thanksgiving in 2002 and I don't think I can adequately describe the excitement, thankfulness and joy that I felt as I headed into the chemo room that day, praying that my white cell count would be high enough to get the final dose and get it over with. Even though I knew by then exactly what the next 12 or so days would be like, I realized that very soon all of the misery that I'd had to cope with for the past six months would be coming to an end.

During my many chemotherapy sessions, I met many others with all types of cancer: leukemia, lymphoma, lung, colon, bladder, and breast to name a few. Many of them, maybe most, faced a much more difficult, desperate and in some cases deadly battle than I did. On that last day of treatment for me, the man in the chair next to me nearly died right there. Whatever type of cancer that he had was not responding, and so they tried a new treatment that day, fortunately in a greatly reduced dose. He went rigid, passed out, and peed all over the floor as the nurses frantically tried to revive him. When he came to, I remember the doctor telling him how there were not a whole lot of options for him since the new treatment that had just nearly killed him was the last available treatment. I wondered how overwhelming it would be to get that kind of message and felt really bad for him, and for his daughter, who had driven him in. I also felt even more thankful about finishing that saga in my life with the expectation of being in remission from lymphoma. After nearly 6 years in remission, I still feel as thankful.

If you read this and you are doing or have done Team in Training or something similar, I really believe that what all of you are doing means that future patients will have more effective, less horrible options available to them. You should all be proud of yourselves. As you give thanks for the many good things in your lives, know that many people down the line will be thankful for the assistance that you will be indirectly providing them. I don't know the names of people who funded and conducted research back in the 1970's and 1980's that led to effective treatments for Hodgkin lymphoma, but I guarantee you that I give thanks for them nearly every day. During my Alaskan, San Diego and Arizona marathons, they were with me every step of the way.

Happy Thanksgiving!

A "Mission Moment"

I wrote this Mission Moment on December 5, 2007 for the Winter and Spring Teams

This coming weekend is a big milestone for me. I will reach the five year remission mark this Sunday – I call it my “Gimme 5” milestone. It was five years ago that my last chemo cycle ended, and my seven month saga with Hodgkin lymphoma was over. A CT scan a week or so later confirmed that my body had no evidence of cancer remaining. What an incredible feeling that was! I was still weak and tired, and remember coming down with a severe cold right after that, but that all seemed minor. I guess there are probably a lot of factors that played a role in my survival, including the luck of the draw, the grace of God, determination, a positive attitude, family and friends, health insurance, good medical care, decent physical conditioning, and medical research. I think that is probably only a partial list.

Note one item in that list – medical research. Think about it. In 2002, my odds of reaching this point were great for cancer – about 80 to 85%. Only a few decades before, a blink of an eye in human history, my odds would have been maybe 40%. Not too long before that, maybe 10%. As my oncologist told me once during chemo, “Hodgkin lymphoma is one of our real medical success stories. When I (this is the doctor speaking, not me) was an intern back in the 1960’s, people who got it received treatment for six months or so, were incredibly sick, and then died.” The difference is medical research, clinical trials, new drugs, and a near exponential growth in medical knowledge.

There is rarely a day that goes by when I don’t reflect for at least a few minutes about how grateful I am to be a cancer survivor. I am very well aware that it didn’t have to be that way, and is not that way for so many people. I think often of people working on this problem back in the 1950’s – 1970’s, working to save my life decades later. They had no idea, and I don’t know them. I can’t thank them, at least not directly. So I am thanking you, because some time in the future, someone who doesn’t know you will be thanking you. They will have survived because of some medical advance that was funded by all of our collective efforts. Thanks so much for getting involved in TNT, and working to make a difference.

GO TEAM!
Art (Winter Team for the Arizona Marathon)