I have been lucky. I've not had anyone in my immediate family or circle of friends who has had to deal with cancer. I don't have any direct experience with the disease or what it does to a family. The closest I've come so far is one of my coworkers, Glenn Rockowitz. He's had multiple instances of cancer and survived them all. He wrote a memoir called "Rodeo in Joliet" about his experiences. It's a powerful book and I highly recommend it.
At the beginning of each Team in Training group event, we have Mission Moments during which we hear about people dealing with cancer. The following letter was read to us at our first meeting and, like Glenn's book, really opened my eyes to what living with cancer is all about. Training for this marathon is only one side of what I'm doing. This letter shows the other side and will drive home how necessary it is for all of us to do what we can to help in any way we can.
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Welcome To Leukemia:
You never imagine that a trip to the Mary Bridge ER, with your 3-year-old who has "the flu", will turn out to be your worst nightmare. It seems unfathomable that, with one blood draw and within an hour's time, your world can be turned upside down. Welcome to Leukemia.
Instead of deciding which new toy to get him for Christmas, you're deciding whether or not to participate in a clinical study. Instead of scanning your favorite internet sites, you're updating his treatment page on thestatus.com. You've slept for a week on the too-short-fold-out-chair, can now snore through the hourly interruptions by the nurses and no longer remember a good hair day. Welcome to Leukemia.
Your precious toddler, who loves playdough and Disney, is suddenly receiving toxic drugs and blood transfusions. The premium you pay for health insurance becomes immediately "very reasonable". Welcome to Leukemia.
Celebrating a huge family Christmas is replaced with celebrating blood counts. Instead of Grandma's Norwegian Lefse, you're having hospital cafeteria salad bar (again). Welcome to Leukemia.
The squeamish mom, who would never have considered nursing as a profession, learns to flush PICC lines and administer drugs at home. You once looked forward to Amazon deliveries from the handsome UPS driver. Now you look forward to the institutional-looking home health services van, which is driven by a retired longshoreman. He's not bringing the latest Harry Potter book, but delivering dressing change kits, latex gloves, syringes and chemo. Welcome to Leukemia.
You meet other families during hospital stays and clinic visits and become familiar with their stories. You attend the funerals of their children, and feel your heart break for them, because they weren't in the 84%. Welcome to Leukemia.
BUT ALSO:
Immediately, friends and family come to your side in the Emergency Room. They lift you, spiritually, in prayer, and physically, by holding your hand and letting you cry on their shoulder. They continue to show support by appearing at the hospital room door, with open arms, sushi dinner for mom and dad, and never-ending gifts for the newest gladiator on the 6th floor. Welcome to Leukemia.
Co-workers stock your freezer with Costco goods and have your house cleaned. Your employer reorganizes workloads, so that you can work remotely. Welcome to Leukemia.
Your child is allowed to eat, after being limited to fluids for three days. The nurse on the 6th floor doesn't care WHAT time it is. If this boy wants pancakes, the cafeteria WILL MAKE HIM PANCAKES NOW!
Welcome to Leukemia.
Angels in the form of pediatric oncologists, nurses, child life specialists and social workers become your extended family. They provide you with knowledge, support, patience (which truly surpasses all understanding) and confidence. That latte lady at the oncology clinic greets you with a smile every time and asks how your boy is doing. Welcome to Leukemia.
Medical research is being put to the test. Your son reaches remission and there is no longer any sign of it in his blood or bone marrow. Only three years of treatment to go. Welcome to Leukemia.
As things start to stabilize, you feel like you should be doing something more to battle this horrible cancer. So you join Team in Training to raise funds for research and get a little more in shape. You do raise funds and get in shape. You meet amazing people who have joined the cause for many different reasons, but all with the same goal: a cure. You run a marathon! The campaign coordinator steals your son's heart. You sign up for another TNT event. Welcome to Leukemia.
From one very grateful mom, to all of my teammates - thank you so much for your efforts!
Tracy
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