Cancer Free, Off and Running (feet and mouth)!

Sitting on the fence is harmful to your nether regions.

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 18:25:00 +0000

"I didn't have time to write a short letter, so I've written a long one instead." - attributed at various points to Blaise Pascal, Mark Twain, Voltaire, Samuel Clemens, and probably others too.

Dear Family and Friends:

I've not updated my blog or reached out regarding the DFMC in some time, despite having been accepted for the 4th consecutive year to the Dana-Farber Marathon team. 2011 was a horrific year on so many levels, and these last several months have left me feeling rudderless. I felt myself wanting to withdraw from everything, including running 26.2 miles on a cold April morning from the memories of my hometown toward the memories of my first home city, Boston. If it were not for my dear friend, mentor, and now trainer, Ted Frumkin, I think I would have given up before I started.

Then I started thinking - REALLY THINKING - about why I run. About my sister's diagnosis this summer with colo-rectal cancer, and her slow but highly positive recovery. About how much I love her. About my DFMC colleague and friend, Jenny Firth Sheridan, who I admire so much I can't articulate it, and who has lost three - THREE - of her siblings, all young and in the prime of their 30s, to cancer. About my friend Lori McAuley Dameron, who just lost her mom to cancer after thinking they had it beat. About my friend, Joe Brilliant, who lost his little brother last year to cancer after a mighty and multi-year battle. Susan Lutz, my lost childhood friend, and my friends and fellow survivors Shane and Shannon McBride (and many other McBrides), and on and on. About my friend Tony Brake, who is struggling with his mom's and his brother's concurrent cancers, and ran Boston last year with a stress fracture in less than 4 hours because he loves them and He. Does. Not. Give. Up.

I thought about all of my friends and family who have lost their loved ones to cancer, or who are lucky enough to have seen the odds beaten, but never stop worrying about the dice coming back a bad roll. Not one of us has been untouched by cancer. Not a one.

So, so many others. Too many to name. Some 2 or 3 years old, some 80, some in between. All loved. All left a hole in their wake when they departed.

And I remembered what I'd forgotten in 2011: I have been cancer free for 13 years now and it has to be for a reason.

Those 26.2 miles, those approximately 55,000-odd footsteps marathon day, the hundreds of training miles prior ... all of it is given freely and with joy to the loved ones we know and have seen saved through proper cancer screening and treatment, as well as to the loved ones we have lost too soon to cancer.

So I'm running. And I am asking your support, because although I know this isn't my last year with the DFMC, it is highly probably I will take 2013 off to go sit on a mountain somewhere (within driving distance) to find some answers, some peace, and my path forward.

This year I will run for my sister, Beth and, for the 3rd year, as Aaron Eatough's Pediatric Partner. Aaron is my cousin Lisa's son who was treated successfully at Dana-Farber and Children's Hospital in Boston for a glioma on his brain stem. Aaron turned 4 this year ... he stands a good likelihood of remaining in remission and we celebrate that every moment.

Two people who I love who are alive today with many years ahead of them thanks to the progress in early cancer identification, treatment, and protocols. Three, if you count me. Hundreds, if you tally up the people whose names I honor and bear on my race singlet.

Will you support Dana-Farber through my run? 100% of every dollar goes straight into research protocol. 100%. Donations can be made directly at my personal Dana-Farber page, here ... aka http://bit.ly/H1202-in-2012.

Here are my historical fundraising totals:
2009: $13,984.00
2010: $ 6,059.00
2011: $ 7,159.20
______________
Total: $27,202.20

This year, by April 16, I hope to break $13k in donations with your help as well as 5 hours in time with Ted's guidance. I so appreciate any support you can give. Thank you for coming along with me.

XO, Helen

New Record Broken!

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 17:25:00 +0000

Team members (left to right) Hillary Hall, Amy Chambers, Denise Nolan, and Jan Ross, director of Marathon and Running Programs, present the ceremonial "BIG CHECK" Barrett Rollins, MD, PhD, Dana-Farber's Chief Scientific Officer and DFMC teammate.

No, not a new record for my longest marathon run ever. No need to be a smarty pants. I heard you.

THE 2011 DANA-FARBER MARATHON CHALLENGE TEAM broke all records and raised a new all-time high of $4,598,628.50.

Yes. That is Four Million, Five Hundred Ninety Eight Thousand, Six Hundred Twenty Eight Dollars (and fifty cents). Of which, ONE HUNDRED PERCENT (100%) goes directly into cancer research and care. 100%.

Yes, Virginia, it is possible to do good and do well all at once and still be grammatically correct.

* * * * *

Thank you, everyone who made this possible. Thank you for this and every year you have supported Dana-Farber and every one of us and those you love.

My teammates and I each train hundreds of miles through the winter and run to honor the memories of those we love and lost, those we love who survived, and (for me on a personal level) to celebrate being cancer free for now 13 years (!).

We train with thousands of special people in mind and hope in our hearts. On race day, thoughts of those special people carry us when the going gets tough and onward to the finish line. We run as a gift of love and faith, and we run in hope.We train to ready for a who-knows-what-the-weather-will-bring April morning, to run 26.2 miles essentially downhill from Hopkinton to Boston, Hopkinton Hillers Level to Sea Level (except for the 3-ish, hell-ish, uphill miles circa mile 17).

If you’ll be in Boston April 16, 2012, I hope you’ll watch the marathon and cheer us on. In case you are wondering, my personal mantra that I yell to myself as I train alone and start to falter, which you can feel free to incorporate, is to scream loudly "PICK IT UP, BITCH." Works for me. Not sure how it will work hearing it from you but give it a go. Just smile when you say it.

If you are able to help support the DFMC's efforts to understand - and therefore one day cure - cancer - please do so by visiting my fundraising page at The H1202.

Thank you!

SuperTy's Dad Running for Fred's Team

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 15:40:00 +0000

Ty Louis Campbell :)

For more information, visit SuperTy.org ...

Many of us have been following Ty Campbell's progress this past year, fighting a deadly cancer his parents have been told was/is fatal, living well past when it was thought last January that he would not make it.

Here is Ty's life by numbers, although we all know it is so SO much more than this. It always has been. It always will be. But the numbers help to pummel this into our brains. I read them and they feel as if Mike Tyson is slamming my head repeatedly before I go down for the count.

365+ days of cancer
167 nights in a hospital bed
16 surgeries
44 rounds of radiation therapy
More than 50 CT and MRI scans
As of today, 10/19/11, 1,475 days on earth, of which 435 have been spent fighting cancer. That's 30% of Ty's childhood -- 30% of Ty's entire life.

Ty continues to fight the good fight. This year, his dad Lou is running his first marathon ever - The NYC Marathon - in honor of Ty and so many other pediatric cancer patients. He articulates his reasons so much better than I ever could, so I quote below:

On Sunday, November 6, I will dedicate this marathon to pediatric cancer research to help the children who were crying when I fell asleep and who were still crying when I awoke during the 167 of the 365 nights I spent with Ty and my wife (Cindy) on the 9th floor at MSKCC.

I run for Dana-Farber. Lou runs for MSKCC/Fred's Team. We all run for the same reason, we all see the same little faces struggling with something so much larger than themselves. And they don't give up. So neither do we.

If you wish to support Lou, Cindy, Ty, all the children at MSKCC struggling with pediatric cancers, go to his donation page at http://bit.ly/TyAndFredsTeam.

Keep up the good fight, Ty. You don't know us, but we know you and you inspire us to be more than we are.

Theresa's Inaugural Run

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Mon, 26 Sep 2011 19:49:00 +0000

Theresa Godinho

Back in July of 2010, I posted about the loss of one of our teammates, Theresa Godinho, who passed away after a ten-year battle with breast cancer. 2009 was Theresa's second and final run with Dana-Farber in the Boston Marathon - she ran and completed the race less than two weeks after completing radiation treatments.

On Saturday, October 8, 2011, Theresa's family - both the Godhinho and Richmond families - are holding the Inaugural 5k Race/Walk Theresa's Run for Dana-Farber in Sandwich, MA.

If you can make it, make it! If you can get the word out and around, do!

I wish I could see you there, but will be seeing my sister Beth for the first time since her surgery for colon cancer and can't wait!

$20 to enter prior to race day, $25 on race day. Start/Finish at the The Wing School in Sandwich. There will be awards for the top finishers in several categories. Bring some cash to participate in our "opportunity drawing" for a chance to win some great prizes.

It is an officially endorsed race by the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute.

Ty Update :)

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 15:54:00 +0000

Great news for all who have been following young Ty's diagnosis and treatment. As you recall, last January he was given from a few weeks to a few months to live.

Today, September 21, 2011, Ty is STILL HERE, STILL FIGHTING, and DOING WELL!!

I cannot do justice to Cindy's blog update, so please go visit it yourself to get a proper update.

Miracles do happen. Let's hope this one keeps on all the way to the finish line - a world without pediatric cancers.

SuperTy's URL...

DFMC Open Applications Now Live!

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 14:18:00 +0000

The 2012 Dana-Farber Marathon Team's open applications are now active!

If you are interested in joining the team, go to the DFMC main page to learn more. Our team, though comprised of 550-odd people with a $3500 minimum fundraising amount, fills extremely quickly so if you are serious about it I urge you to consider quickly!

It is a life-changing, mind-changing, transcendent experience. And all you need is sufficient Gu ... Timothy Leary doesn't even figure into it!

2012. It's not just the possible apocalypse. It's year #4 with the DFMC Team!

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 20:55:00 +0000

2011 DFMC

I just submitted my application for returning members of the DFMC team.

2012 will be my 4th consecutive year "running" (ok, ok, trundling) with and for Dana-Farber.

Those 26.2 miles, those approximately 55,000-odd footsteps marathon day, the hundreds of training miles prior ... all of it is given freely and with joy to the loved ones we know and have seen saved through proper cancer screening and treatment, as well as to the loved ones we have lost too soon to cancer.

This year I will run for my sister, Beth, who as many of you know was just treated for colo-rectal cancer and has a highly positive prognosis. I will also run for the 3rd year as Aaron Eatough's Pediatric Partner. Aaron is my cousin Lisa's son who was treated successfully at Dana-Farber and Children's Hospital in Boston for a glioma on his brain stem. Aaron just celebrated his 4th birthday a few weeks ago. Not bad, not bad at all!

Two people who I love who are alive today with many years ahead of them thanks to the progress in early cancer identification, treatment, and protocols. Three, if you count me. Hundreds, if you tally up the people whose names I honor and bear on my race singlet.

One of the questions you have to answer is "What is your fundraising practice?" .. to which I responded:

"Every year I politely harangue everyone I know until they collapse in exhaustion and feverishly cut me a check in exchange for me leaving them alone for another 11.5 months. So far, it has worked exceedingly well."

In 2012 I want to break the $10k barrier again. I did it in 2009. Need to do it again in 2012.

2009: $13,984.00
2010: $ 6,059.00
2011: $ 7,159.20
______________
Total: $27,202.20

Donations are NOT LIVE YET. So thank you, but hold off and have no fear; I'll come a'knocking as soon as 2012 pages go live.

This year I break $10k and 5 hours.

If it FKN kills me.

I.

Am.

Doing.

It.

April 16, 2012 (incidentally, also my mom's birthday).

Stay tuned.

Thank you for coming along with me.

XO, Helen

Unexpected Joy in the Mailbox...

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 20:00:00 +0000

I just went to retrieve the mail. Amidst the usual detritus of junk, solicitations and bills, I found a manila envelope from the Boston Athletic Association. When I opened and read it, it reduced me to tears of joy.

The BAA wrote:

Helen -

We recently heard about your tremendous accomplishment of completing the 2011 Boston Marathon! Know that whether you ran, jogged or walked, you completed a 26 mile journey that most people would never dream of taking on.

Although there may not have been someone at the finish to put this medal around your neck, we know you did it, and you did it with grace and courage.

Congratulations!

Somewhere in DFMC land, Jan or Jack or another wonderful soul must have said something to make this happen, and I am eternally grateful and humbled. I wanted so badly to earn a finisher's medal, and to have it arrive spontaneously and accompanied by a note of such warmth and support was, is, and shall always be treasured.

Thank you, Boston Athletic Association, thank you. Suddenly I find myself loathing those street sweepers just a weensy bit less. ;)

When The Night Was Young

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Mon, 30 May 2011 00:48:00 +0000

Tomorrow, May 30, I turn 45. Birthdays are times of additional rumination for me. I try to look at where I've been, where I'm at, where I'm headed (or not).

One of the things I've learned over 4+ decades is that it is difficult to keep focus on what matters, easier to lose sight of what is possible, easiest yet to let go of the confidence that you can make a difference during your time on this planet. A difference for yourself. By extension, a difference for the people around you. By greater extension yet, to the world around you.

Some random thoughts...

As two of my most beloved performers/playwrights, Lily Tomlin and Jane Wagner, said in The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life In the Universe, "it is difficult to be politically conscious and upwardly mobile at the same time."

"Get your heart beating | in the right direction | That's when you make | A real connection"
~ Robbie Robertson, "When The Night Was Young"
As learned from my healing and intuitive friend and practitioner, Vivian Menjivar, co-founder of the School of the Sacred Way, each time a soul on earth strives toward healing itself, 80 other souls unbeknownst to this person are likewise healed. It is in this manner, among others, that we are all interconnected and that each one of us possesses the ability to make the world and the human race better than it otherwise would be, simply by embracing our own potential and working through whatever pain barricades it from our embrace.
In my childhood and teens, all I ever dreamed of was growing old enough to be on my own.
In my 20s, I made so many mistakes, some of such gravity, that by the time I was on the cusp of my 30s I was sure that my purpose in life was simply to serve as a warning to others.
At 31, I began treatments for breast cancer. There was a period of time when I was sure I was going to die before seeing 35, that I would never know the tail end of life, or even the middle. Never know what it felt like to repair wrongs, to reach equilibrium.
At 32, I finally internalized the brevity of life and stopped waiting for it to change around me, started taking responsibility for changing from within. One of the more superficial and yet critical examples: I'd always dreamed of coming to NYC, so I did. I showed up in Brooklyn four months out of cancer treatment, bald, broke, unemployed, with shot credit. When my half of the rent and the movers were paid, I had $1,300 left to my name. But I was here, I was in NYC. And NYC has been good to me. At every turn, every work opportunity, the answer has always been the same general theme: "So who the f*** are you? Oh, well, who the hell cares. Sit down. You've got 5 minutes to add value to this discussion. You do it, you can stay. You don't, get the hell out." And every time, every table, I added value. NYC gave me opportunities I never dreamed possible. So I thank you, New York, for giving me a seat at the table. This round is on me.
At 42, I realized that I needed to take that residual baggage of years past, hidden deep in muscles and memory, and let it go. I started running. That was year 1 with Dana-Farber. I ran, and I ran, and I ran some more. I'm still running. But now I run toward my future, not away from my past.
On the eve of 45, I am blessed with two amazing young boys and a sense of self that I never believed in my 20s or even 30s would be mine. I have to believe it will continue to evolve, and cherish the journey. In the words of Bob Dylan, "Ah, but I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now..."

So what's the trick to keeping up with fighting the good fight? I don't know. I think there are a lot of them. I still have more to learn than those I have come to know. Most of them have to do with not being so attached to the current incarnation of your deepest dreams and desires that you fail to allow room for evolution, room for those dreams and desires to truly take root and blossom in their fullest potentiality. In the words of one of my most beloved songwriters and singers of all time, Robbie Robertson, I'd have to say most boil down to this:

Like the sun
rising out of the sea
It's how you
embrace the mystery

Here's to 45. May the journey of perspective never end.

Boston 2011 (or, how it nearly segued right into Boston 2012)

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Fri, 22 Apr 2011 13:12:00 +0000

I've been struggling with how to articulate Boston 2011.

Let's start by congratulating my pediatric partner, Aaron Eatough, for completing his cancer treatments at DFMC/Children's last spring! He is continuing to work through the complications from treatment, but improving every day. And SUCH a smart little boy! Aaron, you have a wonderful life ahead of you. Walk tall, little man. XO.

Aaron & Grace

Training had been going strong this year. I'd been keeping pace with the schedule, seeing slow improvements in my strength and my stamina, feeling positive.
In addition to running I was cross-training with weekly Pilates training (I've never done it before - it is AMAZING, btw, and anyone who has ever had a child and wondered if their stomach would ever flatten out again needs to run to their nearest Pilates studio NOW and get cracking). I was also working out with the P90X DVD program, which I'd long considered to be the exercise equivalent of SNL's Ronco Fish-o-Matic, but was converted upon actually starting it. It is freaking AMAZING, and since it is DVD-based you can do it anywhere. Half the garage is converted to a semi-professional gym, so I was fortunate to have everything there necessary to work out from multiple angles.

But the week of March 13 I received some potentially catastrophic news, my concerns for which exponentially and rapidly worsened. It doesn't matter what the news was (although, no fears, it was NOT that I or anyone I know was diagnosed with cancer). What matters is what happened next, which was my reaction to that stress.

It has been a long time (20 years) since I have been in a situation so stressful that I could not eat, but two decades after what I thought was a conquered coping mechanism I found myself unable to swallow. Never mind keeping food down, I could not get it past my throat. So for the 4 weeks prior to the marathon, I lived on about 450 calories a day: 2 protein shakes that I could manage to swallow and gallons of water. Occasionally I could masticate a banana enough to get it down. That's it. The rest of the time, I found myself trembling with anxiety and not in a very good place.

I tried to keep exercising, but I got dizzy and was afraid I'd pass out. I never completed either of my long runs, I didn't even start them.

By Marathon weekend, I knew I was in no shape to run for any length of time. But I also knew that I could walk, would walk, for as long as it took. I flew into Boston early Friday morning and had booked 2 nights with the DFMC at the Marriott Copley. Directly across the street is a Shaw's. Among seeing beloved old friends, I found my stress abating and tried to eat as frequently and as well as I could. Green protein shakes, bananas, chicken, fruit, more protein shakes, more bananas, some risotto. My stomach was pretty shrunk, so we are talking a bite here and there, but regular and steady bites. I drank enough water that I literally had to pee every 8 minutes. It was ludicrous (but it worked! I left Hopkinton super-hydrated, and race day I only had to stop once for the loo - beats 13 stops in '09).

By the time of the Pasta Party, I was able to down two small plates of pasta, and race morning managed half a bagel and peanut butter with coffee. Thanks to those 72 hours of eating and hydrating, I found myself with just enough energy that I was able to cover somewhere between the first 1/3 and 1/2 of the course decently. 13ish-14ish, nothing great but at least moving. Then I crashed, and I crashed hard.

Starting Corrals

I knew there was nothing left. GU helped, but at this point those prior weeks were my Heartbreak Hill and there was no getting around the fact that you cannot RUN a marathon on 4 weeks of 450 calories and a lack of proper training.

I was so incredibly fortunate that my friend since childhood, Billy Macmillan, had jumped in to support me at about the 0.5 mile mark (our friend Christine's home is right there, big house on the left with a stone wall). He does triathalons now, and runs far faster than me, but he wasn't there Monday for a time and he walked alongside me all.the.way.to.the.finish.line.

I had only two goals on Monday. 1: Finish. 2: Don't get pulled from the race by medical staff.

I accomplished both.

So Billy and I started walking. And we kept walking, and walking. We walked so slowly, and for so long, that at some point they started pulling down the mile markers and the road chip trackers, so we weren't sure what mile we were at or how long it would take. Cars started driving by, because it was so lengthy the roads were now re-opened. The water stations closed down by the time we'd hit the last 1/3 of the course, but fortunately there were still lots of supporters along the roadside happy to hand us a bottle of water, so dehydration was not an issue until near to the finish line, when it really started to show.

I was one of the lucky ones. Somewhere around mile 17, our friend and my BFF, Lisa Wohlleib, joined us for miles 17-23. Somewhere early in we came across my DFMC teammate Hale, a senior at BU. I'd already seen 3 runners put into ambulances for dehydration. Hale had just emerged from treatment at the medical tent for same, wrapped in a mylar blanket and trembling. The med staff had strongly urged her to not continue the race, but she was determined to finish. Hale didn't look so good, though, and we were concerned for her.

So we made it a foursome and walked with her the next couple miles. Hale worsened. She threw up once, twice, three times. The trembling worsened, and she wasn't steady on her feet. The third time she vomited it was clear her dehydration was so severe that her body was no longer able to process even the slightest amount of fluid and the situation had become deadly serious. Still, she didn't want to give up. While Bill, Lisa and I talked to her and tried to convince her that it was OK, that she needed medical care, we saw the Red Cross convoy coming down Commonwealth Avenue. I waved to them, and they waved back like "hello! keep going!" and I'm like "NONONOYOUDONOTGETIT", jumping into the road and waving them down. So glad they stopped.

When the med team evaluated Hale, they told her she had two choices: either get in their med van now or they would call an ambulance and she'd be taken to the ER. My heart broke for her, she was devastated and sobbing and I felt full well what was going on in her heart at that moment. But she got in the van, and went for treatment, thank goodness.

Hale ... you completed your race that day. You pushed far beyond the limits of what you had ever done before, right to a limit from which if you'd not stopped, you might not have come back. Be proud of yourself. You **are** a marathoner and you did the DFMC and every cancer patient and yourself and your family proud. I know your mom was waiting for you at the finish line. I know you wanted her to see you finish. Tell her to call me and I will describe for her how amazing you were when you crossed your finish line just before BC.

We continued on, slow and steady. By now, Billy's hamstrings were locking up from having to move so slowly for so long and my feet were covered from toe to heel in massive blisters that I could feel forming, breaking, and forming again. It was like walking in jello. My legs didn't hurt but my joints did - they screamed at this point and it was bone-on-bone grinding.

At Cleveland Circle we arrived so late into the day that the street sweepers were doing spin-outs in the square just for fun. As I've noted previously, my worst fear had always been that I'd be so slow I'd be sucked into one of those monsters. Now I realize there is a worse fate: being blown by said street sweepers as they do spin-outs in the street and you hobble along in your jello shoes.

Blasted Street Sweeper, Beacon Street

I say, F*** the street sweepers. Phooey on you and your bristles and your steering wheels and all the dust you churn up as you blow by the slowpokes. In the past, I've told people that when I die, I don't want to be buried - I want to be cremated. Sam and Gus can have half the ashes. The other half I want thrown, on a pro-rata basis, in the faces of my enemies (see MortalEnemyList.docx for names and rankings. Be sure to check soft copy for most recent updates, I'd hate to have any recent additions omitted). I have added all street sweepers in the greater Boston area to this list.

Lisa's family lives just off Beacon/Washington Streets, so we continued on to there, where Lisa rejoined her peeps and Billy's wife Ursula and youngest son, Jackson, met us streetside for hellos and support. They are a family of musicians, so they'd spent their waiting time entertaining all passerby with bongo drums and improv music, to everyone's great joy. That's Ursula center and black coat, and their son between her and Billy, in his Miami Triathalon 5150 shirt. I'd ask you kindly disregard the fact that I am slouching, it is not my best look.

From here, Billy assured me we had about 2-3 miles left. I'd already seen that they'd moved BC several miles down the course from where I anticipated it, so I trusted no one, not even my compatriot Bill, and was certain he was lying and the finish line was probably now somewhere near Logan Airport. Whatever, we kept walking. Past the bars, up the overpass, past more bars and more patrons. We entered Kenmore Square (which, reassuringly, had not been relocated on me) and from there we were on/off sidewalks since the road was re-opened.

It was now more than 7 hours since I crossed the starting line in Hopkinton. The BAA clock was shut down, the teams were working to lock up trucks of equipment and head home. The race had officially ended more than an hour prior. And as Bill and I staggered around the corner of Hereford onto Boylston street, we anticipated an empty street. Instead we saw probably FIFTY Red Snake volunteers, all in a row across the finish line in red satin jackets, cheering like mad with certificates of completion ready.

Ever hear of the Red Snakes? Well, if you show up at the finish line 7 hours and 20 minutes after your start time, you will meet them in person. They've been at the finish after the official BAA close since the mid-70's when Kaji Aso, a then-art professor at Tufts, started running the Boston Marathon in the back of the pack as a “bandit runner” with his students. After a few years, he termed his group of runners “Red Snakes” because “they’re hard to kill, and very passionate.”

The BAA takes down the finish line after 6 hours. So Aso and the Red Snakes decided that they wanted a way to celebrate the runners who came in after that. The solution? A finisher’s certificate for bandits (and slow registered runners).

I burst into tears and cried the entire way down the street, crying as pedestrians stopped to cheer on Dana-Farber and our efforts and call out GO HELEN, crying as we neared the Red Snakes who were welcoming us with smiles and affection 7:20 after starting out well in Hopkinton and crashing in Newton, crying as I got my certificate, crying as I passed the finish line.

While I have no desire to repeat a 7:20 time, I feel so lucky to have been greeted by and met and welcomed by this amazing group of individuals who really understand what running is about: try, try, try, and it is your individual journey. Celebrate it, for as long as it takes and regardless of when it ends.


Finish Line, 7:20, sobbing. Thankfully, photo taken with my iPhone so you can't see too closely...

Billy got his Red Snake certificate, too, as well he should! He completed the course, stood beside me every step of the way, talked me through it, suffered his own pains through it all, and as I wrote to him the next day, "I remain in shock, awe, and endless gratitude for you sticking it out with me the entire 26.2 as I toddled along at a slower and slower pace. I honestly think that if you had not been there alongside, I would not have been able to finish. You are a FRIEND of the highest caliber and I was honored to have you alongside for the 26.2 mile stroll yesterday. Thank you for all that you did and for being there for me. Big love, Helen."

What I have shared with you above is, needless to say, something no one should ever try to do. Only a certifiable idiot would keep to plan and complete a marathon after 4 weeks on sub-500 calories, stress, pain, dropped training and anxiety. It was stupid. I was stupid. But the Boston Marathon is in many ways a spiritual journey for me, a ritual, a metaphor on so many levels - some which I've shared with you and some which I've not - and it heals my soul. I hurt my body that day but my heart, mind, and soul were in some of the best shape of their lives. If there is any lesson to be learned here, it is that if you are going to do something epically dumb, at least take your time and try to complete being a numbskull in one piece.

When our coach Jack Fultz reads this he's probably going to rip me a new one, and I deserve it. But you know what? I needed to do this. For the people you love whose names I bear on my singlet. For myself, for who I was and who I am now and who I will be. In memory and honor of what is gone and in celebration of what is yet to be.

I am back in New York now, back in the midst of that which first interrupted what I'd hoped to be a 5-hour run. But I have every memory of that weekend tucked in my heart and soul, and they keep me going and give me strength.

Thank you for the opportunity to honor your loved ones. And thank you for supporting the DFMC, and me, through all of this. Since 2009, you and I have together donated a total of $27,202.20 to the DFMC, 100% of which - EVERY PENNY - goes straight into critical cancer research.

With love,

Helen xo

PS: If you want to see my full Boston 2011 album, you will find it here.

In Memory and In Honor, 2011.

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Thu, 14 Apr 2011 19:47:00 +0000

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 16:46:00 +0000

More big thanks to my friends Andy McCown, Maureen Wright, Neil Frumkin, Jennifer & Joe Grisafi, and Seth Hoogasian and Lisa Wohlleib for their generous donations to the DFMC 2011!

My 2011 fundraising total thus far is $5,423.00, with $25,466.00 in total research funds raised since 2009. I am incredibly grateful for your support of Dana-Farber and the magnificent work they do. Thank you so much!

As for the lack of recent post updates, well, I've been behind on training, behind on grocery shopping, behind on sleep, behind on eating, behind on filling out kindergarten forms for our eldest, and pretty much late on anything else that matters. When I am this profoundly disorganized, I do the mature thing:

I hide under blankets and hope no one finds me. From here, it's difficult to post. So more soon.

PS: I got my bib number, and once again am shocked that it is not 26,001, since obviously I should be placed at the absolute tail end of the running pack. Someone in the BAA is giving me the benefit of the doubt, as I landed number 22001. That's in the blue bib section (which sounds like a euphemism for some kind of geriatric ward, g-r-e-a-t), which means I cross the starting line around 10:40am, once again in a heated race against the street sweepers and hoping to not be trammeled by the 3,999 other runners who will be starting behind me but surely off to a faster clip.

And finally, I've been adopted this year!! My friend Susan Irvine Costanza is jumping in to run with me the first mile or so, as far as our friend Christine Graham Taylor's house which lies just a mile or so past the starting line.

From there, Billy Macmillan is jumping in for some moral support, joining me for the next 13 or so miles.

Then Lisa Wohlleib should be leaping into the fray, running beside me as she has done ever since becoming my BFF in fourth grade. She'll drop off around mile 23, as that's her street and house in Brookline.

From there, the possibility exists of my NY friend, Jen Cameli, hopping in and along for the last few miles! Not sure if she can make the trip, but just the thought of her being willing to try blows my mind!

I told someone I felt like some kind of incredibly slow-moving human baton that will be handed off, friend-to-friend, in the most loving of relays.

You guys make me so freaking happy!!! xoxox, Helen

Thank You

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Thu, 10 Mar 2011 19:33:00 +0000

Many and heartfelt thanks to Bob Breyer, George Ashbrook, Stacie & Eric Waldman, Joanne Rossman, Guy Shahar, Kirstin Zullo, Laurie Coots, Lazlo Gardony & Edith Toth, Marie Limousin, David Cascia, Barbara Quackenbos, Aidan Cassidy, Susan Irvine Costanza, Greg Holladay, Ray Morey, Lynn and Joey Arena, Leslie D'Acri, Mary Brennan, Jileen Shiloski, Tammi Sokolowsky, Katie McBrie, Joe and Linda Iafrate, Jenifer Cameli, Billy Macmillan, Mike Auen, Jeff Easton, Dahlia Belinkie, Mareanne Stevenson, Joanne Schlesinger, Brian Morey, Jennifer & Neal Grossman, and Ted Frumkin for their kind donations to the DFMC 2011!

Thanks to everyone's generosity this fundraising season, thus far my run has been able to contribute $3,948 toward Dana-Farber's cancer research, and $20,043 in overall research monies raised since 2009.

Appreciated more than you know. Thank you so much for your support.

Valentines Day Service for Liam Witt

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Mon, 21 Feb 2011 13:07:00 +0000

The NY Daily News' Joanna Malloy wrote a beautiful article on Liam's memorial service here in NYC, if you have an opportunity please check it out.

Ty: Post Surgery Update

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Fri, 11 Feb 2011 16:41:00 +0000

Ty came out of Thursday's surgery doing well and with strong vitals. He may be extubated as early as today. His mom Cindy says "[t]he surgeons were able to debulk and resect [the] tumor without any damage to Ty's cranial nerves or his brainstem - which were the biggests risks associated with this surgical approach."

The surgical team was able to remove about 90% of the tumor, which is more than hoped for. The remaining 10% is "sticking" directly to Ty's brainstem, so it was unable to be operated on.

Next steps are in development/progress. More soon.

Ty Update

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Tue, 08 Feb 2011 15:22:00 +0000

I haven't updated since December on Ty ... it's been a roller-coaster ride to hell and back for him and his family, but he is still here, fighting the fight. He's even had some good days .. run an errand with mom, read a book with dad.

Fluids, of late, have been building up on his spine and complications worsened. Sunday Ty went back into MSKCC because of potential hemorrhaging on his brain stem. It's happened before, hope was it would be again remedied with steroid boosts and observation/drainage.

By Monday morning the situation was not improved, it was dramatically worsened. Ty was unconscious, unresponsive. The MSKCC medical team said treatment was exhausted. Cindy and Lou prepared to take Ty home. Then the neurosurgery team at Cornell/New York Presbyterian offered a new surgical option. Long shot. But it's a long shot that will be made by world-class marksmen.

Cindy says she and Lou were "faced with a decision that no parent should ever have to face. On one hand, there is hope… there is a chance. On the other hand, it is a long shot and we don't want to force any additional pain and suffering on our baby boy. When is enough, enough?"

They didn't know the answer. Would you? Would I?

Ty knew. Despite what was medically expected, Ty woke up responsive. Cindy writes:

After a while, Lou and I began to explain to Ty that we had a big decision to make. We needed to know if he still wanted to beat the cancer up. We told him that we love him and we know how hard he's been fighting. We know he's been in a lot of pain, and that if we keep fighting it would mean more pain and more time in the hospital. Then we asked him if we should keep fighting and Ty said "yes." We asked him if he wants to beat the cancer up and he said "yes." So, we are going to keep fighting the fight… at least for now.

Ty goes in Thursday for this latest tumor resection. Directly after that he will be transported NYC to Boston for proton beam radiation treatment.

So my Boston friends, fellow DFMC'ers, Dana-Farber and MGH peeps, Ty is coming up to you next. MGH has one of the fewer than 35 proton beam radiation centers that exist in the world.

Take good care of him, ok? I know you will.

Winter

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 18:05:00 +0000


Clouds above Costa Rica (shot from plane) 2004

Today as I drove to pick Sam and Gus up at school I saw the first truly blue skies in months. The ground is still covered in 2” of ice here, beneath that another 20+” of snow, but if you look up you can see a shift on the horizon.

I hate winter. I feel as if I’ve been entombed alive. I can make myself go outside. Run, sled, make snowmen, ski, whatever, but it doesn’t help. In winter, everywhere you go you are surrounded by a lifeless world. It’s too liminal. I hate liminality.

When Sam was born it was a full 24 hours of labor. Winter to me feels like hour 23 of labor. Let’s get this done already, people.

Sam asked whether spring and summer are ever coming back. He was serious. At 4 he isn’t yet old enough to understand the seasons of life, trust them to cycle through. Stopped me in my tracks; I realized I’m 44 and still don’t always keep the faith. There’s a point in winter where I just throw my hands up, think it will never end.

I tell him “yes, of course.” Then he asks if that means he will see flowers again, and I feel one of those parental whoomps you get when you see how raw and wide-eyed kids really are. The only reason they know up is up and down is down is because you tell them that’s how it works. And he’s waiting for my answer, waiting to see if in my momniscience I know that he will get to see flowers again.

Again I tell him "yes," give him a bear hug. But the lesson I take out of it is mine.

On Wings

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Fri, 28 Jan 2011 19:00:00 +0000

Please take a moment to send good thoughts to Gretchen, Larry and Ella Witt, who lost their son and brother Liam to cancer on Monday. Liam turned 7 this past May. He had been battling neuroblastoma for 4 years at Memorial Sloan Kettering here in NYC; you may have seen my earlier posts on his valiant struggle.

My friend Rob recently shared this quote, it seems most fitting:

"You don't have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body." ~C.S. Lewis

Godspeed, Liam. You earned the wings we hoped you'd not yet need to fly.

Dave Trott's Blog

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Wed, 26 Jan 2011 19:19:00 +0000

Dave Trott is a revered creative in advertising and one of the founders of the UK agency Chick Smith Trott. I've never had an opportunity to meet him but I've a few friends who have, one had the pleasure of working with him when she was living in England several years back.

So you're thinking, why are you telling me about some ad guy?

Because Dave Trott doesn't write about advertising. Well, he does, but in the most brilliant and often oblique way. Off the virtual page, he is an adman extraordinaire. On the virtual page, he is a philosopher and a ruminator. Plus he is a very restrained talent who uses few words yet expresses so much. Me, on the other hand? I always say I've never seen a sentence I didn't think would look better as a paragraph. I am, even virtually, long-winded. Too bad that doesn't translate into running speed.

My friend Nancee turned me on to his blog a while back. I get about 1400-2600 posts a day in my RSS feed. There aren't that many that I wait for and leap on with anticipation. My DFMC peeps, a little of this and that, Pia From The Block ;), Marathon Mama, a spot of The Superficial BYU just to balance it out with a little vapidity. But every time he posts, I go right to it. Rarely am I disappointed.

Today's post is, superficially, about an adman. But like most of Trott's other posts, it really isn't. Ruminations on the Journey Versus the Destination. I don't think I have license to replicate it here, but check it out.

I doubt you'll be disappointed, either.

If you haven't previously been peppered with this...

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Tue, 25 Jan 2011 12:14:00 +0000

Thank you first of all to everyone who already got this letter in their Facebook inbox, or their email, or - patient souls - both.

But if you didn't feel like you were being peppered by H1202, here's the 2011 DFMC letter. It should have gone out in October but, like its author, seems to be running 43 minute miles and just arrived.
------------
Hello -

The one-line version of this email is that I am about to ask you for a donation to cancer research.

The Helenesque version of this email follows.
------------
On April 18, 2011, I will run the 115th Boston Marathon as part of the Dana-Farber Marathon team. It will be my third year with the DFMC and part of my 12th year cancer-free. I'm asking for your support. Every year, Dana-Farber aspires to raise an insurmountable sum of money to fund the fight against an insurmountable enemy: cancer. In the 21 years since inception, the DFMC has raised $47 million for the Claudia Adams Barr Program in Innovative Basic Cancer Research and its initiatives. 100% of that $47 million and counting - 100% - goes directly into cancer research and treatment. This year we aim to raise $4.5 million. We surpassed our goal last year and we'll meet it again.

For those of you who don't know of Dana-Farber, it's one of the top 5 cancer hospitals in the United States and part of the largest comprehensive cancer center in the world (Dana-Farber/Harvard Cancer Center). DF is internationally recognized for excellence in research and the treatment of cancer in children and adults. I can personally vouch for the institution – it was at Mass General and DF that I received the cancer treatment ten years ago which allows me to undertake this initiative today.

The first year I participated, I was terrified I wouldn't finish the race. Or that I'd finish it, but on the following Thursday. I honestly couldn't have told you which I would have found more humiliating. This year I'm coming back from a year of respiratory issues that left me with as little as 40% lung capacity. I'm slow, but I'm getting there. And I'll finish it, although I already have a couple friends who are coming in for the event who have wisely planned ahead with chaise lounges and pop tents. Thankfully, no one has yet told me they are bringing a flashlight.

In 2011, I am not so worried about being embarrassed by my slow time; I've learned enough to appreciate the good fortune of being able to do it at all. A big part of what helps sustain me for those 26.2 miles is thinking of the people who believed in me. When I hit the wall(s), I remember that you trusted me to make it to the finish line. And so I will. Thank you for that.

As in 2010, my pediatric partner is Aaron E. He is the son, the only child, of my cousin Lisa and her husband Nate. Two days after the 2009 Boston Marathon Aaron was diagnosed with a glioma on his brainstem and spent the following year undergoing cancer treatments at Dana-Farber. He was only 2 years old. Aaron weathered a brutal regimen of treatments, and last spring successfully finished them with a strong prognosis for the future, but he continues to work to recover from multiple side effects and complications of both the tumor and the treatment.

I encourage you to make a donation in honor of someone close to your heart. I wear those names on my race singlet Marathon Day and dedicate each of the 26.2 miles to your honorees, to Aaron, and to what is possible. To do so, please go to http://www.rundfmc.org/2011/helenmg. You can make a secure donation online or print out a donation form to fill out and send snail mail to me. I add more paperwork to your paperwork, and in it goes toward cancer research. All 100%.

I realize these are difficult financial times, and I would not impose with a contribution request if I weren’t certain it was a worthy cause that can demonstrate excellent use of monies received. And I know everyone who sees this will not, at the moment, have discretionary income for charitable contributions. Don't think twice about it. Seriously. Please, just send me an email now and again and tell me you believe in what I'm doing. It means more than you know.

If you already donated, to Dana-Farber or to any organization that you think makes this world a better place, **thank you**.

If you haven't and wish to support the DFMC through my run, please do. No, $10 is not too little. No, $10,000 is not too much.

Fundraising is open through July 2011; a donation can be made anytime that works for you. And if there are others who you think would support this cause, please forward this on. Don't forget to check with your office as many employers, even in this financial climate, are generously continuing the tradition of matching donations (there is a quick search here for you to check this online).

Thank you so much for considering your support of Dana-Farber and critical cancer research through my run this coming April. It is so appreciated, and so very needed.

XO, Helen/H1202

---
Further Info/Reading: Dana-Farber Cancer Institute: Barr Impact Statement, 2011 Funded Initiatives

DFMC Thanks :)

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Mon, 24 Jan 2011 15:07:00 +0000

Training Shirts to Benefit the DFMC:
Order yours from my teammate Laurie
here!

Recent contributions have come in from across the states and all the way from Brazil (I miss you, Ana!). Heartfelt thanks to Mark "MarkyMark" McCray, Nancee "FancyNancee" Martin, Eric Ng, Caroline Kim Oh, and Ana Horta Brunotte for their generous contributions to Dana-Farber through my run. Thank you thank you!

Please, if you can, do. Support Dana-Farber through my run. So appreciated. 100% of every dollar goes straight into research and care. 100%.

Take It Off | Keep It On | Give It Up

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Thu, 13 Jan 2011 22:23:00 +0000

Maroon 5's Adam Levine f/b/o Everyman.

Maroon 5 singer Adam Levine, wearing only the hands of girlfriend and Victoria's Secret model Anne Vyalitsyna, poses for Cosmopolitan UK as part of the Everyman campaign to raise awareness for prostate and testicular cancers.

In related news, Helen Morey Gallo has raised nearly $1000 this year on behalf of the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in exchange for assurances she will keep her clothes on.

Further donations for this worthy cause are still being accepted.

You Never Know...

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 21:53:00 +0000

Human connections can evolve from impossible circumstances.

One year ago today, 4:53pm, Haiti was devastated by the worst earthquake the country had suffered in more than 200 years. One of my former Ogilvy colleagues, Pierre Legagneur, is Haitian-American and his cousin Christine had returned to Haiti from the US to work in Port-au-Prince.

Christine was in the Unibank Bourdon when the quake struck and, along with dozens of others, survived the initial shocks but was trapped beneath the rubble. She was able to text her family, until her phone battery wore out. As late as the 19th, rescue dogs were still identifying survivors in that rubble and being sent through through the crevasses to deliver water. A very few of the individuals trapped in that building were able to be extracted. We thought one was Christine. She wasn't.

During this period of time, I joined Pierre in trying to locate people on the ground who could update, connect, help. I "met" one of Christine's dearest friends from Miami, Cassandra, as we traded information online and tracked updates across NGO's and impromptu tracking sites. A Haitian-American, Cassandra lost many, including a woman who felt like a sister to her.

Human connections can evolve from impossible circumstances.

In the course of making inquiries and without knowing the coincidences involved, I found Fabiola Surena as well. As fate would have it, Fabiola was [1] searchable and reachable on Facebook [2] on the ground in Haiti, on leave from her service in the US military in order to aid her family and homeland after the quake, and [3] the daughter of Drs. Claude & Yolene Surena who had one of the only homes left standing in the P-a-P neighborhood of Debussey following the quake.

The Surena family opened their home to the injured. It soon housed more than 100 patients, becoming a makeshift hospital, orphanage, and morgue.

Turns out Debussey is where Pierre's family had resided during their time in Haiti many years ago. Turns out Fabiola and her family knew who Christine was. Turns out they had been told to anticipate her arrival, when it was falsely reported she was one of the rescued survivors. Turns out Fabiola was not only a tireless angel to everyone on the ground, but carved out moments throughout it here and there to reply to me - a perfect stranger - and try to give me some facts to share with the Legagneur family. The Legagneur family was not able to see Christine or say goodbye to her, but at least in their anguish they were not alone, they knew that there were people reaching out for and to them throughout it all.

Human connections can evolve from impossible circumstances.

So it's one year later. Haiti has made little forward progress. Because of political and NGO failures, the population is still removing rubble with bare hands instead of with any proper equipment. Cholera runs rampant, tent cities still abound, and the world community seems to have largely forgotten, as we have done with New Orleans, with the Gulf spill, with so many of the catastrophes in life that seem too painful to stick with, see through, focus until they are fixed.

But there are pockets of progress, of happiness, of potential. Fabiola and her 6 friends and colleagues who rushed to their homeland last January have since returned home here, to the US. They founded and funded the non-profit 7for1 Foundation. 7for1 has spent the last year organizing, raising funds and purchasing school and medical equipment, arranging transport of materials and goods to Haiti, and traveling with those goods to personally see them delivered and utilized. Currently responsible for 3 camps with a total of close to 30,000 people, 7for1 provides clinical services, helps to equip schoolchildren with basic materials to learn regardless of circumstance, and is now building their first 7for1 school. The members and volunteers work to provide humanitarian services, rehabilitation care, and an avenue to recovering self-sufficiency.

Out of a horrible situation, I have become acquainted with two lovely, strong women - Cassandra and Fabiola. Women I admire for their strength, warmth and kindness. From a magnitude 8.0 earthquake new friendships arose.

Human connections can evolve from impossible circumstances.

Fabiola came back from Haiti with two orphans who are now a safe and smiling little boy and girl. They remember it all. But they also smile, and play, and believe in the possibility of tomorrow.

Human connections can evolve from impossible circumstances.

If you let them.

When Words Fail

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Wed, 15 Dec 2010 16:16:00 +0000

This is a post I've been struggling to get my head around. It still isn't there, it might never be.

In 2009 I had the honor of running as a pediatric partner with then 3-year old Sicilia, who was in treatment at Dana-Farber/Children's for ALL (acute lymphoblastic leukemia). Sicilia endured 2+ grueling years of cancer treatments. She lost her long princess locks to chemotherapy, the normalcy of being able to play with other children to a compromised immune system, and so much more. But on January 12 of this year, Sicilia came out on the other side. She completed her treatment with a very, very positive prognosis. And her mom and dad, Carissa and Eric, have continued to fill all of us who know Sicilia in with the happy news of her slow, but steady, healing.

In 2010 I had the honor of being a pediatric partner with then 2-year old Aaron, who was in treatment at Dana-Farber/Children's for a glioma on his brainstem diagnosed in 2009. He is my cousin Lisa's son. She and Nate's first -- and only -- child. Aaron suffered through 18+ months of chemotherapy, with serious complications at each step of the way. But in the spring of 2010, Aaron's treatment was deemed to be successful and he was moved into post-treatment care. This fall, The Make A Wish Foundation arranged for Aaron to have his own puppy. A little girl dog fittingly named Grace. She doesn't even want to go for a walk unless Aaron is in the carriage alongside her. She loves and guards Aaron with every breath, and he is delighted in the knowledge that he now has, in addition to everyone else who loves him, a canine champion at his side.

Complications remain for Aaron and for Sicilia. Perhaps they always will; I know as a cancer survivor they have for me and I was purportedly an adult upon diagnosis. But Aaron and Sicilia have survived, continued on to what the doctors believe will be the rest of their lives.

In 2011, I will again run as Aaron's pediatric partner. I am humbled to be afforded the honor.

In August of this year the Campbells, a New Jersey family with two little boys about 3 and 1.5 years old learned that their eldest son, Ty (he is now 3), had a rare and deadly form of pediatric cancer. An extra renal rhabdoid tumor. A rare soft-tissue neoplasm that strikes primarily children. Young children. Metastases occur early. And without full surgical removal, the survival rate is essentially zero.

Cindy and Lou Campbell, friends of our dear friends, have shown an indefatigable strength during these past 4 months. They have risen to every second and every occasion to protect and defend their son, to make him feel as safe as is possible, to love and honor their younger son Gavin even with the relentless pace of pediatric cancer treatments. I am in awe of their fortitude.

For four months they have exhausted every single possible avenue to treat and cure Ty. But the surgery could not remove the whole tumor. And last week, the MRI results showed that Ty's cancer had metastasized. In that singular moment of confirmation, their world turned upside down. Instead of imagining what Ty will be like as a young man, as an adult, as perhaps a father one day himself, the Campbell family instead is praying that Ty will survive long enough to share with them this last Christmas.

Ty is 3 years old. His mom and dad, his brother, his family and friends, all watch in horror as he slowly slips away. How repulsively convoluted is that?

There is no more eloquent capturing of what the Campbell family is enduring right now than Cindy's own update:

When we were told that Ty had a tumor, it was the most horrifying news imaginable... but hearing that his cancer has metastasized and that there is no chance of a cure has completely crushed our souls, stolen the air from our lungs and shattered our hearts into a million pieces. It has been a struggle just to keep breathing. I have to sigh constantly just to catch my breath.

We have already arranged for on-call hospice care at home and we are setting up a trip to Disneyworld next week through the Make a Wish foundation. We want this time with Ty to be magical. We are told to be prepared for as few as four short weeks, or as long as three months. During this time at home, Ty has been amazing. He believes he is getting better with every day. He says, "I peel bedda all-weddy!". He told me just yesterday that he's ready to visit his school in Long Beach and find another school near his new home. I struggle to smile without tearing up and I tell him, "of course." He has been so happy, his belly laughs keep me smiling despite my broken heart and my throbbing head.

Fact: Cancer remains the number one disease that claims the lives of our children. Each year cancer kills more children under the age of 18 than asthma, diabetes, cystic fibrosis and AIDS combined.
Fact: Each year in the U.S., nearly 13,000 children and adolescents are diagnosed with cancer. That’s the equivalent of two average size classrooms diagnosed each school day.
Fact: The genetic origins of human cancer manifested by the discovery of cancer causing oncogenes and mutated tumor suppressor genes were first discovered in uniquely pediatric cancers.
Fact: Historically, some of the most basic and essential treatment strategies now employed in the fight against cancer – such as multi-agent chemotherapy and combined modality therapy – were developed through pediatric cancer research.
Fact: Recent reports indicate that nearly two-thirds of childhood cancer survivors experience significant medical problems resulting from their original cancer and/or its treatment.
Fact: Today about 75% of children diagnosed with cancer become long-term survivors yet in the U.S. cancer remains the leading cause of death from one year through adolescence; more than any other disease. In the early 1950s, less than 10 percent of childhood cancer patients could be cured, proof that research can and is making a difference.

Fact: Ty Louis Campbell will not be one of the 75% who survive.

My heart breaks for the Campbell family, and the hell they are living through right now scares me more than I can articulate. There is a phrase that anyone who has spent time in a pediatric cancer ward knows. When a child dies, it is said they have "earned their wings". We don't want our children to "earn wings," we want them to stay here with us, grow, and learn to spread their metaphorical ones.

But we don't get to choose. And that's scary as hell.

If you are in a position to reach out to the Campbell family, to help them feel for even a nanosecond that they are not alone in what now feels like a desolate universe, please do so. You will find them at Ty's blog (here) and on his Facebook support page.

DFMC Thank Yous and Updates

noreply@blogger.com (Helen/H1202) — Fri, 10 Dec 2010 15:12:00 +0000

We've entered the thick of DFMC training now .. down to the 5-ish month mark. I aim to be back to a 10-mile long run by New Years Eve, as I was in Year #1 with the DFMC. Had high hopes that this would be the year I shaved solid time off what is basically a full calendar-day time to complete my marathon run. But it won't happen, so I'm just going to be grateful to be healthy again and able to complete a marathon in 5.5-6 hours time. Next year will be the year of major inroads. This year I'm just going to breathe in and out.

The DFMC team is currently at about the $250k mark in fundraising progress, and we again aim to raise $4.5 million in funds through our team run. Heartfelt thanks from me to Tonianne Fleig, Carole Slaman, and fellow DFMC'er Alicia Leeman for their contributions to Dana-Farber through my run!

Funds raised by the DFMC team in prior years have gone toward myriad advances in cancer treatment and care. One recent example: Drs. Michael Eck and Nathanael Gray used their Barr funding to invent entirely new compounds that block growth of some drug-resistant tumors. These are now under development by major drug companies and may be the next “super drugs” to treat several of the hardest cancers to treat, including lung and colon.

Please, if you can, do. Support Dana-Farber through my run. So appreciated. 100% of every dollar goes straight into research and care. 100%.