Archive for the ‘Spotlight’ Category

Team Making It Jake

April 11th, 2013 - by Liz McDonough

It’s great to be a part of Run As One every year. It brings it around full circle—everything my family and I have learned about lung cancer and our commitment to helping other families facing the disease.

My brother Don and I lost our Dad to non-small cell lung cancer in 2009. Dad was diagnosed too late because, as a non-smoker, it didn’t occur to any doctor that he could have lung cancer. My Dad led a very active and healthy lifestyle; however, he developed an irritating incessant cough. Almost a year and several visits to different doctors later, he was diagnosed on Halloween 2007 and was told to get his affairs in order.

I had an opportunity to learn a little bit about lung cancer during my time working in DC for Congressman Clay Shaw, who spoke openly about his own lung cancer and the treatments he received. One of his treatments included a “miracle drug” called Tarceva. Dad also went on Tarceva, which he responded to very well and we were so grateful to have him with us for 18 months more than we ever expected. During this time, my Dad met and became friends with Admiral Phil Coady, a co-founder of the Lung Cancer Alliance, which he formed after his own diagnosis with the disease.  The Admiral was a real sounding board for Dad in a way that we couldn’t be, despite all of our love and support for him.

The willingness of both of these survivors to provide guidance and to share their experience was so important for our dad’s quality of life. It’s also one of the reasons Don and I are so committed to raising awareness and money for lung cancer research.

We’ve been involved with Run As One from the get-go. My sister-in-law, Robin, is a surgical physician’s assistant at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center and learned of the event through work. We are blessed to have an amazing group of friends and family who participated in the first Run As One in April 2008 as “Team Making It Jake”— in honor of our Dad. That November, Don ran the ING New York City Marathon to benefit lung cancer research and the Thomas G. Labrecque Foundation. Don successfully raised over $30,000 for lung cancer research, way more than his original $2,500 commitment. Not bad for a first-time fundraiser!

“Team Making It Jake” has participated in Run As One every year and we’re looking forward to this year’s event. We’re especially pleased that Labrecque and LUNGevity are partnering on the event again—lung cancer is so big and we really believe in having everyone working together. This year Don and I are also looking forward to raising more funds as co-chairs, together along with Andy and Erin Stern, Shannon Broder and John Rigos, at the second annual SPiN Ping Pong Event. This is another joint Labrecque-LUNGevity event coming up on June 5th.  We are doing this to honor Dad, while supporting an organization that has had a direct and positive impact on our lives.

Our family was completely blindsided by this disease and it took a good couple of months to even be able to process this enormous change in our lives. We don’t want another family go through the pain of losing a loved-one like we did. It is so difficult to witness a parent suffer and not be able to help. If we can do something to avoid that agony, we will do it. This is personal for us, and lung cancer needs to get the attention it warrants. Through great organizations like LUNGevity and the Thomas G. Labrecque Foundation, we’re on the right track.

Don and I believe that people are becoming more and more aware of lung cancer through these types of organizations. Lung cancer can happen to anyone, and the stigma of it being the ‘smoker’s disease’ is hopefully disbanding. The faces of lung cancer are changing; and more attention needs to be recognized. With that in mind, events like Run As One and SPiN are a great way to support lung cancer research and have some fun doing it. We’re focused on doing our part to help another family avoid going though what we went through. And we look forward to seeing everyone in Central Park on April 28!

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Posted in General, Lung Cancer, Spotlight | 5 Comments »

Thankful for Early Detection

March 1st, 2013 - by Jan Gibson

Jan GibsonOn March 24, 2005, at 46 years old, I was diagnosed with Non-Small Cell Adenocarcinoma Lung Cancer. There were no symptoms. Because of chest pain on my right side, I went to the emergency room on Sunday, February 20th. I was concerned about my heart. Heart disease runs in my family, and although I am very physically active, my sister had a heart attack when she was 47. I never found out what was causing my chest pains that day, but I did find out that I had a mass on my left lung. How could I have lung cancer? I don’t smoke. I never knew people could get lung cancer if they didn’t smoke.

My cousin and friend Kathi, age 46, had passed away just 2 years earlier from Small Cell Lung Cancer. This couldn’t be happening to me. How was I going to tell my children? They had just seen this same disease kill my cousin. How could I explain that mine was different? This was the beginning of a new life for me. After many tests over the next month, which included Chest X-Rays, CT scans, PET scans, Needle Guided Lung Biopsy, and a Bronchoscopy/Mediastinoscopy, it was determined that the cancer seemed to be contained within the one lung and had not spread to any lymph nodes.

On April 20, 2005 a lobectomy was performed at University of Maryland Medical Center. I had the upper lobe of my left lung removed. This was the most emotional day of my life. I wrote both of my daughter’s goodbye letters, just in case. I had a wonderful surgeon who was able to perform the lobectomy using a procedure called VATS (Video assisted thoracic surgery). The recovery was much easier because of this newer procedure. I was back at the gym in 2 weeks, walking on the treadmill and using the elliptical machines. Four weeks later, with CT scan in hand, I went back to the surgeon and he said that everything looked good. They did not recommend chemotherapy at this time. I was staged at a 1A, and was told that the benefit of chemo was not worth the risk for my stage of cancer.

I am so thankful that I caught it early, and they were able to do the VATS surgery to get it out of there. The doctor says that I am cancer free now. We never did find out why I was having chest pains on my right side that day, it had absolutely nothing to do with the cancer. The pains went away the next day, and they have never been back again.

Now, I’ve never been a religious person, but I have to say, someone was trying to tell me something. Had I not gone to the ER that day, who knows when my lung cancer would have been detected?

There needs to be more funding into the early detection of lung cancer so that more people can survive this disease.

I just feel so very fortunate that my cancer was accidentally detected early and I was able to be “cured”. I want everyone else to have the chance at early detection. It’s time to treat lung cancer with the same urgency that all other major cancers receive. I have learned so much since being diagnosed with lung cancer. I learned that lung cancer is a horrible disease that is underfunded and has a stigma attached. I learned just how much my husband, my mother, my sister and my children really love me. They were my rocks.

I can’t even begin to describe what it has meant to have my LUNGevity “LCSC friends” to talk to. They are the only ones that truly understand. I joined the LUNGevity Lung Cancer Support Community message boards 6 days before my lobectomy in 2005!

I’ve been cancer free for 8 years now.  I volunteer in my community. I’ve participated in cancer events and I am a volunteer LUNGevity LifeLine Support Mentor to those who are newly diagnosed.

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It’s what we do next that matters

January 3rd, 2013 - by G. Alan Rader

My name is Alan Rader. I live in the country about 15 miles northwest of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. I was diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer at the age of 59. Like many survivors I’ve come to know, I was misdiagnosed for a few months before the pieces were put together. The results of a CT scan showed a mass at the peak of my right lung. The primary care dr. set up an appointment for me to see a surgeon who could see me in a month. I have to say that I wasn’t surprised about possibly having lung cancer. I was emotionally numb about it. I went to work the next day, I had to finish a job I was doing. All I knew about lung cancer was that it would kill me. I lost an aunt to lung cancer and it happened fast. I lost my father in law to lung cancer and happened slowly and painfully.

We weren’t about to wait a month to see a surgeon and lose even more time. My wife Susan spent part of that day researching what we could do now. She found Cancer Treatment Centers of Americas’ website during her search and called the 800 number. She talked to a guy who said they could see us on Monday. They recognized our sense of urgency.  That got our attention and we went to Philadelphia to see what they could do. It turned out to be a great decision.

My cancer was inoperable; it had worked its way into my spine and a rib. They called it stage 4 because it invaded a vertebral body. Others called it stage 3 because it was one tumor. I went through 30 radiation treatments and 20 chemotherapy sessions. A month after the treatments were complete they did another PET/CT to see where we were. Surgery was still out of the question, the proximity to the spinal cord made it too dangerous. I probably would be paralyzed. Cyberknife and 6 more chemo sessions finished it off. January 2010 it was NED and has been to this day.

During treatment I really had no significant painful side effects. I had no nausea. I did get fatigued and I did get dehydrated and I lost all my hair, the usual things I was told to expect. The doctors and nurses all did a great job, they seemed to have all the bases covered and made me extremely confident about the care I was getting. They did offer physical therapy and I strongly recommend doing that during treatment. It kept me in good shape; I learned breathing techniques and the importance of maintaining strength. They also offered acupuncture which they did often and sometimes during my chemo sessions. The only real challenge I have since is dealing with a severely damaged ulnar nerve. I am right handed so I’ve had to learn to live with that small inconvenience. The cancer had eaten almost 43% of the T1 vertibra.  I learned so much about lung cancer through all of this, things I never would have known.

I was a smoker but I had quit almost 5 years prior to my diagnosis. The industry I was part of also wasn’t conducive to great health either. I saw many of the guys I worked with pass on not long after their retirement from one lung disease or another. That’s why my diagnosis wasn’t a shock to me. What got me through the initial part of it was remembering that it’s what I do next that matters. The other stuff is history. During Lawrence Taylors’ acceptance speech at the pro football hall of fame, he said that a champion is determined by not how many times he’s knocked down, but how many times he gets back  up. I heard that many years before I got cancer, but I drew inspiration from it. I also was inspired by Jimmy Valvano’s speech at the ESPY awards long before I was diagnosed. It is available on YouTube or Google it, it’s a must-see speech.

People I meet sometimes start out with the smoking question. I’m not disturbed by it at all.  I understand the stigma associated with lung cancer and its connection to tobacco use. I use it as an opportunity to educate that person about the fact that almost 60% of new cases are nonsmokers and people who quit many years ago. Sometimes they are interested and sometimes I feel like I’m talking to the wall. Like I said before, it’s what we do next that matters. I do wish that everyone understood how many people are lost to lung cancer and how underfunded the research is. Perhaps it takes a loved one being diagnosed to raise awareness.  The fact is that 1 in 14 people will be diagnosed with lung cancer.  That is one reason I work to inform people about this disease, to increase funding for research and treatment.

Cancer Treatment Center of America has kept me involved in survivorship programs. I sometimes meet with new patients at the Philadelphia hospital. I’ve been part of their Patient Advisory Council. We are a group of survivors from their different hospitals. We meet in those cities, tour the hospital, talk to patients there and find ways to make the patient experience as good as it can be. We have made a difference and examples can be found all over the place. It is a hard job as everything is covered very well already. Our group has visited 3 of the hospitals with 2 to go. This torch will be handed over to a new group and the task will continue.

They asked me to be in one of their commercials which I did gladly. It is airing all over the country and has achieved results. I have met people in Philadelphia who told me they saw it and made the call. That’s what we did and I’m a survivor. They do really great things there and I’m proud to be a part of their efforts in the fight against cancer. I also take part in a program called the Patient to Patient Network. A new patient is offered an opportunity to speak with a survivor who has “been there, done that”. It’s very rewarding when I find out that someone I spoke with, sometimes for hours, made a decision to come to CTCA and is doing well. I’ve talked with well over a hundred cancer patients and look forward to seeing them in Philadelphia when our paths cross. These things keep me focused; I want all cancer patients to have good results. They do try to forward lung cancer patients to lung cancer survivors but we do speak with patients with other types from time to time. We aren’t giving medical advice or solutions, we’re trying to help them understand the treatment model and how their initial visit will happen. It helps ease their anxiety about traveling and those things. It has been very rewarding.

I read a full page ad about LUNGevity in the spring issue of Cancer Fighters Thrive magazine one day in the spring of 2011.  I checked out the website and joined immediately. The support group has been wonderful there. I posted my news now and then and I’m sure I ruffled a few feathers from time to time. I did get responses from survivors who had the same type of tumor that I did. Donna from the Minneapolis area was the first to answer and Kasey from very near my home came along too.  Donna was a 14 year survivor and Kasey, 7 years. They both gave me so much hope and inspiration. I found out that the type of cancer we share is less than 3% of all lung cancer types. I’ve never met in person another case like ours. I have talked to some newly diagnosed people with it and I always tell them about these 2 ladies. (No, I don’t use your names).

Last May, I had a chance to attend the Hope Summit in Washington D.C. There were almost 50 lung cancer survivors in one room. It was a very powerful thing. We were from every corner of the country and I don’t think any 2 of us were treated at the same place. There is great care all over this country and this was one happy group. We listened to speakers, shared stories, meals, laughter and even some tears. “That’s a full day.” We have lost a few of these wonderful people since then and we all know that this is the nature of the beast. I know these souls are still with us and the legacy they left will live forever in the hearts of those touched by them.

Sometimes I think getting cancer was the best thing that ever happened to me.  The people I’ve met have inspired me beyond imagination. I’ve met runners, cyclists, swimmers, “gymmers”, hikers, writers, workers, and we’re all  husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, advocates and many more all with this commonality. I’ve learned what things in life are important and the things that don’t matter at all. I wonder if these thoughts would be at the front of my brain if I didn’t get cancer. I know I’d still be working, I loved my little business. I wasn’t through, I had projects unfinished and more to do. It was as if the rug got pulled out from under me. I got back up, got in a fight and so far, I’m winning it. I might get knocked down again, I understand that, and I will get back up again.

My wish is that everyone everywhere would pay attention to what their body is telling them. Persistent coughing, pains that won’t go away, anything that seems out of the ordinary, go talk to your doctor. Go to as many as it takes until you are satisfied with the answers. Don’t worry about hurting doctors feelings by going elsewhere for another opinion. Don’t panic if it is a cancer diagnosis. Find out exactly what type it is before reading the entire internet. Ignore the statistics, we are people not numbers. Don’t be afraid to travel to a reputable treatment facility where ever it might be. Make sure you are fully confident in the team you select. A huge weight will be lifted from you with that faith. If you are in an occupation that puts you at a higher risk, demand tests for early detection. Lung cancer is usually advanced by the time of diagnosis. Listen to your body. Get it checked.

At first, I assumed that lung cancer was a death sentence. I quickly learned that it didn’t have to be. I was offered hope and I was inspired by the many survivors I met along the way. Hope, inspiration, faith, a positive outlook, family, friends and oh yeah, never underestimate the power of prayer. You can do it!

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Posted in Advocates Perspective, Spotlight | 1 Comment »

Spotlight: Lois Green

November 9th, 2012 - by admin

Lois Green of East Greenbush, New York went to NYC to participate in the ING NYC Marathon for all the right reasons.  She and her team trained hard and fundraised non-stop to get to the marathon and to represent their charity, Labrecque- LUNGevity’s Run As One partnership. She wanted to test her endurance as an athlete and she wanted to run the marathon in honor and in memory of those who couldn’t.

But after super storm Sandy hit the north east, the marathon was cancelled.  Instead of joining protests or voicing angry words about the time and money lost with the last minute cancellation of the NYC Marathon, Lois and her supporters shifted their gears.

They donated batteries, wipes and diapers of all sizes for victims of the storm with small children.  They brought bags of clean and gently used clothes to those in need and they scoured for opportunities to be useful and make a difference.

But it was hard for Lois and her team not to feel disappointed that  the marathon was ultimately cancelled at the last minute.

Lois Green of “Team Green” knows something about disappointment. At a routine checkup for asthma, the runner and never-smoker was diagnosed with lung cancer.  It was a shock, but Lois didn’t let that diagnosis and subsequent surgery stop her.  She continued to run and train and participate in marathons for great causes.  Today, she uses her story and survivorship to raise awareness about the disease and advocate for LUNGevity, the largest lung cancer nonprofit in the nation.

Lois also participates in LUNGevity’s Hope Summit, an annual summit in May specifically for lung cancer survivors. When the opportunity became available for Lois to join Team LUNGevity in this year’s NYC Marathon, she immediately signed up and began fundraising with the help and support of her family and friends.

When Lois got home, she was heartbroken to learn about the passing of her friend and fellow lung cancer fighter, Susan Gamble. Another friend, Sara R., just went into hospice care.  The three ladies had met during Hope Summit and as survivors of lung cancer they all shared a passion for advocacy and raising awareness about the disease.

“It’s important to share our stories and work to raise awareness about this disease that claims so many lives.  Lung cancer isn’t a smoker’s disease. Susan, Sara and I never smoked in our lives.  Lung cancer is everyone’s disease.  Anyone with lungs can get it and everyone deserves a chance to survive it. There’s no early detection test for lung cancer. Most people are diagnosed in the latest stages of the disease.  We need to fund more research so that there will be more treatment options and more survivors -so people like Susan and Sara and so many others won’t run out of time.”

Lois Green and her running team have raised almost $10,000 for LUNGevity, and they’re not done yet.  http://events.lungevity.org/site/TR/2012TeamRaiser/General?px=1656886&pg=personal&fr_id=3520

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I Still Got This

August 29th, 2012 - by Jack Rogers

In September 2004, after ignoring an annoying throat for months and attributing it to way too much time on planes doing the corporate law gig, I was diagnosed with Stage IV squamos cell carcinoma of the head and neck. The tumor started in my left tonsil and the cancer wrapped itself around the palate and jumped over to the right side eventually circling around the jugulars and carotids and taking a ride through the lymph nodes. The treatments were brutal. I received chemo and radiation for five months, lost seventy-five pounds, lost my hair, had feeding tubes and TPN infusions hanging out of me, and quickly tired of the constant nausea and the mucositis and sores that stretched from my lips to my colon. My neck was raw and singed from the radiation (like overcooked microwave popcorn that gets tossed away) and I could no longer swallow. At one point, after a long and particularly brutal chemo session in which I went into anaphylactic shock, I actually gave up. I figured – what was done, was done. My wife, who had been driving me to my radiation session with the reckless abandon of a NYC cab driver while pleading on her cell phone for the radiologists to stay late as she battled particularly suffocating NYC rush-hour traffic, pulled the car over and yelled at me as if I was five years old and had just asked how long the ride was going to be because I had forgotten to use the restroom before we left. She said it was no longer about me – it was about all the people that were dropping off meals at our front door, the people that were leaving religious relics and prayer cards in our mailbox, the people that were lighting candles and saying prayers for us around the world, the people that were shuttling our three kids to school and to their sports and music activities, and the third grade class that had committed to eating broccoli once a week as a sacrifice in my name. She was right – it was about them. She is always right. So, I went to radiation where I swallowed my own vomit for fifty minutes while clamped to the table under my Hannibal Lecter-like chemo mask with thoughts of brave (yet squirming) third graders eating broccoli filling my head.

I’m told there was no medical explanation for my surviving that battle, but I did. After all the surgeries and treatments, I lost much of the shape to my neck as well as my jugular veins (I’d be great in a knife fight). More difficult than the physical challenges I faced post-treatment, were the mental challenges. I had so many questions. What was next for me, I wasn’t sure. Was I supposed to just suck it up and go back to work? Join a commune? Become born-again? What did it all mean? Where was I going? I had no idea.

When I was in the hospital during treatments, I spent a lot of time trying to figure out why things happen. All I figured out was I wasted a lot of time trying to figure out why things happen. Also, as I lay in the hospital bed I would hear the families of the cancer patients crying – either around my bed, the next bed or down the hall. They were crying for elderly people that were far too tired to keep battling. They were crying for young mothers that were far too young to be battling for their kids. They were crying for children that were far too innocent to be battling for their lives. The patients didn’t cry during the day in public. I’d hear them after visiting hours were over. They (really, we) cried in silence – long and hard. When we were home, we’d cry alone. But we’d never let the families hear us – we’d stop when the families came back. No one tells you how to deal with that. You quickly realize that you weren’t supposed to survive and the medical community, miracle-workers that they can be, don’t know what to do with you post-treatment. It’s kind of like when your parents pat you on the back and put you on the school bus for the first time in kindergarten – after all your parents’ obsessive research about buying the safest car with air bags and child safety seats, the bus pulls up with some Ted Nugent lookalike contest winner at the wheel and the last time anyone used a seat belt on the bus was probably when they were tested at the factory. Your parents just sort of stand there half-smirking while giving you one of those Queen Elizabeth type waves as you drive off with your nose pressed to the window realizing quickly what prison bus rides to Sing Sing must sound and smell like. Your parents have no idea if you’ll be ok, but what else are they supposed to do – home school you until you’re twenty-two? Same with the medical community – post-treatment you get the “atta boy” pat on the back and you’re out the door with a subscription offer to CURE magazine and a reminder to take two Aleve and call if there are any problems – despite the fact you’re in a daze and have no idea what the hell you’re doing.

The only advice I received post-treatment was from one of my surgeons who said, “You have a beautiful family and a beautiful life. Now go live it.” Easy for him to say – he probably still had both of his jugulars, the skin on his neck didn’t look like some Thanksgiving kitchen disaster where the turkey got way overcooked, and he probably didn’t suffer horrific neck and esophageal spasms every time he swallowed food. What the hell did “living” mean anymore? I had no idea. But slowly over the next few months and years, with my family, friends and faith at my side, I did just that – I got back to living. Running helped me leave dying behind.

On and off throughout my life, I have been “running” from something. Not sure why I’ve been given this lot in life, but I have a theory about my “running” and my life and where it takes me: I run down the path in front of me because that’s God’s plan. I run without slowing down. If I’m slowing down, I’m not running. If I’m not running, I’m catching up to all that is chasing me. If I’m running, I’m not stopping for directions or reading any signs. I don’t want to know what they mean or where I’m going anyway. If I’m running, I’m not stopping at any of those free water stations either where Good Samaritans stand there in the elements and offer sustenance. The need for sustenance makes me weak. I don’t mind being vulnerable – in fact, I welcome it – but I hate being weak. Sometimes I run in groups, but if I’m running in a group, I’m not running, we are. So I leave the group when we approach a fork in the path. Then it’s just me running again. Running down no particular path other than the one in front of me. But I’m taking notes as I run, otherwise I’m doomed to keep turning left. You can’t keep turning left (hint – you run in circles if you do).

Fast-forward to August 2011 – my wife, three kids and I entered a 5-K run on the eastern part of Long Island to help raise awareness for some beach-related environmental issues. My wife and kids all run – the kids do so competitively for their respective schools – my wife does it for the peace (mainly from me). This day was supposed to be a “fun run” for our family – despite the knowledge that once the gun sounded all pleasantries would be tossed aside and we would aggressively elbow each other for position and compete to see who would have the fastest time. A funny thing happened on the way to the finish line, though…. Soon after the race started, I was gassed and couldn’t run up the first hill. In fact, I couldn’t run much at all. I finished last in our family and even lost to kids no older than thirteen years of age that ran part of the race backwards. I’m no Frank Shorter by any means and my wife and kids are really good runners, but we all knew something was up. It sure was – late stage non-small cell squamos cell carcinoma lung cancer is what was up. I had a very large tumor in my left lung that was in a bad spot, had spread to the trachea and was pressing on my pulmonary artery. The cancer had also spread to the surrounding lymph nodes and outlying areas. After completing chemo sensitivity and resistance assays, the doctors surmised it was a twin primary tumor from eight years ago that somehow hid itself, survived the prior treatments and was now rearing its ugly head. That’s the funny thing about cancer – it hides until it’s ready to come out and once it does, it’s often at an advanced stage, especially with lung cancer. Surgery was not an option for me because it was too dicey. Four months of chemo and radiation ensued. But I never gave up running. Running was my coping mechanism. Running was my escape. Running was my way to keep going as I was going through hell (to borrow a battle cry from Winston Churchill). Running was my way to get back to living again. Running was my way of leaving dying behind again.

As a result of the disease and related oh-so-enjoyable treatments and surgeries, I have now lost most of my left lung and am learning to live life in NYC on one lung (i.e., by less audibly bemoaning each new horrible Knick signing and Mets loss as well as each new Michael Bloomberg pedestrian mall and ban on personal vices). And, I’m still running.

Throughout this most recent part of my journey, I needed a focus. I needed to turn the conversation from sickness to health, from worse to better. I needed a new path to run down. I needed a challenge I could control – instead of the cancer, the treatments and the doctors being in control. I needed to get back to living again. And, I needed it to involve running. Everest? No – I’ve never heard of anyone running up Everest, let alone on one lung. Running with the bulls? No – I’ve been gored enough by my surgeons and I run to get a seat on a train and fight for walking lanes on sidewalks every day with NYC commuters, who are much more threatening than any bull. What then? I’m a New Yorker. There’s nothing bigger or more challenging or more majestic than NYC itself. And, there’s no better way to conquer NYC than by competing in the streets among the people. The ING NYC Marathon would give me the opportunity to do just that. I’m was in. I’m was all in.

A funny thing happened on the way to the Marathon, though…my wife pulled the car over again. After my doctors approved my running in the Marathon, my wife said it couldn’t be about me. It had to be about something else. That something else became the LUNGevity Foundation.

The LUNGevity Foundation and its mission to “have a meaningful and immediate impact on improving lung cancer survival rates, ensure a higher quality of life for lung cancer patients, and provide a community for those impacted by lung cancer” connected with me. So did Tom Labrecque’s story from the “Run as One” movement. Running the Marathon under the banner of the LUNGevity Foundation and the Run as One movement would allow me to honor those that have fought the fight before me and to raise funds for lung cancer research. There’s no reason people shouldn’t learn from my journey. There’s also no reason for those battling medical challenges to spend their time as if they were a living portrait of Emmett Kelly with sadness dripping from their veins and darkness lining the tracks of their tears.

In addition, anyone that sponsors me and donates to the LUNGevity Foundation will have his or her name written on the shirt I wear while running in the Marathon. After riding their backs for the past eight years, it’s time I carried them on my back (well, their names anyway). And, carry them I will – all 26.2 miles to the finish line.

So train every day I will. No jugulars. One lung. Another round of aggressive chemo that will last through December 2012. No sweat. I don’t worry about death. I don’t worry about how much time I have left. I don’t worry about being in control of that time. I just live. Oh, how I live. And, I’m going to enjoy the walk as I begin the run down the path – wherever it takes me. I finally found my path – it’s the one to mindfulness and grace. It took a long time, but I know I’m there. And, I have plenty of sustenance for the journey – a lifetime full of faith, love, music, dance, red wine, black and white images, sunsets and wet sand.

I still got this.

To support Jack’s efforts please click here http://events.lungevity.org/site/TR/2012TeamRaiser/General?px=1705406&pg=personal&fr_id=3520

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Posted in Lung Cancer, Spotlight, Stories of HOPE, Testimonial | 11 Comments »

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