The Fundraising Dilemma

Without sounding too conceited, I think I have a pretty powerful testimony. Three brain surgeries, 22 rounds of high-dose chemotherapy, and now 42 consecutive days of combined chemotherapy and radiation. Originally given 6 - 8 years to live, since then I've married the woman of my dreams, had a beautiful daughter, and run marathons and duathlons. I'd like to think that all that could be used to motivate people, raise awareness of brain cancer, and maybe even raise some money for brain cancer research.

I think some people are motivated. I think I've helped raise awareness. Unfortunately, I've always struggle with the fundraising part. I remember, back in high school, volunteering to go door-to-door to raise money for The March of Dimes. As important as that cause is, I absolutely hated it. I hated asking people for money 20 years ago, and I still hate it. Even if I firmly believe in the cause -- or have a personal relationship in the cause, like brain cancer -- I hate the fundraising part.

Despite my dislike, I've been fairly successful. I've probably raised close to $50,000 over the past seven marathons -- sometimes the American Cancer Society, other times the National Brain Tumor Society, even the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I think that somewhere in the back of my mind, I harbor a hope that a cure will eventually be found, and perhaps some of the money I've raised in the past will help that happen. On a personal basis, I also know that it provides an added incentive. 22 miles in, when everything tells me to stop, I think about those who have pledged a dollar or two per mile -- hard-earned money out of their own pockets, every dollar one more reason to keep going, mile after mile. In the 2006 USMC Marathon, I walked the last 8 miles and passed out at the finish line. Last year, in Seattle, I ran the last 16 miles with quad cramps, stopping every few miles to massage my own legs. I'm fairly certain that I would have two DNFs on my record if it weren't for the support -- spiritual, emotional, AND financial -- of friends and family.

So, here we go again! You all know that the Rock-N-Roll Seattle Marathon on June 27th is my "comeback" race. I ran the Seattle Marathon a week before my third brain surgery, and I gave myself six months to come back to full strength and run the inaugural RNR Seattle. This race will benefit the National Brain Tumor Society -- an outstanding nonprofit organization that has been instrumental in my fight against cancer. Please, feel no pressure -- but if you'd like to contribute, I've set up a website at http://www.braintumorcommunity.org/goto/Moyles. One dollar a mile, two dollars a mile, $25 or $50 or whatever -- every little bit helps! Help me finish this race, and help NBTS find a cure!

A Rite of Passage

I MADE IT.  

I haven't been "on the blog" in a while, and there's good reason...this radiation is pretty nasty stuff!  Combined with chemotherapy, it's a pretty brutal regimen.  However, after 42 consecutive days of simultaneous chemotherapy and radiation, I'm DONE!  Today was my last treatment.  Praise God!  

In retrospect, it really wasn't too bad...though the "radiation sickness" -- basically nausea and fatigue -- was pretty serious.  You literally feel like you could sleep all the time, and you probably could.  I ended up taking a few days off work in the past week or two, and spent most of the time comatose on the couch or in bed.  The level of fatigue is unlike anything I've experienced before -- you all know what it feels like, waking up the morning after a marathon, where everything in your body hurts and you just want to stay in bed all day...this is similar, without the body ache.  It takes every bit of will power you have to get out of bed, even to use the restroom -- let alone go to work, or go for a run.  I also lost a bit of hair...mostly on the right side of my head, where the main beams exited:

Yeah, I know it looks like I just got a bad (or unfinished) haircut, but it's the radiation.  I joke with my radiology tech, Anita, that she should be a hairstylist -- 'Hair by Radiation' or something like that.  Actually, now that I look at it, this style is "in" right now...hmmm...anyway:

But I made it.  

I'll spare you the cheesy parallels -- though the similarities between finishing a marathon and the 42-day treatment cycle are obvious.  It's a marathon of a different sort, and in many ways was more difficult than the toughest of my marathons (Marine Corps 2006, if you're curious).  I couldn't help but celebrate a bit -- and even talked the radiation team into a group photo after my last treatment.  This is me, the radiation mask I wear (see my previous post), and the radiologist/techs who I met with every morning to work their magic.  Anita dahling is on the far left, along with Tammy, me, Theresa, and Jim.  Thanks team!

 

You may also notice that I shaved my head...not only because the beautiful "Haircut by Radiation" photo above isn't in compliance with military regulations, but because there's somewhat of a "rite of passage" there for cancer patients.  If you could see all the children and elderly who go into the treatment rooms before me, or who are waiting when I come out...nearly all of them have lost all of their hair, or have shaved their heads.  Cancer survivors form a very tight-knit family, and this is a rite of passage of sorts...and I was happy to join the club.  

From here, it's back to the waiting game.  The first time, in 2001, we tried surgery alone -- and the cancer returned.  The second time, in 2005, we tried surgery plus 22 round of chemotherapy -- and the cancer returned again.  This time, the third time, we're doing surgery plus chemotherapy plus radiation -- let's hope the tri-fecta will kill this bug!  I'll now return to the National Institutes of Health's National Cancer Institute, where I'll again start the 90-day brain scan routine.  If my scans are clear for a year, I go to scans every six months...and if those are clear after a year, I go to annual scans.  I've never made it that far -- the cancer has always returned first -- but it won't this time!

From a training perspective, I've somehow been able to keep up with the plan.  I started my Rock-and-Roll Seattle training plan on the same day I started radiation, and I'm up to about 10 miles on a long run -- yesterday's run was 9 miles, and I did pretty well, right on 8-minute miles.  I'm on track to do the George Washington 10-Miler next month and the Marine Corps Historic Half in May as training races, followed by Seattle in June.  Right now it also looks like I'll have some company at Seattle -- at least JD and a few others, including some from the Bloggers Against Cancer community.  I'll be setting up a fundraiser, probably through the American Cancer Society or the National Brain Tumor Society...more on that later.

For those looking for an update on the Monkey, she turned one year old yesterday -- and had her first birthday party!  Also her first taste of cake...she LOVED it, of course:

She even got some of the cake in her mouth!

Finally, I'll close with one brief tickler...I got a call from Runner's World last week.  Nothing is finalized yet, but you may see something in the July issue.  Stay tuned!