I met my $2300 fundraising minimum today for The 3 Day!
*does a happy dance*
Time to raise the goal and get back to work.
What? You thought I was done at $2300? Nope.
Fundraising is a HUGE part of The 3 Day. There is a $2300 fundraising requirement. If by one month after the walk you have not raised that money, it comes out of your own, personal pocket. That's right, YOU are responsible for it! But the truth is, the majority of walkers raise their $2300 before their walk happens.
"Well, what if I want to raise $2300 and then stop?"
That is completely your choice. BUT... if that is what you're deciding to do, allow me to introduce you to a few people:
First up, is George. If you've been part of the Boston 3 Day, even just once, then you know George. He carries a stick with him... a very large stick. And whenever he arrives at a pit stop or lunch or camp, he yells out, "HONEY! I'M HOME!" And we all yell back at him in greeting. I had heard about George the first day I was in camp, and finally met him on Day 2 at lunch. His smile and laugh are contagious. He lost his wife in 2009 to cancer. Both of his daughters have passed away. And yet, he smiles and laughs and walks and passes out hugs.
Then there's Dusty. Trust me, you can NOT miss Dusty. He's the tall, bald headed dude... walking around in a pink bra. Yep. A pink bra. And it sparkles, or has tassels, or lights up, or something. But you can't miss him, and you don't want to. He will crack you up, motivate you to walk another mile, or run in to the street to retrieve your run-away water bottle (thank you, Dusty!). He's been on Oprah, has pictures of himself and Tim Gunn holding a pink bra, and shows up at nearly every breast cancer fundraiser in his area. I could tell his story, but he's much better at telling it himself: Why Dusty Walks
Finally, there is Betty. Unfortunately, you can't actually meet Betty because she passed away 11 years ago from breast cancer. I wear her name on my shirt and carry her picture around my neck when I walk. I was never able to meet Betty, either. But I have met her wonderful family, including her son, Danny, who has made it his mission in life to help end this disease. He's very blessed to have a celebrity platform to stand on from which to do it, but even if he didn't, I have no doubt that he would fight just as hard. I'm blessed to work with him on a website dedicated to her and the fight against breast cancer: RememberBetty.com
I can't imagine sitting down and explaining to any of these three people that I'm only planning on doing the minimum amount of fundraising. I have no doubt that, with a smile on their faces, they would all say that was great, because $2300 is a lot of money. But for me, it's not ENOUGH money. It will only be ENOUGH when there is a cure for breast cancer. Until then, I'll celebrate meeting my minimum for a few minutes, and then I'll raise the bar.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
June 23
Bobbette will be receiving her new kidney on June 23. Thank you to everyone who has gotten tested, spread the word, prayed, or even thought about her during this time. On behalf of Bobbette, her family and friends, we love you.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Dropping The Ball... or The Kidney
I don't really know how to begin this blog, but this seems like the most appropriate way. Vanderbilt University Medical Center, in particular their Organ Transplant Program, completely and totally dropped the ball with Bobbette's kidney transplant.
Since January, we have been told that the first person on the list of potential donors was going through the final stage of testing. While this testing is extensive, including a psychiatric evaluation, blood work, etc., it seemed to be taking a bit too long. The donors who had made themselves known to us continued to check in with Vanderbilt every so often. They were told the same thing each time, "We're testing the first person. Don't call us, we'll call you."
With Bobbette sitting at five percent kidney function, we became increasingly worried about the lack of progress. They have been doing all they can to keep her off of dialysis. The veins in her arms are shot after years and years of blood work and procedures. The alternative to using the veins in her arms for dialysis would be to put in an abdominal port. They are hesitant to do that because of her previous liver transplant, and because that would essentially create an open wound in an immuno-compromised patient. (Her body doesn't fight infection due to the anti-rejection medications she has to take.)
Bobbette received a phone call earlier this week to tell her that she was being activated on the waiting list for a kidney. This wait is approximately three to five years long. After asking why, she was placed on the phone with Margot, her transplant coordinator. Margot informed her that she was afraid some of the donors had "slipped through the cracks," and that we needed to have the ones we knew of contact Vanderbilt. Thanks once again to the power of Twitter, several of the donors contacted Vanderbilt. What happened next was nothing less than shocking to me.
One donor was specifically told to stop calling; that Vanderbilt had this under control and they were testing the first person. Even after explaining that they had been instructed to call, the donor was still treated in a disrespectful manner. After several phone calls to Vanderbilt, the next donor on the list was finally contacted. We're hoping that the final round of testing for them will begin soon.
It took calling out Vanderbilt publicly on Twitter to get a response. Their media department requested an email with information. After sending that, I was assured that things had been sent to the head of the Patient Advocacy program at Vanderbilt. Thanks to some wonderful friends, we were also given the information that allowed us to begin the process of lodging a formal complaint with UNOS, which handles all transplants. And thanks to a mother who is high up in the medical world, we are looking in to our options with Joint Commission.
Personally, I have lost a lot of faith in Vanderbilt University Medical Center. Yes, they are supposedly doing what they can now to rectify the problems that have occurred, but that's only been at the non-stop urging of family and friends who knew enough to ask questions and not accept half assed answers. What about the people who don't have someone to do that for them? How many times has this happened before? And how many times will it happen again? A link in the chain is broken, and it needs to be fixed.
Since January, we have been told that the first person on the list of potential donors was going through the final stage of testing. While this testing is extensive, including a psychiatric evaluation, blood work, etc., it seemed to be taking a bit too long. The donors who had made themselves known to us continued to check in with Vanderbilt every so often. They were told the same thing each time, "We're testing the first person. Don't call us, we'll call you."
With Bobbette sitting at five percent kidney function, we became increasingly worried about the lack of progress. They have been doing all they can to keep her off of dialysis. The veins in her arms are shot after years and years of blood work and procedures. The alternative to using the veins in her arms for dialysis would be to put in an abdominal port. They are hesitant to do that because of her previous liver transplant, and because that would essentially create an open wound in an immuno-compromised patient. (Her body doesn't fight infection due to the anti-rejection medications she has to take.)
Bobbette received a phone call earlier this week to tell her that she was being activated on the waiting list for a kidney. This wait is approximately three to five years long. After asking why, she was placed on the phone with Margot, her transplant coordinator. Margot informed her that she was afraid some of the donors had "slipped through the cracks," and that we needed to have the ones we knew of contact Vanderbilt. Thanks once again to the power of Twitter, several of the donors contacted Vanderbilt. What happened next was nothing less than shocking to me.
One donor was specifically told to stop calling; that Vanderbilt had this under control and they were testing the first person. Even after explaining that they had been instructed to call, the donor was still treated in a disrespectful manner. After several phone calls to Vanderbilt, the next donor on the list was finally contacted. We're hoping that the final round of testing for them will begin soon.
It took calling out Vanderbilt publicly on Twitter to get a response. Their media department requested an email with information. After sending that, I was assured that things had been sent to the head of the Patient Advocacy program at Vanderbilt. Thanks to some wonderful friends, we were also given the information that allowed us to begin the process of lodging a formal complaint with UNOS, which handles all transplants. And thanks to a mother who is high up in the medical world, we are looking in to our options with Joint Commission.
Personally, I have lost a lot of faith in Vanderbilt University Medical Center. Yes, they are supposedly doing what they can now to rectify the problems that have occurred, but that's only been at the non-stop urging of family and friends who knew enough to ask questions and not accept half assed answers. What about the people who don't have someone to do that for them? How many times has this happened before? And how many times will it happen again? A link in the chain is broken, and it needs to be fixed.
Friday, March 25, 2011
"Just" Breast Cancer
I'm sensing a theme in my blogging pattern lately. Someone says something that rubs me the wrong way, and I then blog my way to proving them wrong. This week is no different. This week's statement is courtesy of someone I asked for a donation:
"Well, if it's JUST for breast cancer, then I'm going to have to say no."
Just? JUST?!
I'm going to skip over the statistics that we've all heard about the number of people who die every year from breast cancer. I'm going to skip over the number of people who have survived breast cancer thanks to early detection and treatment. Instead, I'm going to tell you about my friend, Allison.
That's Allison and I at the Race For A Cure in Nashville this past October. That was also one week before she had a 4 pound tumor taken off of her uterus. Here's her story:
In March of 2010, Allison learned that she had a very large fibroid tumor attached to her uterus. She had a great team of doctors that quickly ruled out the tumor being cancerous. She was placed on Lupron Depot shots for 6 months in hopes of shrinking the tumor before the doctors could even consider doing surgery to remove it. They weren't sure that they would be able to remove only the tumor even after these shots. A hysterectomy at age 26 is what Allison was potentially facing. On top of this, she had to have a catheter inserted because of the position of the tumor.
After an MRI in July 2010, it was determined that the shots had been successful in keeping the tumor from growing, but they had failed to shrink it at all. Allison was sent to a fertility specialist as a last ditch effort to find a miracle to shrink the tumor. The specialist decided to keep her on the shots, but also put her on drug called Femara.
Femara is commonly used in post-menopausal breast cancer patients in place of Tamoxifen.
After being on Femara for a few weeks, Allison started feeling better. Her organs that had been compromised by the tumor were functioning better. She was even able to have the catheter removed. On October 15, she underwent surgery to remove what had become a 4 pound tumor, and that was AFTER it had shrunk from the medication. The surgeon was able to remove only the tumor, keeping Allison from needing a hysterectomy at such a young age.
Medications like Femara don't just miraculously appear on the market. They have to be researched, developed, and tested. The money to fund that research, development and testing doesn't appear out of thin air either.
Before you say no to a donation that "just" goes to breast cancer, think about Allison. Because someone said yes, she is able to continue with a normal life and, hopefully one day, she'll give me a niece or nephew. I like the way Aunt Abbie sounds.
"Well, if it's JUST for breast cancer, then I'm going to have to say no."
Just? JUST?!
I'm going to skip over the statistics that we've all heard about the number of people who die every year from breast cancer. I'm going to skip over the number of people who have survived breast cancer thanks to early detection and treatment. Instead, I'm going to tell you about my friend, Allison.
In March of 2010, Allison learned that she had a very large fibroid tumor attached to her uterus. She had a great team of doctors that quickly ruled out the tumor being cancerous. She was placed on Lupron Depot shots for 6 months in hopes of shrinking the tumor before the doctors could even consider doing surgery to remove it. They weren't sure that they would be able to remove only the tumor even after these shots. A hysterectomy at age 26 is what Allison was potentially facing. On top of this, she had to have a catheter inserted because of the position of the tumor.
After an MRI in July 2010, it was determined that the shots had been successful in keeping the tumor from growing, but they had failed to shrink it at all. Allison was sent to a fertility specialist as a last ditch effort to find a miracle to shrink the tumor. The specialist decided to keep her on the shots, but also put her on drug called Femara.
Femara is commonly used in post-menopausal breast cancer patients in place of Tamoxifen.
After being on Femara for a few weeks, Allison started feeling better. Her organs that had been compromised by the tumor were functioning better. She was even able to have the catheter removed. On October 15, she underwent surgery to remove what had become a 4 pound tumor, and that was AFTER it had shrunk from the medication. The surgeon was able to remove only the tumor, keeping Allison from needing a hysterectomy at such a young age.
Medications like Femara don't just miraculously appear on the market. They have to be researched, developed, and tested. The money to fund that research, development and testing doesn't appear out of thin air either.
Before you say no to a donation that "just" goes to breast cancer, think about Allison. Because someone said yes, she is able to continue with a normal life and, hopefully one day, she'll give me a niece or nephew. I like the way Aunt Abbie sounds.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Taking Things Personally
My dad called me last week. He calls me every time there's "some sort of weather", as he would put it. Having just pulled in the driveway from being at the gym, all I wanted was to get inside and get a shower. When he said my stepmother had some news, I could tell from his tone of voice that she hadn't won the lottery.
"They found something on my last mammogram. The biopsy results came back. I have DCIS."
My stepmother has breast cancer.
The words 'early' and 'non-invasive' were mentioned, and while I know that those are both good terms considering what we're talking about, I can't escape the fact that my stepmother, one of my best, closest friends for the past 16 years, has breast cancer.
For the most part, both she & I have received a tremendous outpouring of love & support. Prayers, good vibes, thoughts, offers to talk and listen have tumbled in. And yet, the one comment that continually sticks out to me is one from someone I've never met who said, "Well now your fight against breast cancer is personal."
Really? Just now? It wasn't personal before? Because I wasn't aware of that fact.
Maybe I've been remiss in sharing my story, so please allow me to give you the Reader's Digest version:
A little over 3 years ago, I watched my friend & coworker, Patty, start to turn in to someone I no longer recognized. She began coming in to work later and later, made glaring mistakes on reports, and would get easily confused. After calling her husband one day when we found her sleeping in her office, Patty's doctors discovered that the breast cancer they had thought she had been clear of for 5 years had metastasized to her brain. She began suffering seizures, went through test after test after test, and even had brain surgery to remove the mass. In the end, none of it worked. She passed away the week before Christmas that year, leaving behind 3 children and a husband. She was 47.
My godmother, Aunt Joan, has beat breast cancer twice. The last time was about a year and a half ago. She had two types in the same breast. After undergoing a mastectomy, her options for radiation were limited. She was very close to having already received the maximum amount allowed for a lifetime. Through much research, and refusing to take no for an answer, she is now cancer free. But she's not the same woman she used to be. She gets very tired very easily. She doesn't enjoy traveling like she used to. I won't go so far as to say that she's given up, but she's certainly giving in. Some days, I think I'm more bothered by that than if she would have passed away.
My fight against breast cancer has been personal from Day One.
But let's say that I didn't know anyone with breast cancer. Let's say that I was fortunate enough to not have lost someone to breast cancer. Would that make my efforts any less important or any less personal that someone else? Would that mean that I was participating in this for reasons with less meaning than others?
Don't allow someone else to tell you that your fight isn't personal. If you have the passion to fight breast cancer and the drive to participate in something like The 3 Day, I'm proud to stand next to you, no matter what your reasons are.
"They found something on my last mammogram. The biopsy results came back. I have DCIS."
My stepmother has breast cancer.
The words 'early' and 'non-invasive' were mentioned, and while I know that those are both good terms considering what we're talking about, I can't escape the fact that my stepmother, one of my best, closest friends for the past 16 years, has breast cancer.
For the most part, both she & I have received a tremendous outpouring of love & support. Prayers, good vibes, thoughts, offers to talk and listen have tumbled in. And yet, the one comment that continually sticks out to me is one from someone I've never met who said, "Well now your fight against breast cancer is personal."
Really? Just now? It wasn't personal before? Because I wasn't aware of that fact.
Maybe I've been remiss in sharing my story, so please allow me to give you the Reader's Digest version:
A little over 3 years ago, I watched my friend & coworker, Patty, start to turn in to someone I no longer recognized. She began coming in to work later and later, made glaring mistakes on reports, and would get easily confused. After calling her husband one day when we found her sleeping in her office, Patty's doctors discovered that the breast cancer they had thought she had been clear of for 5 years had metastasized to her brain. She began suffering seizures, went through test after test after test, and even had brain surgery to remove the mass. In the end, none of it worked. She passed away the week before Christmas that year, leaving behind 3 children and a husband. She was 47.
My godmother, Aunt Joan, has beat breast cancer twice. The last time was about a year and a half ago. She had two types in the same breast. After undergoing a mastectomy, her options for radiation were limited. She was very close to having already received the maximum amount allowed for a lifetime. Through much research, and refusing to take no for an answer, she is now cancer free. But she's not the same woman she used to be. She gets very tired very easily. She doesn't enjoy traveling like she used to. I won't go so far as to say that she's given up, but she's certainly giving in. Some days, I think I'm more bothered by that than if she would have passed away.
My fight against breast cancer has been personal from Day One.
But let's say that I didn't know anyone with breast cancer. Let's say that I was fortunate enough to not have lost someone to breast cancer. Would that make my efforts any less important or any less personal that someone else? Would that mean that I was participating in this for reasons with less meaning than others?
Don't allow someone else to tell you that your fight isn't personal. If you have the passion to fight breast cancer and the drive to participate in something like The 3 Day, I'm proud to stand next to you, no matter what your reasons are.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
If I Can Do It...
I was on the phone with my dad last night, telling him about being picked to be a Komen 3 Day Ambassador. And while he thought it was great & he's very proud of me, he asked me a very good question: What will you say when asked about The 3 Day?
The biggest point I came up with was this: If I can do it, you can do it.
When I was trying to decide whether or not to register for my first 3 Day in January of 2010, I had what I would come to learn were a lot of misconceptions about the type of person who walks The 3 Day. I mean, it's 60 miles. That's intense! And thus, it takes an intense person... a person who competes in triathalons, runs marathons, and all other kinds of -thons. It's full of people who live on health bars that taste like cardboard... skinny, super healthy, I can count your six pack abs kind of people. I felt like passing out at 3 miles, and then again when I reached 7. 10 miles? 18 in one day?! Forget it. That's not something I can do.
I was very wrong.
Not long after we left opening ceremonies, walkers were detouring in to Burger King, Dunkin' Donuts and Starbucks. I saw one lady pull a bag of Cheetos out of her backpack. We chowed down on candy in the sweep vans (I highly recommend Nerds!) Some walkers made it to the first pit stop and then hopped in a sweep van to lunch. Apple pie and brownies were served at camp! My 2x tshirt wearing self was in very good company in the crowd of 1800+ walkers.
I've made a conscious effort since I signed up for last year's 3 Day to be healthier. I joined a gym, I eat healthier, I drink water instead of soda. But I will still tear up some fried chicken, macaroni & cheese, mashed potatoes, red velvet cake... you get the picture. You're not gonna see me on a beach in a bikini playing volleyball. I'll be sitting on a lounge chair, drinking a pina colada.
None of that makes me any less intense than the type of person I originally thought walked The 3 Day. I'm just intense in a different way. I am no less passionate about my goal of walking 60 miles and raising as much money as possible for Komen because I'm not an uber-athlete.
I know that as a first-timer, it all seems like a very daunting mountain to climb. $2300 is a lot of money to raise. 60 miles is a long way to walk. I'll let you in on a secret: I never believed I could do it. It wasn't until that last penny was in my 3 Day account that I believed I could raise the money. It wasn't until I set foot in to camp at the end of Day 1 after walking every single step that I believed I could do it. I crossed the finish line with the help of some vans & buses, and that's okay.
If you have the passion to help, to be part of the cause and the cure, that's all you need. Yes, you will get overwhelmed. Yes, you will wonder if you've lost your mind... and so will other people. But if that voice is inside you telling you that you need to do this, listen to it. Sign up for The 3 Day. You can walk next to me and we'll compare the different methods there are to fry chicken.
For more information on The 3 Day, please visit: The3Day.Org
And if you're one of my Blockhead/New Kid family members, I highly encourage you to join or donate to Team Betty in one of the cities listed below:
Boston
San Diego
Seattle
Tampa
If you don't see a 3 Day near you listed, form your own Team Betty!
The biggest point I came up with was this: If I can do it, you can do it.
When I was trying to decide whether or not to register for my first 3 Day in January of 2010, I had what I would come to learn were a lot of misconceptions about the type of person who walks The 3 Day. I mean, it's 60 miles. That's intense! And thus, it takes an intense person... a person who competes in triathalons, runs marathons, and all other kinds of -thons. It's full of people who live on health bars that taste like cardboard... skinny, super healthy, I can count your six pack abs kind of people. I felt like passing out at 3 miles, and then again when I reached 7. 10 miles? 18 in one day?! Forget it. That's not something I can do.
I was very wrong.
Not long after we left opening ceremonies, walkers were detouring in to Burger King, Dunkin' Donuts and Starbucks. I saw one lady pull a bag of Cheetos out of her backpack. We chowed down on candy in the sweep vans (I highly recommend Nerds!) Some walkers made it to the first pit stop and then hopped in a sweep van to lunch. Apple pie and brownies were served at camp! My 2x tshirt wearing self was in very good company in the crowd of 1800+ walkers.
I've made a conscious effort since I signed up for last year's 3 Day to be healthier. I joined a gym, I eat healthier, I drink water instead of soda. But I will still tear up some fried chicken, macaroni & cheese, mashed potatoes, red velvet cake... you get the picture. You're not gonna see me on a beach in a bikini playing volleyball. I'll be sitting on a lounge chair, drinking a pina colada.
None of that makes me any less intense than the type of person I originally thought walked The 3 Day. I'm just intense in a different way. I am no less passionate about my goal of walking 60 miles and raising as much money as possible for Komen because I'm not an uber-athlete.
I know that as a first-timer, it all seems like a very daunting mountain to climb. $2300 is a lot of money to raise. 60 miles is a long way to walk. I'll let you in on a secret: I never believed I could do it. It wasn't until that last penny was in my 3 Day account that I believed I could raise the money. It wasn't until I set foot in to camp at the end of Day 1 after walking every single step that I believed I could do it. I crossed the finish line with the help of some vans & buses, and that's okay.
If you have the passion to help, to be part of the cause and the cure, that's all you need. Yes, you will get overwhelmed. Yes, you will wonder if you've lost your mind... and so will other people. But if that voice is inside you telling you that you need to do this, listen to it. Sign up for The 3 Day. You can walk next to me and we'll compare the different methods there are to fry chicken.
For more information on The 3 Day, please visit: The3Day.Org
And if you're one of my Blockhead/New Kid family members, I highly encourage you to join or donate to Team Betty in one of the cities listed below:
Boston
San Diego
Seattle
Tampa
If you don't see a 3 Day near you listed, form your own Team Betty!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Reacting
I locked my keys in my car over the weekend. I was parked in front of the shed where we store all our food for homeless outreach. All of the food for that week that had just been picked up? You guessed it. Still inside my car. My keys were in plain sight on the front seat. My friend, John, looked inside with me, then at me. He headed for the antenna to unscrew it while I headed to the other shed to grab screwdrivers. We were a good five minutes in to prying the top of the car door open enough to slide the now bent antenna in to hit the unlock button before John's wife, Ruthie, even noticed anything was going on.
"What do you mean you locked your keys in your car?!" Ruthie's eyes went wide.
"Exactly what I said. They're on the front seat." We popped the screwdrivers out of the driver's side door and moved to try the passenger side.
"But you're so calm about it. I never would have known you l0cked your keys in your car." Ruthie moved to block the sun for us so we could see.
"Doesn't do any good to get excited over it. Nothing I can do except try to get the car unlocked." And with that, the antenna hit the unlock button, letting me in to my car so I could unload all the boxes of food.
Too often, we react in a way that's not going to help the situation. We panic, cry, scream, jump up and down, when all we really need to do is stay calm for five minutes, do a little work, and things are back to normal.
Choose carefully how and what you react to.
"What do you mean you locked your keys in your car?!" Ruthie's eyes went wide.
"Exactly what I said. They're on the front seat." We popped the screwdrivers out of the driver's side door and moved to try the passenger side.
"But you're so calm about it. I never would have known you l0cked your keys in your car." Ruthie moved to block the sun for us so we could see.
"Doesn't do any good to get excited over it. Nothing I can do except try to get the car unlocked." And with that, the antenna hit the unlock button, letting me in to my car so I could unload all the boxes of food.
Too often, we react in a way that's not going to help the situation. We panic, cry, scream, jump up and down, when all we really need to do is stay calm for five minutes, do a little work, and things are back to normal.
Choose carefully how and what you react to.
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