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Posts Tagged ‘prayer’

I can’t believe it’s been so long since I last posted here! Well, I think I’ve found something to write about…

With fellow Running for Rare Diseases Board Members (Jessi, Kai, Phil, me and Andrew; Not pictured - Shay and Marissa) after all - except me - finished the Boston Marathon...

With fellow Running for Rare Diseases Board Members (Jessi, Kai, Phil, me and Andrew; missing: Shay and Marissa) after all – except me – finished the 2014 Boston Marathon…

Dear family and friends,

As some of you may have known I would do long before I consciously considered it, I have decided to officially join the Running for Rare Diseases Marathon Team as a runner in the 2015 Boston Marathon. (You should see my face every time I say or think those words – scrunched up in a combination of terror and excitement, with butterflies in my stomach and sometimes tears in my eyes.)  Others may be as shocked as I still am at my decision.

Why am I doing this, you may wonder? I joke that I’m only doing this so I can buy one of those Boston Marathon jackets, but that’s not it. Ok, maybe a little bit… but if you have attended any of our Running for Rare Diseases Team events or read our blog, you know this isn’t really about running, even for a wicked cool jacket. Yes, I know I’m going to have to run (gulp) 26.2 miles on Marathon Monday and do the hundreds of miles of training in the next 100-plus days, but that’s just a formality. This is about people. Inspiring, strong, caring people. The people in the Running for Rare Diseases community. The rare disease patient partners and their families who live with challenges much more daunting, scary and personal than any sporting event, and who do so with the most positive, hopeful attitudes every day. And all the past team members – especially those who, like me, aren’t fast or born runners – who make this more like a family than a work team.

I want to continue throwing fundraisers for our NORD/Genzyme NIH Undiagnosed Diseases Program Fund and help those people out there who have been struggling for years without knowing what disease they have, and don’t even have enough money to have the initial testing done to get them into the program. I want to help them on that first step to finding an answer. And I want to get to know my own patient partner and his or her family. I want to follow the instructions on connecting that Shauna, a 10-year-old patient partner, gave us at our kick-off meeting: exchange lists of 10 things about you with your patient partner; make funny faces together; and get on the same level. Without question, I know this will be the highlight for me.

Yes, I, Amy Lee Tull Atwood, one of the LEAST athletic people ever, am running the 2015 Boston Marathon. I wonder how long it will be before those words roll off my tongue without cringing, and feeling slightly ill?

My friends Gail and Anne, both members of our Running for Rare Diseases community, asked me at the team kickoff meeting, “So are you running the half marathon?” I shook my head, scrunched up my face and whispered, “Nope. I’m running the whole thing.” They joined in my shock and excitement. I honestly don’t know when I crossed the line from “Never ever” to “How can I not?” I know that at the dinner on April 19, 2014, I was still strong in the denial I’d maintained since getting involved with the team in January 2011. I think it was just two days later at the Marathon that I cracked. There I realized that while I have done practically everything I can for this team as a Board Member, part of me still felt like a bit of a fraud or an outsider (even though Jessi said I am one of the cool kids and I was in some of the team pics). There were still things like team lists that screamed at me that I wasn’t really on the team. Most of all, while I actually felt lucky to get to know so many patient partners, I didn’t have one of my own. And this really hit home for me at Mile 14 when all the partners were holding signs for and eagerly awaiting their runner.

Some, like Tara, my parents and my teammate Beth, were nice and said, “Ok, but you don’t have to do it this year if you’re not ready.” Honestly, I feel like each year I have ramped up my commitment and this is the only next step. And I know that I will never really be ready. I’ll never have enough time and I’ll never be in well enough shape. I know in my gut that it has to be this year.

My mother also emphasized that I need to stop doing everything for everyone else, and to focus more on me. I thought about this a lot as I agonized over whether I could really do this. As usual, Phil, our team founder and leader, had some pretty insightful words. He said that this is actually the most selfish thing I will ever do. While yes, I will be running for my patient partner, running to raise awareness of rare diseases and fundraising, most of what I will be doing will be by myself. All of the running I will need to do for the next 18 weeks. The intense training, making time for runs four days a week and cross training two other days. Especially the long runs that will sometimes take me three, four, five or more hours, when it will be just me, my thoughts and my iPod. Since I can’t compromise work, that is all time away from my family and friends. And we all know I never have enough time for my family and friends even without training! (I am truly sorry for that – I so wish there were more hours in the day or days in the week…) I’m actually joining Nick’s gym so I can see him on a regular basis. (And run inside on the track since I despise the cold.)

I also question whether physically I can do this. While Tara and the team inspired me to start running, I honestly still can’t jog one mile straight – even after all this training. I still walk/run, and probably always will – which my dad reminds me is better on my knees, anyway. I am out of breath within minutes. Some of you know I am on a clinical trial for a breast cancer drug, so I checked with my oncologist to be sure I’m ok to do it, even though this drug can significantly reduce my white blood cell counts. (She said yes.) Which actually reminds me of yet another reason I feel like I have  to do this: because now I can. I think of how sick I was in 2012, when I couldn’t run a 5k. And I think of others going through cancer treatments and surgeries like I did: I want to show them that they, too, can get through it and be strong again. And I want to do this for those who weren’t as lucky as me…

But I am slooooooooowwww. My goal is to finish before they close the finish line. (Seriously.) The theory is that if you can run a half marathon, you can run a full marathon. So I promised Phil that if I could finish the BAA half (which was one of my 2014 New Year’s resolutions) in October under 3 hours, which is just before they close that finish line, then I would run Boston. My time? 3 hours and 3 minutes. Theoretically, that means (especially with the next 18 weeks of training) I should be able to finish the marathon in 6 and a half hours, and I know the finish line was still open at that point last year.

So how am I going to do this? Only with all of your support, understanding and prayers. Please don’t get mad at me for never being able to do anything or for simply being too tired to talk much. Know that I love and miss you, think about you often and am probably even having conversations with you in my head while on my runs. (Yes, this really happens. I think you all know way more than you do and I imagine what’s happening in your lives!) And when we do talk or write, please don’t mind that much of my side of the conversation will be related to Running for Rare Diseases and my training, since that will pretty much be my life outside of work.  And yes, of course, probably most of my Facebook posts, Tweets and Instagrams will be related to this, too… And I would really love to see you at Mile 14 where our patient partners, team members who will be running Providence, colleagues and other friends and family will be gathered to cheer our team on – or anywhere along the marathon route on April 20 – I will be one of the very last runners so you shouldn’t have a problem seeing me…

And yes, this means I will be hitting you up for donations. As daunting as running 26.2 miles is, raising the minimum $3,500 for the  Genzyme/NORD NIH Undiagnosed Diseases Program (UDP) Fund will be just as challenging. Please know that if you intended to get me a gift for Christmas and/or my birthday, I’m making it super easy for you! I seriously, seriously do not want anything for Christmas or my birthday except donations to my Running for Rare Diseases page (except you, Cory – you’re not getting off so easily, and anyone who is actually making me something homemade like mom). So if you planned to spend $5 on a gift for me, please instead donate $5 to my fundraising page: https://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/AmyAtwood/2015-running-for-rare-diseases-team No donation is too small. Every cent counts.

Thank you for your love, support (emotionally and financially if possible), understanding, prayers, positive vibes and patience with me through April 20, as I embark on this most selfish (and crazy) thing I’ve ever done.

Amy

p.s. Andrew (who is running the Paris Marathon for our team) and I are throwing a joint fundraiser – the first Running for Rare Diseases 2015 Marathon Team fundraiser – a Pub Night, on Friday, December 19 from 6-9 p.m. at the Lansdowne Pub near Fenway Park. Tickets are only $10 in advance or $12 at the door and include a raffle ticket and free apps (while they last – come early)! Hope you’ll join us!

p.p.s. Join our Running for Rare Diseases community (if you haven’t already) by subscribing to our blog, liking us on Facebook, following us on Twitter, Instagram and watching/sharing our Boston Marathon and Rare Disease Day Relay videos.

Thanks!

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I thought I could get away from cancer. I thought by ending the blog, I wouldn’t think about it every day. Ha! Once you’ve been diagnosed, it doesn’t matter that you’ve finished chemo, radiation, multiple surgeries and been declared “cancer free.” It is always there. With every strange feeling, with each routine health screening, with every glimpse of myself with hair! And now, as many of you know, cancer is my ‘day job,’ too. I wondered if working for an oncology organization would be difficult or depressing, but it’s really the opposite: it energizes me and gives me hope that we can really find a cure (or, realistically, multiple cures)!

If you read my last blog entry, you know that my heart broke over the recent death of a breast cancer sister. This must stop! Help us create happy endings by funding the research needed to find better treatments and cures for all cancers. There are many ways you can help:

Join our fabulous team!!!

Join our fabulous team!!!

  • If you live too far away, are busy that day or just prefer to donate rather than walk, while we will miss your company, we would so appreciate any donation. You can donate by clicking here – and please don’t forget to complete your company’s matching gift request, if applicable!
  • Do you need anything for your kitchen? Shop one of our fundraisers and not only can you get what you need, but a portion of the proceeds will go toward our walk!
  • Have an idea for a fundraiser that can be done by Sept. 21? Please e-mail me and let’s talk!
  • Finally, another of my very favorite events of the year is coming up: Runway for Recovery! Join us on October 16 at the Revere Hotel for my (I never thought I’d say this) modeling debut! Buy tickets here, come cheer me and the other survivor models on, and you will be helping children who have lost their mothers to breast cancer, as well as providing opportunities for health care providers who care for such patients. It’s such an inspiring night – a true celebration of life, sisterhood and survivors.
Last year, I volunteered with Genzyme friends for Runway for Recovery - and excited to be modeling this year!

Last year, I volunteered with Genzyme friends for Runway for Recovery – and I’m excited to be modeling this year!

Please remember, together we really can make a difference and help find a cure! Thank you for helping us kick cancer!!!

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It’s 2014. No one should die of cancer. It has to stop.

Almost exactly two years ago, in August 2012, a friend from high school messaged me and asked if she could pass my blog on to her cousin, who was also battling breast cancer. Of course, I told her, that’s why I write this – to try to help others through it. “Thank you, Amy,” my friend replied, “She just read your first blog and is crying her eyes out… she can relate and feels like no one understands.”

It wasn’t long before my friend’s cousin (who was always very private, which is why I am not using her name) and I became friends on Facebook, and then exchanged messages. “I can relate to your blogs so much!!” she wrote. “Thank you for sharing your story. I would love to be able to meet you someday. Good luck with everything! We seem to have similar stories. I am currently getting my second round of chemo (the strong stuff!). I started last March w/chemo for 12 straight weeks, had a radical mastectomy (right breast) in June and now I have 4 of these absolutely sucky chemos. After this is over I need to have radiation. Sometime next year I will have reconstruction. Stay strong & positive like you have been!”

Yes, we had similar stories, even a similar timeline. But, for some reason, I am here and she is not. She passed away yesterday. My heart is broken. It’s just not fair!

We exchanged a few more messages after that first one, sometimes she commented on the blog, or a picture, but we never got to meet in person. I naively thought she was, like me, on the road to recovery. I had no idea she had gotten sick again until 10 days ago when my friend messaged me:

“Amy, I just wanted to thank you for being such an inspiration to me and my family… especially my cousin  who has battled cancer. Your blog really helped her on her journey. Unfortunately, her battle is coming to an end but I just felt you should know that many a days you helped her get thru it. My love to you and your family!!”

I was shocked. Horrified. But her story was similar to mine??? How could she be dying??? She’s a mom – what about her kids, and everyone who loves and needs her??? But that’s how this miserable disease is. It doesn’t care if you have kids, are happy, love life. Rich, poor, whatever. And the fact is, you can never be sure you really beat it – it can come back at any time.

So now I’m going to go cry some more. For this life that was taken much too soon, and for all who loved her. And I’m going to be even more thankful now than ever for every minute that I get here on earth. I realize how truly lucky – so blessed – I am to still be here today. We don’t all get happy endings, no matter how much I wish we did…

 

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The last couple of nights I’ve woken up in the middle of the night with nightmares. They were very different, but both had loose ties (very loose) with my old life when I lived in Blackstone and got married. I know it’s probably because I’m at that place again – major changes are happening in my life.

Today is two years from the day I had my double mastectomy. I felt like I was one person when I went under the anesthesia and another when I woke up. I mourned the old me for a long time and found that the only way I could cope with being cancer girl was to share my journey and hopefully help others who were struggling through the same shock.

Well, I can’t say I’ve come full circle as I will never be that girl again. Cancer will always be a part of me (hopefully more figuratively than literally). But I am done thinking about it every single day. I’m ready for it to be just a small part of me rather than the main focus. And that’s why I’m “ending” this blog.

I discussed this with fellow blogger Jypsy J. Book last night and she convinced me not to actually end it completely, but to evolve it once again. “Why start over with a whole new blog,” she asked. “You’ve built this one up so much and you’ve already shifted it once from your original travel blog to your cancer blog – just evolve it again.”

So this morning I texted Cory and told him that today, on the two year anniversary of my surgery, I was going to put my blog on hiatus. My phone immediately rang. “This doesn’t mean you’re going to stop writing, does it?” he asked. And that is one of the many reasons I love him.

No, I will not stop writing. I just need to figure out what I really want to write about.  I’ve felt guilty letting so much time go by between these entries – like I’ve let my readers down – but I haven’t wanted to dwell on or analyze every single cancer experience and thought that I’ve had lately. So I know it’s time to move on.

I am going to change the “About” section in the header of this blog to direct people looking for my breast cancer experience to those dates, and the travel readers to the earliest entries. And – probably in a few weeks or months – I will be back with a new focus. Of course, I completely understand if you want to unsubscribe if it’s only cancer-related stories that you’re interested in. (This is starting to sound like a break-up letter…) Otherwise, I hope you’ll stick with me for my next adventure… Thank you ALL for ALL of your love, support, positive thoughts, prayers, kind words and friendship – I never would’ve made it through the cancer journey without every one of you by my side!!!

xo

Amy

p.s. Some have asked why I’m ending this today and not after next Thursday. To be honest, this simply felt right: the day they cut the cancer from me. Everything won’t be done next week – I still suffer from lymphedema; I am on Tamoxifen for another nine or so years. But I leave an open invitation for any breast cancer sisters who want to know about the 3-D nipple tattoos to e-mail me and I will be happy to give them a play-by-play on the entire experience! I am always here to answer ANY questions – big or small – for anyone dealing with breast cancer. The silver lining from this is that I can help others through it, and that will never change.

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So as I wrote these I thought how cliché and dippy some of them are. I erased them all and started over multiple times. But they kept reappearing on the screen. Because even if they are dippy and cliché, they are true. They are the things that I’ve finally learned and come to know as true, and they help me every day in my quest for a happy life…

21. Do what makes you happy. Not because someone told you to. Not because it will make you money. Just do something because you love it. If you’re passionate about something, everything else will follow.

22. Happiness is contagious. It’s hard not to smile back. Make someone else smile today. It’ll make you happy. It’s a fabulous circle!

23. You know what else can make you happy? Running. I never would’ve believed it, but once I tried it, I found it’s true. That whole endorphin thing, I guess. I actually always think I hate running when I start out, but once I get going my mood totally improves, and after I always feel better than when I started.

24. Music. Another thing that can totally change your mood. (And why is it that you can always remember the words to songs, even (especially) the ones you can’t stand???)

25. Travel. Explore. Discover. Whether it’s by the Mediterranean Sea, the streets of San Francisco or the mountains of New Hampshire, you’ll find new aspects of you along the way.

26. Be yourself. Don’t try to be anyone else. You’ll never succeed and it’s not worth your time or energy. Love yourself as you are. But…

27. Know that if you are not happy with yourself, you are the one person who can change things. You have control over you. Don’t waste your time being miserable.

28. And don’t waste your time with people who don’t treat you the way you deserve to be treated. If they make you cry more than smile, it’s a clue that you should get out. (It took me way too long to realize that one. Please trust me on this one and if that sounds like your relationship, get out now!)

29. In fact, don’t waste any time. Your time. Other people’s time. Nothing is more precious.

30. Guilt is a wasted emotion. If you feel guilty, do something about it. Change it. Or get over it.

31. Your parents probably do know best. And they will always worry about you, know matter how old you are. And when you become a parent, the worry will never end. It just comes with the job.

32.  Every day is another chance to start something new. Or start over. It can be whatever you want it to be.

33. Don’t let anyone else put you down, discourage you or tell you that you can’t do or be something. Usually they are the ones with the issue.

34. Encourage others. Boost them up. Help them find their way and thrive. It takes nothing away from you – you both win.

35. Spend time talking with your elders. Learn their stories. They are your stories, too, and they’ll be lost if you don’t listen… and spend time with the younger people in your lives, too. They can benefit from your experiences, and you can learn a lot from them, too – like how to relax and play! (Something I’m always trying to learn – the relax part…)

36. Learn the art of compromise. I’m trying. It’s something I’m still learning, but what I do know is that you can’t have everything your way all the time. And that’s ok.

37. Everything happens for a reason. We may not always understand it, but the reason usually becomes clear later on. (I’ve often thought that maybe the reason I got cancer was to help raise awareness and save others. So do your self checks people!!!)

38. Say thank you. Be grateful. Appreciate everyone who is there for you, helps you, loves you. Thank you are two words you can never say too much.

39. Pray. No matter where you are, what time it is or what’s happening around you, you can pray. It’s one thing that always helps make me feel better. And the other…

40. Deep breaths. Breathe. Just breathe.

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Ever since my birthday, I’ve been thinking about what to say in this blog about turning 40. Finally, last week, after the idea kept coming back to me, I decided to write “40 Things I’ve Learned in 40 Years.” I wrote 30 of them, decided that it was much too long for one blog entry, and split it into two parts. I was about to publish it when I decided I’d better write all 40 (both parts) before publishing one of them in case something that came at the end would fit better at the beginning, or vice versa. (You writer friends know what I mean!) Since at that point it was well past midnight on a work night, I pressed save and closed the laptop.Fast forward to the next day after work. It was my first night in a long time that I got to just go home after work (at a normal hour) and actually have a few hours to do whatever I wanted (rare, precious time). I decided what I most wanted was to go through the bags of gifts from my birthday and write thank you cards. (Kristen, you’ve taught me well.) More than anything, I love the thought put into the cards and gifts from my dear friends and family. And amongst them all, I found a letter that I hadn’t seen in the craziness of the party. I opened it and laughed out loud! It was from Vanessa: a list of things she’s learned since she turned 40! I figured it would be similar to the list I was making, but was surprised to find that it’s not. In fact, the things I’ve learned in my barely 40 years hardly overlap with the things she’s learned since turning 40. I thanked Vanessa profusely for sharing her wisdom and asked if I could include it here – and she said yes. Thank you, Vanessa! Enjoy all! (And I’ll share my 40 things later this week…)

February 3, 2014

Happy Birthday, Amy!

Hi there,

I’ve been thinking about what to buy you for your birthday for some time now. I thought about donating to causes and non-profit organizations in your name. I thought of milestone pieces of jewelry. I thought of kitschy-mementos to honor your birth year. They were all good, but they all rang hollow. Besides, what do you buy for the person who has everything? I mean, turning 40 is huge.

That’s when I knew what I would get you. Turning 40 is a distinct rite of passage. If you’re a woman, that journey is colored with complexities, shaded by doubt and confronted by bold dreams. I wish someone had told me that instead of texting me an unimpressive nursery rhymed, rhetorical “Lordy, Lordy, looks who’s 40” message.

So my friend, even though I’m only six months ahead, here’s what I’ve learned since turning 40:

  1. Life is just beginning; it’s not a cliché. Long before I heard Oprah bellow to her audience about turning 40 and hearing celebrity guests like the late Nora Ephron talk about using scarves to cover “your aging neck”, I never understood what the fear was all about. We’re fortunate to be alive at this time. Yes, the glass ceiling has cracked a bit and salaries of professional women have shown marginal increase, but our generation is not judged as failures if we’re not draped on some dashing Prince Charming’s arm by a certain “magical age”. No, women like us are leading the way. We may not have all gone on an 83-day-long cross-country-trip across the U.S., but we’re living by the rules we set for ourselves.  Sometimes there are stops and detours in that journey. When cancer threw you a curve ball, you stared that sucker down and kicked it in the groin—grinding in your stiletto for good measure. You have your whole life ahead of you. A life that’s yours to do what you want, and pursue your dreams and goals.
  2. It’s OK to rid yourself of toxic people. The key to enjoying the next 40+ years is peace. You can’t get peace if your life is full of toxic parasites who inject negativity and depression into your world. We all have them. They masquerade as fun friends, rational-thinking relatives and the occasional acquaintances maligning you with misguided, misinformed missives of mayhem. One of my friends at church reminded me I told her to be careful about who she allowed to “speak into [her] life” years ago.  It’s still true today and it’s a creed I live by now. Hurt and hurting people flock to those with similar experiences and/or those who seem to have it all together. That’s understandable, but it’s exhausting when those individuals drain their sorrows into your generous heart and are too caught up with their own needs to discern when you need an ear. I’ve learned to let them go. I need to be surrounded by people of like mind and attitude who know that friendship is a two-way street. One shouldn’t be forced into caring. Instead, true friends care and are there without being asked because they value precious people.
  3. I’m a big girl and can make my own decisions. For the longest while I felt like I needed to poll those around me, or get the opinion of those whom I respected, to help my decision making. As I’ve gotten older and my outlook has changed, I’ve come to the realization that no one will live with those decisions, but me. What galled me was people’s need to frequently correct and critique my decisions when they didn’t line up with what they would have done. I’m empowered now to kindly, and if need be, curtly thank them for their opinion and reinforce that as an adult I’m entitled to make my own decisions and choices. I may decide to revisit an old relationship or venture into something completely atypical from what my personality dictates. If my decisions come with mistakes, bring it. I’m a big girl and I can handle it.
  4. Turning 40 is empowering! Do you remember how you were in every past decade of your life? Did uncertainty and doubt overshadow decisions you made? Perhaps you found yourself subconsciously acting a certain way to fit in with friends, or saying particular things to impress peers or and even dressing to please a crush or a boyfriend? One of the many great things about turning 40 is you no longer feel pressured to do those things. I frequently hear myself saying, “I’m at an age and stage in my life where I don’t feel I need to (fill in the blank).” It is so liberating.
  5. Even though I’ve accomplished a lot, I still want to do more. Like me, you’ve done more personally and professionally than many people you know. If others were to view our dossiers, our lives would look successful, glamorous and extremely well-traveled. And that’s understandable, but I still feel as though there’s more to do. I still feel unfulfilled in some areas. For a while I listened to others who told me I “was too hard” on myself. Then I realized that I’m not hard on myself. There are things I want (or need) to do. And that’s OK. I’m constantly looking to expand my horizon and conquer new things. We shouldn’t feel guilty about wanting more from life.
  6. Put God first. I don’t consider myself religious, but I have a personal relationship with God. I pray or talk to Him as much as I can. I even have “date nights”. I know. It sounds hokey. Basically, I block off an evening, prepare a fantastic meal, key up some worship music on my MP3 or laptop and spend my evening listening to music, reading my Bible and pouring out my heart to Him. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I yell. Sometimes I’m quiet. Whatever I do, I am always deeply satisfied after. You’ll find your own way, I’m sure. But who better to pour out my hopes, dreams and fears to but the One who made me? I couldn’t have made it as far as I have without Him and I tell all my friends the same. Put Him first and you’ll never regret it.

I’m sure you’ll receive numerous gifts and well-wishes. You’ll be surrounded by those you love and who love you just as much. When everybody’s gone and you’re left with your thoughts, I hope you’ll find these observations useful.  Like I mentioned before, we are alive in a time in history where the world is literally at our fingertips. All you have to do is pick up your phone or tablet and you will instantly have access to review opportunities and dreams before you pursue them. You’ll chart your own course, make your own rules, and live your own dreams. So happy birthday, my dear, the best is yet to come!

– Vanessa

With Vanessa at my 40th birthday party.

With Vanessa at my 40th birthday party.

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Curt Schilling, the former World Series Champion Red Sox pitcher just announced to the world that he has cancer. Tears welled up in my eyes. Not because I know Curt personally, but because I know exactly how he felt when he heard those words, “You have cancer.” It was probably the same way my friend Monica’s mom felt when she was diagnosed. And Greg. And Lisa. And Patrick. And Bonnie. And Giuliana. It doesn’t matter if you’re famous, if you’re young, old, a guy or a girl. The world as you know it has ended.

Cancer doesn’t care if you’re rich or poor. You can’t buy your way out of cancer. And the doctors, nurses, and other healthcare workers at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, Brigham and Women’s Hospital, and I’m sure other hospitals, treat you the same regardless of your bank account. They want to help you beat it, whether your name is in the newspaper or not.  

I hate that anyone has to go through what I did – and some much worse. If I knew Curt, I would tell him the one thing that matters most: It’s all about your attitude. Stay positive, truly believe you will beat it, and (with lots of prayers, support and your dream team of doctors) you will. Be like Monica’s mom who, when she lost all of the hair on her head, simply said she’s happy to be saving money at the hairdresser. Because when it comes down to it, she’s no different from you, Curt. Cancer doesn’t care. But luckily people do.

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