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Lymphoma research saved my life.
In 2004, I learned
that the Dallas chapter of the Lymphoma Research
Foundation (LRF) was going to host its inaugural
Lymphomathon—a 5K walk to benefit the LRF. So I
pulled together a small team and encouraged my
14-year-old son, Will, to participate.
I confess to having
an ulterior motive: I was hoping to use the event as
another way to teach Will about survivorship, the
value of research, and the joy of helping others.
Will named our team Wendy’s Eagles (WE) in
honor of his Richardson High School mascot. We had a
grand time “soaring for a cure.”
The next spring, my
middle child, Jessie, joined us for the second walk.
The Lymphomathon became an annual event for us. But
when we signed up for the 2007 Lymphomathon, we
billed it as our team’s “final flight.” Will was
heading off to college soon after the walk, and I
was still dealing with chronic treatment-related
energy limitations. I couldn’t do it by myself.
Wanting to go out with a bang, WE gave it our
all and raised a whopping $15,812.80.
As New Year’s 2008
approached, I received some unexpected calls. Will
and Jessie called me, asking, “When are we getting
started for the 2008 Lymphomathon?” I reminded them
that Wendy’s Eagles had retired. Each of them
said the same thing: “Fine, Mom. You don’t have to
do it. But we’re rounding up students on campus to
come to Dallas and walk with Wendy’s Eagles!”
My oldest child, Becky, wanted to join them, too,
but she would be on the west coast as the
maid-of-honor in her college roommate's wedding.
I ask myself: “How
can I have my children hosting this team without
me?” I may be done teaching my children, now that
they are out of the house. But I’ll never be done
trying to give back for the research that saved my
life.
I’ll never forget
that in 1993, after my lymphoma recurred a second
time—the first time after chemo; the second time
after radiation—my long-term prognosis was terrible.
I’ll never forget the difficulty of making the
decision to enter a Phase I trial of IDEC C2B8, a
novel monoclonal antibody. Or how, over the next
four years, I received the experimental drug in
three different clinical trials.
Most importantly, I
remember how by the time my cancer recurred a sixth
time, in 1998, the trial drug was FDA approved and
marketed as Rituxan. How this drug became standard
therapy for many types of lymphoma. How I received
it for a fifth time from November 2005 through
November 2007 for my most recent recurrence, and how
well it worked for me.
Although my cancer
is in remission right now, I know it may come back
again. And next time, my lymphoma may be resistant
to Rituxan. No matter what happens with me,
thousands of other lymphoma survivors need better
treatments than those that are available now. The
textbooks still say my type of lymphoma is
incurable. The textbooks are wrong:
My
type of cancer is not incurable;
It’s
one of the types for which researchers are still
searching for a cure.
Read
about what the Lymphomathon means to me
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