Welcome To Team buLLSdog's Fundraising Page.     

Our names are Zach McBride, Grace Steinert and Adam Zbiegien, sophomores at Cedarburg High School, who have joined together to support The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS).  We each have endured the loss of a parent or watched one of our parent's battle Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML).  This is something that we do not want to see any of our classmates or their families go through, so we are working today to help raise awareness and support to end cancer.  Please help!

With your support, our efforts will help fund the therapies and treatments used to save lives today.  LLS's continued advancements over the years are responsible for the blood cancer survival rates doubling and tripling, and, in some cases, the survival rate has even quadrupled.  LLS is really changing the face of blood cancer!

All donations are greatly appreciated and are tax deductible. They will not only support LLS research but patient services, advocacy, public and professional education and community services as well.

On behalf of our dad’s Jack and Greg and all blood cancer patients everywhere, Team buLLSdog thanks you for your support!

Please visit our website often and bring friends who would also like to donate!

For more information about LLS, please visit lls.org 

PART VII:  Reflections

Greg:

Cancer doesn’t discriminate and can touch anyone at any time no matter who you are or where you come from.  It not only affects the patient with determined cruelty, but extends beyond to loved-ones, family, friends, medical staff and the whole community with an unemotional offensiveness.  As horrible Cancer and treatment was, my family and I were able to witness, true selfless and unimaginable compassion at home and from across the world.  When my siblings didn’t match, unknown donors were identified and scheduled to help, willing to disrupt their lives without even knowing me or my family.   Truly amazing!   When treatment was at its worst, family friends and the community stepped up by providing food, gift cards and emotional support through thoughts and prayers.  Never could have imagined the kindness!  All are awesome!  With every twisted attack, my doctors and nurses found a way to defend.  The words “thank you” don’t say enough!  

Today, I know deep down that nothing is scripted, and my prognosis could take a sudden turn with something as simple as a cold.  I take no day for granted and live my life as if today could be my last.  I am so grateful to all who supported me, halted the assault and gave me life!  

Life is good and thank you for taking the time to read the Team buLLSdog blog.  If all the 10,000 readers donated a $1, think of how you can help bring light to the darkness of cancer.  Imagine if everyone donated $10, wow!

Jack:

You always wonder what the impact will be when you are told you have Cancer.  There are many setbacks from a diagnosis, but hidden in the setbacks I found a blessing.  I had entered the diagnosis a young driven professional who felt there was plenty of time to find a meaningful life and came out completely different.  As the diagnosis set in and life slowed down I realized I was wasting an opportunity to have a purposeful life and that what truly makes a life beautiful is the impact it has on those around you through selfless action.   

When I was in my lower point emotionally and having breakfast with a dear friend who had lost several friends to cancer at a young age, he had said, “Unfortunately, cancer is a slow death”.  As I thought about that I realized it truly is, but that within that was a blessing.  I have had too many friends recently also pass away in their mid-40s from heart attacks, and the comment repeated at the funerals was “ I wish I could _____ one more time”,   Everybody wanted to hug him one more time, play cards with him one more time, go fishing with him one more time.  It struck me that they were not given the blessing of time.  Cancer gives that to you.

I didn’t want to wish I had done something one more time.  I saw the gift I was given with time and began to take advantage of it.  Reaching out to as many of my friends asking them to meet me for cribbage or coffee.  Each week they could pick a morning and we would grab coffee, play cards and talk.  I didn’t want to turn down an invitation because I didn’t want to wish I had done something.   If a charity I believed in needed support we would attend their galas, volunteer at their drives or help organize events to help them meet their mission.  If we heard of someone suffering, we would make meals and drop them off to allow them to focus on what was important and not where to eat. 

In May of 2016 I had a setback which is common in the journey after cancer.  I picked up a virus that caused pneumonia.  The response of my body to the bug ended up causing me to go into sepsis and organs started to shutdown.  The doctors noted they had less than 24 hours to stop the infections or there was nothing they could do.  Even with all the efforts I made over the previous few years trying to make sure I never wished I had done something one more time, I still laid there thinking of all the things I wished I had done.  The letters I wanted to write to thank those around me, etc.  It gave me drive.  I was able to come out of the infections and survive again to continue to find purpose. 

I know people are busy and say they will always find time.  And they may, but the one lesson I would want to share is set aside one morning a month.  That is all it takes and give to have an impact in the lives around you.  Take a neighbor to an appointment.  Make a meal for a neighbor.  Meet an old friend for coffee and thank them for the positive impact they had in your life, write a letter to someon.  Support a charity you believe in by volunteering.  All these actions will have such a profound impact on the lives around you and will reward you with such joy and happiness that the rest of your life becomes richer.   As I learned, everything I had accomplished professionally allowed us to live, but at the lowest point had zero trade in value for one more day.  The love and compassion of those around us through the journey gave me more strength to survive this battle and I know helped me get through my darkest points.  Now, I want to be part of that support to help others survive their darkest moments in the journey and know there is a sunrise waiting for them. 

 

 

Part VI - The New Me

The crash helmet was truly an understatement!   With the preliminary pathology report stating NPN1 and Flit 3 chromosome involvement and my bone marrow results showing progression from under 5 percent blasts to 40 percent, time was of the essence.  We were told to go home, pack a bag and be back first thing in the so consolidation chemo could start immediately.  There were no pulling punches.  I had two paths with the consolidation chemo:   i) get to remission and transplant or ii) prepare to die in 3 – 9 months.  Ae you f*&^ing kidding me!!!  Those are my choices!  Yah, critical was an understatement!   Wasn’t the transfusion worries enough?! Imagine the paralyzing fear and the screaming worries consuming every thought in my head on how I might never see my beautiful wife, my kids, my family and friends every again. 

I chose to go home -- NOT!!!

Packed that night and arrived at the hospital in the morning. We were checked in and escorted to my new home for the next month or two.  My room was nice, double sealed and equipped with a HEPA filter purification system for my comfort and safety from all the nasties in the hospital (infection, sickness and viruses).  I was told the #1 rule never to forget was “Don’t fall because most leukemic patients die from bleeding out and not leukemia.”  Noted, don’t fall or pass out!  Next, sign these papers stating that I understand that chemo has nasty side effects and risks -- signed.  Next, I get it - no kids are out after chemo.   At my age, whatever!  Again noted, no swimmers.  Horrible side effects!   What next?  Finally all the instructions turned to blah, blah and more blah.  Too much information - overload!  I signed everything; I had already decided I was going for it.

My oncologist wasn’t kidding.  After we are arrived at the room at 10:00 AM, understood all risks and signed my life away, by 12:00 PM I started chemo.  The chemo’s flowing through my veins were wicked, Cytarabine and the dreaded red devil.  High doses proved to be better results and the combination evidenced best results.  The seemingly endless cycle of Cytarabine, red devil lasted 7 days.  Continuous really meant continuous! My one break in the day in the cycle was a 10 minute untether to shower and complete a full body sanitize wiping.  That’s it!

Watching the chemo travel down the line and enter my blood stream, my expectations were muted from previous experiences.  I felt a warming, but nothing else which was weird.  As I found out, the effects were not immediate, but later in the cycle.  Well later, the first side effect hit me. 

It wasn’t the nausea that we all expected, but the 24X7 runs!  Having the 24x7 runs in the hospital is alarming to the medical staff, CDEF!  Immediate action and containment.  Instantly my room turned from calm into a hazmat contamination site.  No one in my room without full garb on and full quarantine.  After containment, was testing.  Finally, no intervention required, but to let nature run its’ course.  Really and how long?   Results in two days meant no Imodium!  Apparently to rid CDEF, you must have good anticipation, quick reflexes, great maneuvering skills, and good aim to naturally expel the bacteria.  Imagine, being tethered to an array of machines and the finagling needed to make it to the bathroom without filling your pants!  What else!?  After two days of hell, it turns out the results were negative.  It was chemo induced – finally relief, thank you Imodium!  

Another side effect that got me after the CDEF scare was just the reverse, constipation.  No way, one extreme to the other.  This was a common side effect from the meds to prevent nausea.  Remember back to light chemo, I had the same issue and an unforgettable experience that I will share.  Funny and scary at the same time. 

Unbelievably constipated and at wits end, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Told everything I could do, but not what I shouldn’t do, I used a suppository to relieve my discomfort which unknowingly caused a fisher (a tiny cut). I was at home at the time when I suddenly noticed head dizziness and a strange feeling in my left butt cheek.  Investigating, I noticed swelling and a very large purple area.  In goes a call to the doctor followed by a strange request for Gina before leaving for the hospital.   Outlined, signed and out the door we went.

It turns out that my butt cheek filled with two pints of blood. The request was for Gina to outline the shockingly purple area to be certain the area was not still filling.  Being the funny girl, she signed her work -- ha-ha my little jokester!   Go figure the next day happened to be our anniversary so we had a nice get away at Chateau St. Luke’s. The scary part of the situation was the dramatic drop in my hemoglobin, 9.0 to under 6.0.  More transfusion, arrrrgh.  The good news was the fisher healed and by Sunday we were able to head home.  I was not going to repeat that experience, so I took the can do recommended slow approach forward, Senna pills.  Anyone noticing a theme here with my butt problems!

I had other side effects, but for this round of consolidation chemo they were unmemorable and not worth the mention.  After this cycle of chemo and during my recovery, I took my oncologists advice and started focusing on myself.  I ate to keep my strength up even when I lost my taste buds.  I swear to you that the quantity of Ensures (protein and vitamin drinks) I consumed sped up my recovery time, but I can’t prove it.  Hmmm good research opportunity.   I exercised even though the fatigue was strong.  My best distance was 5.5 miles tethered to Flo, my IV pole and new best friend, in my tiny little room.  The overall best takeaway was to continue to have a positive attitude and keep enjoying what mattered to me.  I love music so my wife brought in my Bose system which played 24 hours a day.  The staff loved it!   I played my guitar.  Not good, but my audience loved it, me.  I lived, laughed and loved everyone around me even at my worst.

Finally sent home when my counts started to recover.  When I arrived home, the one thing in the back of my mind was the results due from my 3^rd or 4^th bone marrow biopsy.  The biopsy count becomes foggy.  Am I in remission?  Turns out nope!  I received a call a couple of days later, around 9:00 PM, from my oncologist.  No remission, I need to be back in the hospital tomorrow morning to repeat the process, but with a higher dose of chemo.  We were all devastated!    

I repeated the cycle, with knowledge on my side, I avoided most side effects.  I experienced more nausea, but the nurses, in combat mode, immediately halted it.  A by-product of the treatment was weight and hair loss and by this time, I was down 50 plus pounds and had looks similar to a hairless cat. 

Finally, treatment was completed, and I was unhooked to enjoy a little freedom. Unfortunately, within minutes, I took a turn for the worse.  Thankfully, Gina’s quick reaction got me back into bed and then I started shaking and convulsing uncontrollably -- skyrocketing blood pressures and stone cold.  My blood pressure hit 240 over 220 and my convulsions seem to reach a height of 10 feet.  Well not that high, but at the moment, it sure felt like it.  My only thought at time before passing out was to tell Gina I loved her and the boys.  “I loved being a part of their life.”   I really thought this was it, death was near.  Obviously not, I woke up to a room full of doctors (stroke team, cardiac team, nurses and whoever else).   It turns out that I had rigors from a chemo fever.  Over that night I spiked a 102 fever again and then it was gone.  Scary for not only me, but everyone around me.  Note, Gina always kept her cool, bless her heart, I love her. 

Recovered, biopsy done, sent home and waiting for the biopsy results.  After all the chemo, transfusions, and treatment setbacks and with my oncologist’s advice, Remission!!!!!!!!!!!!!!   Tears of joy flooded all who loved and supported me!

Remission is a funny thing.  It could last 1 month or years so getting me to transplant was urgent.  The Leukemia until after remission was there, but you just can’t see it.   Both St. Luke’s and Froedtert coordinated efforts and scheduled me for transplant on Sept 22, my new birthday!  Thank you Aurora! 

My buddy Jack tried to prepare me for most of what was to come. Jack who visited and supported me throughout my treatment gave me insight on my upcoming transplant process.  He lost 80 plus pounds and recommended that I eat and put on as much weight as I can before transplant, so I did.   I gained 30 lbs. in one month.  Not bad, but not enough for what I would experience.  He had great suggestions that I followed.  I thought the worst of my treatment was behind me, wow was I wrong!

On to transplant and the first meeting with my new oncologist at Froedtert.  First, I met with a group of residents who started by going over the treatment background (med list, consolidation chemo, my counts and etc.).  Next he read my pathology report and as I listened, something caught my ear that caused a feeling of confusion, astonishment and thoughts of extreme confusion.  Did I just hear what I thought I heard?  No way, it can’t be!  I don’t’ have the FLIT 3 chromosome involvement.   Over the last 2 ½ months, I suffered with the knowledge of knowing the fact that I thought I had one of the most deadly chromosome involvements of AML!   The chances of survival with the deadly FLIT 3 were low.  My sister, Gina and I were beside ourselves with what we heard. 

When the resident finished, I finally met with my oncologist.  He confirmed that I did not have the FLIT 3 and only the NPN1 chromosome involvement.  Great news!  Tears of joy!  I guess preliminary reads mean, just that “preliminary!”  Wait until the final read.  Even with this I am grateful for my oncologist at Aurora for getting me into remission!  Unfortunately, still my only recourse moving forward was transplant, but a sigh of relief for us all. 

Like I said earlier, my donors were matched and preparing for their bone marrow extraction.  From what I heard, it is more painful for them then for me.  Bless their German or Polish hearts!  My donor matches were from the German/Polish database.   I had a 26 and 19 year old donor lined up.  What a selfless and compassionate act.  My best match came from the 26 year old.  Both matched so well that it came down to a chromosome match that my oncologist said he had never seen.  Lucky for me!  Thank you unknown donor!!!  The other agreed to be my backup - thank you backup!  I was covered, but still had unfinished business to attend to with my oncologist. 

Next order of business was the legalities, but pertinent information first.  My oncologist assessed my situation and based on my age, health and other factor decided for the best outcome that he was going to administer the highest dose of chemo in his arsenal.  He also stated that my draw based on the trial I volunteered for, was the standard transplant protocol that had been used over the last 20 years.  I was a little upset not getting the more advanced protocols, but now in hindsight, it was proven.  Now, the legalities.

The first document stated that I had 80 percent chance of chemo survival.  A little shocking to me, but signed.  Wow -- 20 percent chance of dying before I even get to transplant.  The second document stated that I received stated an 80 percent chance of transplant survival – still shocking but not bad.  I signed.  Again, I thought crap…  The next document stated that based on this type of chemo, I will not be able to have kids again.  Easily signed, because my prior chemos already took care of my swimmers.  After that, the documents kept coming and I just signed away.  Right before the transplant, something sad and unexpected hit my family.

A sad note for myself and my family.  My father in-law, was not feeling well and later had complications a couple of days prior to my scheduled transplant.  Both my wife and I knew there was no stopping the transplant train, so we collectively decided that she needed to go.  I was fearful and sad to see her go because she was my rock and savior so many times, but deep down my gut was telling me she needed to be there.   My sister, bless her heart, filled in for Gina until she returned.   My wife was conflicted and upset about going, but I am so glad she did because she was able to say her final goodbyes.  Unfortunately, my father-in-law passed soon after.   He was great man to have in my life that I loved and cherished.  I know and feel deep down today that he was looking over me and aided in my success.   Love you Pat!

Arriving a week before my new birthday, Sept 22, 2016, I was mentally prepared, physically ready and fattened up, but very saddened from the loss of my father in-law.  I was ready, but it turns out there was no way I could be ready for what came next!  Four days of the most punishing chemo.  I went from happy Greg to barely functioning Greg.  I lost weight, was weak, fatigued and frankly just felt awful. 

Gina flew home just prior to the actual transplant.  I was sad for her loss, hugged her and shared a cry, but deep down glad she was back.  I needed her more than she knew.  That night we talked about her dad and shared stories.  Finally we tried to sleep.  Bright and early, we heard the helicopter arrive with my new marrow.  We watched it unload and then waited.  Soon after, we witnessed the bag of bone marrow, 1452 ml, being prepared by my nurses for infusion.  Holly crap that was a lot!   We had exactly 4 hours to infuse so time was ticking.  Again, in the back of my mind were all the reactions that I experienced over all my treatment.  As I watch intently while the liquid entered my system, vitals were taken every 15 minutes.  So far so good and no reactions.  The only complication was with time and how to get all that liquid in my body in time.  By the end, my nurses made sure the deadline was met.  Yay!  Unfortunately, I wasn’t done yet.

I thought the transplant chemo was brutal. Well the after chemo was even more brutal.  Flo started out small and by the end of the cycle, she was a double-wide.  I was even being nourished with a bag of what looked like frosting. 

 

I had sores from my mouth down my esophagus through my entire system. I was administered some very powerful drugs that I didn’t understand how to use.   Funny story.  At least I think so…

I was given a button to push if the pain exceeded my tolerance.  I pushed that button every time it turned green not knowing that I was already getting the drug.  After so many pushes, I finally had so much I couldn’t stay awake, so I turned to Gina and said, “If this button turns green, you better promise to push it. Promise me, promise me.”  She said “ok” but I had no idea she was being sarcastic in my state and she knew better and never pushed the button!  The next morning I had an intervention with my doctors questioning my pain.  I admitted I was comfortable, but I misunderstood the use of the button and promised I would not push the button unless I really, really needed it.  I was able to keep my beloved button and my promise, but only broke my promise after I snagged my line and almost pulled it out from my arm.  That deserved a push! 

Lady luck was on my side.  Everything worked, I left the hospital in less than a month and was off my anti-rejection medication in 5 months.

I survived! 

When I think back over the year and a quarter, I always told myself cancer wasn’t going to keep me down and attitude was everything!  I promised myself to live each day to the fullest and to take nothing for granted. Life is Good!

The last 16 months have been a joy!  Recovered counts, mask removed, taste buds in full force and gifted with life.  I eat what I want, hang with family and friends and I even planned trips again – Nashville and San Diego were a blast!   There is one minor downside to my fun, I’ve packed on a little bit of weight.  My favorite event so far was my “Life is good” party.  A little backyard BBQ to thank all those people that helped me and my family throughout this ordeal.  My son’s band, “Generation Z” with a special guest appearance by the Rhythm Kings rocked the house and allowed us to dance the night away.  I was even able to check off “my rock star moment” from my bucket list.  I sang and played three songs with the band.  It was a great night to end the summer and celebrate that Life is Good!

I have had a heck of journey, but without the support of family, friends, co-workers, doctors, nurses, medical staff and researchers my journey would have ended months ago.  I have to thank:  my wife who was my rock, who picked me up when I was at my lowest and never let me give up!  My boys who protected me from illness by wearing masks when sick, showering and changing clothes after coming home from school and keeping the house clean.  My sister and cousin who filled in for Gina when work responsibilities took over.  My friends who encouraged me with laughter, supporting messages and meals for the family.  My amazing doctors and nursing staff who fulfilled my journey and became friends in the process.  And what about the researchers who came up with the crazy idea of poisoning me and then transplanting someone else’s bone marrow inside me - that takes some out of the box thinking and then to determine it works is incredible.  And lastly, to all of you who volunteer your time, talents and donate money to make sure that efforts to continue to find a cure and support for those in need are available.  Without your support both Jack and I wouldn’t be here, writing to you today!! 

Life today is very different.  I’m still who I was, but with a lot more concern and caution.  I am in remission and off my anti-rejections medications.  I know deep down that nothing is scripted, and my prognosis could take a sudden turn with something as simple as a cold.  I take no day for granted and live my life as if today could be my last.  Again, I am incredibly grateful to all who donate selflessly to fund research and program assistance.  You are all truly amazing and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all that you do to continue to fight for the cause.

Life is good and thank you!

Part V – My World Changes

We arrived at the doctor.  Fearful of stairs, we took the elevator to the first floor, entered the office and immediately found the first chair to plop myself in.  We met with the nurse practitioner and I explained my symptoms.  Suspicious of my explanation, she ordered an x-ray and blood work.  Luckily, both could be done one floor up.  Remembering my fear of the stairs, we proceeded to the elevator.  The x-ray was first.

The technician filmed my chest and abdominal area; after which, I requested to see the results.  I’m no expert, but it looked to me that I had darkening in two areas of my stomach.  I was inquisitive, pried and of course the disclaimer came, but she thought ulcers.  Hearing that, I thought that made sense and certainly explained away some of my symptoms.  I relayed my thoughts to my wife as we moved on to the blood draw down the hall. 

The x-ray lessoned my concerns and a sense of relief came over me as I picked my number and waited for the blood draw.  Well, that feeling of relief was extremely short lived.  The technician called my number and that smiling face of hers went to stone-cold concern.  As I walked into the draw area, she said multiple times, “Promise me that you will wait for these results and you will not leave the waiting area.”  I promised and relayed the message to my wife.  Both baffled and really concerned, we waited.  It wasn’t more that a minute or two and the supervisor presented herself and said you need to immediately go back to your doctor’s office, he is waiting for you.  Our first thought was this can’t be good and off we went.

Elevator of course, we headed downstairs.  By then I was exhausted.  We entered the office and were greeted by my primary doctor and the nurse practitioner.  They walked us back to an examination room.  It was odd, because the room then filed with everyone I knew from the office.  I thought this can’t be good and then the news.

It turns out that I had a Hemoglobin of 6.0, which is equivalent to being down 6 pints of blood.  My primary doctor said he could not believe that I was upright, let alone working out.  The next words out of his mouth, you need to go to the hospital immediately.  Imagine my shock!  I was so weak that I could hardly process what I just heard, but my first thought was man I must have extremely bad ulcers.  He said I had two options to get to the hospital and time was critical.  We could wait for an ambulance to arrive or they could help me to Gina’s car and she could drive me there in 20 minutes.  Into Gina’s car I went.    

We arrived at the hospital and knowing the critical nature of the situation she parked in the ambulance bay.  She proceeded to try to get me out of the car.  While we struggled, a Security Guard noticed immediately and brought a wheel chair.  He helped us to the ER, I thanked him as we checked in and explained to admissions what was going on.  Within minutes, I was whisked back to the Emergency Room. 

I was immediately tethered to an array of technology and the room quickly filled with doctors, nurses and residents.  They ordered test upon test.  I was poked, prodded and examined with urgency.  My thought was that I must be close to death for this kind of urgent activity.   Remember, ulcers were top of mind, so one examination in the ER stands out and believe me, I won’t ever forget it because it was so unexpected with a room full of spectators. 

In shock with the situation, I was looking at Gina in panic when this young voice said, “we are going to have to check for blood in your stool.”   Before a I knew it and without hesitation, I started hearing unfamiliar sounds.  I heard a snap of a glove, a squeeze, splat, spirt and other noises.  I thought this can’t be good, so I looked back and observed this young doctor who had a glove on with one finger in the air covered in lubricant.  As I proceeded to look, I observed the room.  It was packed, motionless and all eyes fixated on my butt!  Next, I heard the doctor say you are going to have to roll to one side so I can examine you.  Uncomfortable with the situation, I blurted, “you will need to give me a minute to absorb what is coming.”   I looked at Gina and she looked at me in disbelief because of my request while she noticed the doctor waited, finger in air, lubed up and ready to go.  The room seemed to stand still for that minute while I prepared myself.  Luckily, the doctor was gracious and gave me time to prepare myself.  I finally rolled over and had an eye-popping experience never to forget.  They found what they were looking for.  Afterwards, the room came back to life.  They were able to stabilize me after a transfusion or two.  I was finally admitted and transferred to a hospital room. 

When we arrived at the room, it was very small.  Gina had to literally climb over me in the bed to sit in a chair.  As she maneuvered the room, I was still in shock about the events that just transpired.  My mind was racing, and I was thinking that an ulcer was curable so no worries.  With Gina’s help, I finally calmed down.  

Throughout the day, I had many visits from doctors.  Remember, the focus at the time was on curing my ulcers.  This young, beautiful, female Gastroenterologist walked into the room to examine and diagnose me.  As we talked, she did the routine checks and requested to do the dreaded check for blood in my stool.  I thought no way, I just got my eyeballs back in my sockets.  I deflected her and explained to her that was done earlier and there was no need.  She was not having no for an answer and persisted with her requests.  As the questioning continued, I proceeded to deflect and deflect some more.  After the fourth request, she thanked me and left the room.  Gina who witnessed the conversation in amazement said, what was that about!?  I said, “I just couldn’t -- did you not see how pretty she was.”  Besides, she could check the earlier results.  I was so self-conscious and out of shape from my lack of energy.  If you could of saw me, you would understand.

The next morning, I had a surprise visit from a doctor I never expected to see again in my lifetime, an oncologist.  An oncologist can only mean one thing, cancer!!!!  Not possible!!  This can’t be real.  What are the chances that it would strike my family twice?   Everything my prior wife went through, flashed before me.   I always told myself that after what I witnessed, I would never do chemotherapy.  After the doctor left, I was very upset and said to Gina, “If I am dying, I want to at least be in a comfortable room with a nice view of the outside.”  The nurse happened to walk in at that very moment and I expressed my feelings to her.  By the next morning, I was transferred to a beautiful corner room.  Bless her heart because in my state of mind, I thought I was never going home.  My emotions and thoughts were running wild.  More tests needed to be performed before they really had answers, but stabilizing me was their main goal.   Remember, mine and Jack’s blood counts were completely opposite.  His white counts were extremely high and mine were almost nonexistent. 

My hemoglobin level was so low, the only way to bring it up was to give me blood transfusions.  I’ve heard scary things about transfusions.  But given my situation, I really had no choice in the matter. The protocol for any type of transfusion was to first administer preventative meds to avoid nausea.  The next step was to monitor me for the first 20 minutes to make sure there was no allergic reaction.  In went the meds, the transfusion began and those 20 minutes felt like a life time.   Uneventful, YAY!  Hemoglobin went to 9.0.  Unfortunately, my body couldn’t sustain that on its own so I ended up having multiple transfusions throughout my treatment.  Next were my platelets.    

The doctors were extremely concerned with my low platelet count.  Mine, at times, were as low as 3, where a normal range would be 165 – 440.  The danger with having such low platelets is that I could bleed out from a fall or blow out a blood vessel from a sneeze or a cough and most likely die.  Scary, scary stuff!  I had no issues with the blood transfusions, but as fate would have it, the platelet transfusions were a bit more nerve racking. 

In went the meds, the transfusion started and the 20 minutes, which felt like a lifetime, began again.   The 20 minutes passed, and I had no concerns, I thought this would be the same as the blood transfusion which went as smooth as silk.  I slept like a baby until 2 hours in.  I woke from a dead sleep yelling Gina’s name professing that something was not right.  Disoriented herself, she popped up from her hospital cot and sprang into action, trying to assess what was happening.  I told her my chest itches and my face and throat were starting to feel strange.  She quickly turned on the lights and as I sat up my eyes swelled shut, my face puffed up and I was starting to have difficulty breathing.  With no hesitation she hit the call light and ran to get help.  Gina returned with the nurse and expected swift action.  Unfortunately, the nurse froze.  Gina, keeping her calm, looked at her and said he is having a reaction so get some Benadryl.  The nurse still in shock, said I must get a doctor’s order first.  Gina said there was no time.  By then, I was hyperventilating and couldn’t see.  Finally, the nurse snapped out of her shock, coded me and went into action.  By then, I was passed out.  I woke with a room full of doctors.  My swelling was down and I could breath again.  They had never seen such a delayed reaction.  Well, I got to experience this reaction three or four more times before the blood center was contacted and the cause was researched.   Imagine, my fear every time they mentioned platelet transfusion!   I believe that if Gina wasn’t by my side, and bless her heart for always staying with me, I would have perished that night.      

After a week and multiple tests later, I was finally diagnosed with Myelodysplasia, which is considered pre-Leukemia.  It was a difficult diagnosis because the numbers and test results were very confusing, even to my oncologist.  He knew this was just a precursor to Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML) - experience knows.  I didn’t want to believe it, but at least I knew.  By the way, I also had multiple ulcers.  Remission treatment begins. 

Since I was pre-Leukemia, the plan was to keep my symptoms at bay with light chemotherapy while I waited for a bone marrow transplant.  Both St. Luke’s and Froedtert were working together as a team to manage my treatment plan.  Within a short period of time, my odds were looking pretty good because a handful of good bone marrow donor matches were identified and the chemo seemed to be doing the job, but just like that my world changed.

What seemed to work one day no longer had any effect and after several rounds of chemo, my symptoms progressed to Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML) as my oncologist expected.  This was a huge setback and I was not mentally prepared for those words, all the wind had been taken out of my sails.  The preliminary results from the bone marrow biopsy revealed that I had chromosome involvement, NPN1 and the dreaded Flit 3.  My world was crashing.

Sails down, but there was still wind to be had as a hand was placed on my shoulder to give me advice, “Sit down, strap on the crash helmet because you are going for a ride.”  One of the best pieces of advice my oncologist ever gave me.  At that point, I realized that I had no control over my treatment plan, but I could control my situational outlook.  Attitude is everything!  Cancer was not going to change who I was as a person, what I worked for my whole life and what I needed to do.  I had a mission and that was survival and the rest was up to my medical staff. 

The crash helmet was an understatement.   The Red Devil was in my future! 

 

Part IV:  Are You Kidding Me? 

Hi, I am Greg.  I am a little over a year out from my bone marrow transplant, have been through extreme emotional ups and downs, experienced my first cold and almost lost my close friend to Leukemia.  Even with all my fears and concerns, I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to share a bit about my story.  As you can guess, Jack was my bud I almost lost.  What are the chances living in the same town, Zach and Adam best friends and living the emotional roller coaster of Jack’s treatment to be diagnosed with the exact same disease?  It’s a “shit your pants” moment knowing Jack’s story!  It’s one thing to support your bud and his family but another, to actually experience Jack’s story first hand.  

A little background on me.  I am a husband and a dad of two awesome boys.  My wife’s name is Gina who is my rock and my boys Mitchell and Zach who are my protectors.  I love them so dearly that I decided after I was diagnosed that I would do whatever it takes to be there for them.  I didn’t always have this attitude because this is not the first time I have experienced cancer.

Not many people know this, but I am no stranger to cancer.  A little over 16 years ago, I was a caregiver to Sue, my first wife.  She was diagnosed with inflammatory breast cancer, the most uncommon of all breast cancers with a 1% survival rate.  After being diagnosed, she had one goal - to see her son graduate from high school.  Unfortunately, after 2 ½ years, she lost the fight and was unable to even see her son enter kindergarten.  My son, Mitchell, was obviously too young to remember all of this and I tried to shield him as best I could so that he could remember his mom as she was and not as a cancer victim.  Today there is no shielding him.  He is a grown man that has now experienced cancer for a second time. 

So here I am again staring cancer in the face.  My story began in March of 2016 when my symptoms finally overcame my daily activities and work.    My normal workouts reduced, I started ignoring my home fixer list and my work became a challenge.  Increased fatigue raised my suspicion, but I ignored the symptoms because I thought I was just out of shape or have the flu since my wife just had it.   Nothing made sense to me anymore and as time passed, I felt no sign of relief.

A week before I was hospitalized, confusion settled in.  With severe loss of focus and difficulties with simple tasks at work, my long-time co-worker and friend approached me with concerns and home remedies that he thought would help me.  As the week progressed, things got worse.  I began to lose my sense of taste, my heart would race and my gums started to bleed.   By the time the weekend arrived, I had it in my head that I was getting better and ignoring the recent signs thinking maybe the home remedies were working.   I remembered my wife had been asking me to fix the slide on the garbage can, so I took on the task.  I got my tools, laid on the floor and started working.  Every attempt I made to replace a simple screw failed.  It was so bad that I had to hold my arm up with my other hand to get the screw driver in place.  Finally, after many failed attempts, I asked my wife if she could help me.  Of course, I took some grief but, being the awesome wife she is, finished the job I started.  As she worked, I fell asleep on the floor.  Oops!  When I woke, my back and shoulder were sore.  Knowing how I was feeling the last couple of weeks, my wife was gracious enough to look past my failed task, gave me a massage and sent me to bed early.  The next morning, I woke up looking like I lost a round to an MMA fighter. 

Both of us were baffled, but again I thought oh well.  She was mortified and made me promise to tell no one. Battered and bruised at no fault to my wife, I finally said enough is enough when I decided to take the stairs at my office and forego the elevator.  Once at the top, I had to lay down on the ground to catch my breath and stop my heart from pounding out of my chest.  After calming down, I finished my first meeting, got to a phone and called my wife to immediately concede!  I am going to see the doctor.  She dropped everything and took me in.

Stay tuned.  Next week I will share my diagnosis and the nitty gritty details of my treatment. 

 

Part III:  Recovery.

As noted in Part II, once you return home from the transplant, you not only need to be very careful about avoiding mold, germs, etc…but you are focused on hitting the 100^th day post-transplant.  Since the transplant was June 4^th, I needed to get to September 12^th without suffering an acute form of Graft v. Host Disease (GVHD).  Once past that date, I should be okay with chronic GVHD.  The challenge was this is right in the heart of summer and everyone has windows open, gardening, mowing lawns, etc.  Distributing molds into the air presented a problem so any outside activities required me to wear a mask in order to breath clean air, so being safe, I just stayed inside as much as possible.  The transplant has a lot of side effects that need to be managed but one of the new ones was standing up.  Whenever I stood, my blood pressure plummeted causing me to black out where once I bounced myself off the tiled bathroom floor (which puts you back in the ER surprisingly quick), and once waking up…having fallen through the living room wall.  When I came too, Adam was staring at me, my cup of water was on the other side of the room and I was lying flat.   Adam actually thought the look on my face as I was going down was pretty funny.  I appreciated that he laughed about that before helping me up.  I was proud that he was able to find humor in tough situations. 

Recovery post-transplant was surprisingly the most difficult part of this journey emotionally.  It is a blessing that life is beginning to get a little stable, but you are still severely limited on what you can do.  Everyone’s life around you moves back to normal and you begin to get slowly isolated trying to fill your time.  Mentally this has a tremendous strain on a patient, and I always appreciated those who visited. 

Having passed September 12^th, and celebrating with a 100^th day piece of watermelon, I began to contemplate trying to go back to work.  I was still helping remotely, but still incredibly fatigued.  The follow on care continued twice a week to monitor blood and ensure the marrow was taking hold.

Then, on October 3^rd, my phone rang and it was Dr. Pasquini.  He asked how I was feeling, which I knew wasn’t a good sign.  We were just getting ready to head down to Cedarburg’s Homecoming parade with the boys so I walked upstairs and he asked if Karin was there too.  Turned out my last blood test showed an elevated return of the leukemia and more aggressive than they anticipated.  I was having issues in my neck, so he asked if I could come in Monday for a lumbar puncture to test my spine and to do a biopsy to check my bone marrow. 

We tried to enjoy the parade, but knew this was not good.   I remember coaching a baseball game that Sunday for the boys fall ball team and thinking that this may be the last baseball game I ever see, so I tried to enjoy it.  Unfortunately like most things…when you concentrate on them too much they disappear, so I remember being very frustrated at the game.  Then in the parking lot,  I had to walk over and give my parents one more hug, not knowing what the next day would bring. 

 

 

Monday, I went through the tests, and as I lay in recovery, with Karin there, Dr Pasquini came in.  It was about 5:00 p.m. and we knew instantly he did not have good news.  He put his hand on my shoulder and for the first time in this journey, I saw the doctor/patient relationship disappear.  We were now Marcelo and Jack and he choked up.  He said he was sorry and presented the fact that not only was the cancer more aggressive than they thought, it had spread into my spine and brain.  Since I was four months from my transplant any treatment they do now would most likely kill my transplant, so he needed to discuss hospice.  All I could do at that moment was thank him for everything he did.  Too much was going through my mind and anything else would have been a wasted conversation.

A tear ran down my cheek. This was the only time in the entire journey I cried.    Up until then, there was excitement  knowing the doctors had a plan.  Seeing them work was special, but today it was a loss of words and a feeling of helplessness.  I lay there realizing that every accomplishment I had in life had no trade in value for one more tomorrow.  There was nothing I could give up to see one more baseball game or play cribbage one more time or even see the boys grow up or go kayaking with Karin.  It was gone. 

The next day at the doctor’s office, it was just me and Dr. P.  I looked at him and said, “I do not care what you need to do to me.  I have five more years to be Dad (Adam was 13 now), I need to see my boys go to college at a minimum, so please call who you need to, but please do it.” 

He did.  He said they would try one more round of treatment that included a new round of induction chemo and six months of consolidation chemo.  They also introduced 20 lumbar punctures where they removed some of my spinal fluid and replaced it with chemo.

They did not believe I would see 2015, so they would not allow me to do these treatments in patient.  I needed to be home with the boys and travel in each day for treatments to maximize my time with them.  Each day we traveled, putting an unbelievable burden on Karin having to balance my treatments, the kids schedules, and work.  But again, many friends and families kept the meals on the porch for her, got the boys to their activities and Greg kept the scores of the boys’ games coming. 

Christmas came and went and the doctors couldn’t explain it.  In March of 2015, after cancelling an experimental treatment, the Board of Directors at Froedtert noted that they had over-treated me with chemo and I needed to stop.  So we took a “wait and see approach.”  As of my writing of this note, I am still waiting and seeing!  I often think of the image in Forest Gump where he is in the middle of Utah after a life of running and just decides he is done running and walks home.  I walked home. 

Up to this point I had received 108 injections of chemo, 317 blood transfusions, had three known relapses, a bone marrow transplant…and now recovery.  At my darkest moment a dear friend had introduced me to several books as well as a great video from Shawn Achor, about the Happiness Advantage.  As I read the books and watched the video, they showed me how to be grateful, and find joy and purpose in helping those around me.  With their lessons,  I slowly climbed out of the pit I was in emotionally, and was able to realize the by-product of these actions which was true happiness.  

I gave up my business so I could focus on the recovery and be with Karin and the boys.  I met people in my network to thank them, drank a lot of coffee and played a lot of cribbage.  Joined forces with Be The Match, the BloodCenter, Lindsays Voice and others and donated my time to not only feel great, but have an impact.  I started to find a purpose.  You will never regret dropping off that meal for someone in need, or listening to a friend who is hurting over coffee.  

Then one night, sitting at a gala for our kids school, they played an amazing video about another parent who was battling cancer.  And the support she had received from the school'scommunity.  I was choked up about it and looked at the table I was at and here sat three families that were so instrumental in supporting us through our journey and I had yet to have this opportunity to say thank you.  One of the Dad’s asked if I was okay and I tried to toast them to thank them about what this meant to me.  About what they had done for us and how much it truly meant.  Zach’s parents were there, Greg and Gina.  I didn’t know it then, but shortly after the gala, we got a phone call that was devastating.  Greg had not been feeling well and was at the hospital.  They had just run tests and he was diagnosed with the exact same disease I have. Most likely having been sitting at that dinner with the disease taking hold.  

Once the shock wore off, I knew I had to pay it back.  It was my turn to be Greg and be there to support him, send him updates, take Zach with us to events, and support Gina while they focused on a battle that was about to begin.

Next week Greg will pick-up the updates and share his journey but it is truly awful to have two best friends have to go through back to back battles of their dads fighting Leukemia.  

 

Part II:  The Transplant Process

As noted in Part I, Greg and I will continue to post stories of our journey battling Leukemia each week.  We hope you enjoy these stories, and can share them, and support Zach, Adam and Grace in their journey to help end blood cancer. 

The process to keep the leukemia at bay requires a round of consolidation chemo where you check in for a week at the hospital, receive the doses twice a day and wait.  After the first seven days, you return home where you need to be isolated because the chemo has again taken away your immune system, so you need to prevent any contact with bacteria, germs, mold, etc.  One of your best friends during this time is a bottle of Purell.  I always had a bottle with a pumper on it, and if someone got too close…I just threatened that I would spray them with Purell.    

The strain of AML I had was too aggressive and my only chance for survival was to have a bone marrow transplant.  In order to receive the transplant, you need to go through rounds of tests, to determine if you were a candidate.  I was approved for meeting with the transplant team, and when the nurses at St. Luke’s heard this, they were very excited.  As I was checking out of the final consolidation round, they were literally clapping, hugging me, making it feel like a parade as I walked out of St. Luke’s.  I thought, wow….a silver bullet that will beat this disease and I can get back to living a normal life. 

Then we met with the transplant team.  For the meeting we brought enthusiasm and they brought the cold bucket of reality.  I felt bad because we spent two and a half hours questioning the doctors, causing the other patients to be delayed in their appointments, but to the doctors’ credit, they sat and answered every question.  I left the meeting shell shocked. 

As an Engineer, I like equations.  The first chart the transplant team showed was a graph that looked almost exactly like   .  If you remember your algebra days, the chart looks like this…

This is the chart they put up to help you understand just how serious and dangerous the process is.  Within the first 100 days, 20-25% of the patients do not survive.  There is a condition known as Graft v. Host Disease (“GVHD”) where the new bone marrow enters your body, doesn’t recognize it and begins shutting down your organs as a defense mechanism.  You also lose all your inoculations, immune system, etc. so you are very susceptible to the simplest bug or virus. 

They were able to spin the meeting back to the positive because they ran my DNA across the bone marrow registry and I was blessed to have found a match.  Multiple matches in fact, so the doctors were able to really isolate the ideal typing in the DNA that they felt would minimize rejection. 

When checking in for the bone marrow transplant, the first thing you do is sign a consent form for the procedure.  It took me a long time, staring at that form, before I could sign it because right in the middle of the page was the statement that I understood 25% do not survive.  I thought about Matthew and Adam and what would happen in the next few weeks if they lost Dad.  I looked at my Doctor and, as tenderly as he could, he noted that if I don’t do it that line would read 100%.  I told him he had outstanding negotiation skills and I signed the form.  I cannot tell you how hard that really was to sign that form, but I had faith in the team at Froedtert. 

Once they had their forms, it didn’t take long to get the transplant process underway.  They introduce a stunningly wicked chemo that begins to destroy your existing bone marrow system.  This treatment continued for five days.  You get one day of rest and on the seventh day you receive the donation. 

It is a challenge to coordinate during the five days of treatment, the donor needs to get to the hospital, go through the procedure and the marrow needs to be flown to you to be ready for the 7^th day.  You pray that the donor a) remembers, b) isn’t in an accident or c) doesn’t back out.  The risk is that they have begun the process of removing your marrow before the donor is called in and the process cannot be stopped.  If anything happens, you can only go a few days without a bone marrow system.  Having found multiple matches, I was blessed to have backup donors in queue just in case, so that gave some peace of mind.   On June 4, 2014, I received my donation (pictured here) in a process that lasted nine hours.

(Above:  The bag of marrow being setup)

(Just chillin' waiting for the marrow to find its new home!)

The rest of the process is recovery.  The nurses and doctors work hard to manage the GVHD and keep you as comfortable as possible.  The next few weeks were very hard, not only physically, due to the effects of the chemo but also seeing the pain on my family.   There were days Karin would visit, but I didn’t wake up.  When I finally did there was a coffee and a note waiting for me.  This process is hard on a patient, but it is awful on the loved ones.  As a patient you feel helpless because they have to keep the plates spinning and all the while, you are laying in a bed.  Seeing their efforts and the support of our family and friends was a true gift.  I saw firsthand what love really is. 

Unfortunately, Adam was under 14 at the time of the transplant and not allowed back to the hospital room to visit.   He had to say good bye when I went in and could only hear stories about how I was doing for the 25 days I was in.  Matthew was old enough and enjoyed visiting, but you could tell those visits were hard on him seeing the impact of the treatments on me. 

I missed every baseball tournament that summer which was hard, but the families again sent me updates or tried to Skype me into the games to be part of the action.  Being able to see Karin every day, to play cribbage and hear about the boys took all the fear and pain of the process away and kept my life normal.  It was awesome when I was released to get home and see the excitement in the boys for all the stories they wanted to share about what was going on. 

What is truly amazing looking back on this is to think that the young man who went to the hospital in Pittsburgh to donate, was a sophomore in college.  He saw the Be The Match table in the union at West Virginia University and said “It can’t hurt that much, I’m going to join!”  Three months later, they called him about this 40-yr old in Wisconsin who needed help.  He got a ride from his uncle and is the reason I am alive today.   We are blessed to have met him twice and it is pretty awesome to have a bond so special with someone.  A tip of the cap to his parents who raised him to be so mature and willing to do something so selfless at the age of 20.  I wish I was that strong at that age.    

(His parents call him Matt, I call him my HERO!)

(This picture taken in the very spot that he signed up for the Be The Match registry!)

After the transplant I couldn’t eat enough watermelon because it was so sweet and cold and soothing on my new palette.  I was wondering if this was one of those stories where you receive a transplant and you develop a taste for something that the donor enjoyed.  So, the first time we met, I asked him “Just out of curiosity…what is your favorite fruit?”.  He said blueberries! 

The next great hurdle was getting to 100 days.  Even checking out of the hospital at day 25 was great, but there was a long road of being home, and avoiding anything that could potentially have given me a bug I couldn’t fight.  I hit my 100^th day on September 12^th of that year, and it was a milestone!  To this day I still battle chronic versions of the GVHD that the doctors have to step in and manage, but am grateful I can.  It’s a small price to pay to have these days with Karin, Matthew and Adam. 

I look forward to continuing the story in Part III, but my story will begin to slow down.   I’ll share the call I received about Greg (Zach’s Dad) and he will begin to share his journey.  

 

Part I:  The Call that Changed A Life:

As a leukemia patient, I (Jack Zbiegien) am inspired to share stories of my journey to help support the efforts that Adam, Zach and Grace are taking to help end blood cancer.  This is part 1 of the journey's that Greg and I have experienced.  For each of the posts, please share.  Share with those who are battling.  Share with those who aren’t but want to get involved.  You never know how that small donation, or action of simply delivering a meal or having a coffee with someone can impact their life. 

Four years ago today, work began like any other Monday, preparing for production meetings, customer visits and planning the week ahead.  At 9:30 am, I had received a phone call from my local clinic.  The Friday before I had gone in because of an ear infection I thought I had that wasn’t getting better.  During that visit they tested for strep, mono, skin infections and decided to draw blood to see if anything showed up.

During the call, the doctor asked how I was feeling and if I would have a chance to visit a colleague at St Luke’s in Milwaukee because he was seeing “Leukemic” activity.  Being an Engineer, I have to admit I was ignorant as to what leukemic activity meant.  Since I had the benefit of working with my wife, Karin, I asked if she would like to ride down to St Luke’s together.  What we did that day was mistake #1 in the journey….we googled “leukemic activity”.  We were hit with a flood of information and entered our visit more confused than ever.  We met with the oncologists at St Luke’s, and quickly learned that my world was about to be turned upside down. 

They drew 22 vials of blood and told me I would be checking into their 12T blood cancer wing with the diagnosis of Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML).  The point we found cute was one of the first comments my oncologist made was “Do Not Google this!”  Dr. Qamar noted that if there was something I wanted to know, ask her, and she will get me to the right sites. 

The treatment starts with an induction process where you are in the hospital for 28 days.  The first day in requires a bone marrow biopsy to confirm diagnosis.  During this biopsy I made mistake #2.  They asked if I wanted numbing or not.  I chose “not” because I thought I was tough.  Turns out you want numbing.  The biopsy returned confirmation of the diagnosis of AML.  The next seven days included receiving daily doses of chemotherapy to kill the cells.  They infuse two treatments, 17 injections overall and one of them is delicately labeled “The Red Devil”.  

On the 14^th day, I received another bone marrow biopsy so they could tell if I had been able to achieve remission.  I wasn’t fooled….I took the numbing!  This coincided with my 40^th birthday.  When Karin came in that day, I asked if we could fire our travel agent.  Most people get to spend their first all-inclusive at St Thomas or St Kitts, not St Luke’s.  Officially the least enjoyable all-inclusive I could have chosen for my 40th.   

I was able to achieve remission and the doctors let me go home on February 9^th.  That was a beautiful day….and my son Adam just happened to be playing basketball down the road, so my first stop was to get to his game to watch him play. 

As I was in the hospital, something began to happen.  Life slowed down.  What I began to see was what the meaning of “Caring and Compassion” truly were.  Not only do the doctors and nurses work hard to ensure success in treatment, but the community comes together to show warmth and support.  Yes this is a shock to the patient to be diagnosed, but that patient’s family is thrown upside down also.  Schedules are blown up as they run to see Dad in the hospital, practices are missed, homework, meals, etc.  But something amazing happened.

The community came together.  Families in the school created a meal train during those weeks of treatment so Karin could focus on visiting me and caring for Adam and Matthew…not having to figure out a meal.  They were there for her with continued notes of encouragement. 

I never missed a basketball game in spirit because someone I had never met before, Greg Lesiecki, whose son, Zach, was on this team, would text me score updates and commentary on the games.  He knew it was killing me not being able to be there and took the time to share the moments.  I looked forward to those texts and it distracted me from the downsides of the treatments.  Again…life slowed down and someone I didn’t have the time to meet before, became instrumental in my recovery.

Families made sure the boys never missed a practice, school, game or event and worked hard to keep their lives as normal as possible. 

Over the next three months I had to continue with three rounds of consolidation treatment which requires you to check into the hospital for a week of intense chemotherapy, and then isolate yourself at home for three weeks to recover, and then repeat.  Unfortunately, I relapsed twice during these consolidation treatments.  Leukemia can manifest in unique ways and mine began to build lesions in my skin.  The consolidation treatments knocked it back into remission, but the doctors noted a bone marrow transplant was a must to survive. 

During these treatments you have no immune system, so you are susceptible to the slightest bug that could ultimately kill you.  With the boys in school, there are germs all over so their routine became, they had to come home from school, take all their clothes they were wearing, put them in the washer and change before they could see Dad.  That is an unfortunate stress for them, the guilt that they may make Dad sick.  The boys maintained a level of strength and support during these treatments that was inspiring for me. 

As I wrap up this entry, I’ll share what I learned in the first few months of treatment:

1. Don’t Google It!  These doctors and nurses have gone through a lot of training to do the best for the patient and I had to put my faith in them.  Turns out they know what they are doing and I am surviving!
2. Get the numbing!  Trust me….get the numbing…..
3. Caring and Compassion:  I learned in such a beautiful way how a truly small action, can have such a tremendous impact on someone’s life.  The people of Cedarburg truly taught me this and made our journey with this disease much easier.

Next week, I will journal what it meant to receive the bone marrow transplant and how amazing it is that a young man did something so selfless as to give me the gift of life by a simple donation of bone marrow. 

 

 

Welcome To Team buLLSdog's Fundraising Page.     

Our names are Zach McBride, Grace Steinert and Adam Zbiegien, sophomores at Cedarburg High School, who have joined together to support The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS).  We each have endured the loss of a parent or watched one of our parent's battle Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML).  This is something that we do not want to see any of our classmates or their families go through, so we are working today to help raise awareness and support to end cancer.  Please help!

With your support, our efforts will help fund the therapies and treatments used to save lives today.  LLS's continued advancements over the years are responsible for the blood cancer survival rates doubling and tripling, and, in some cases, the survival rate has even quadrupled.  LLS is really changing the face of blood cancer!

All donations are greatly appreciated and are tax deductible. They will not only support LLS research but patient services, advocacy, public and professional education and community services as well.

On behalf of our dad’s Jack and Greg and all blood cancer patients everywhere, Team buLLSdog thanks you for your support!

Please visit our website often and bring friends who would also like to donate!

For more information about LLS, please visit lls.org