Tuesday November 22, 2005. “Mr. Young, we have your blood test results and we are concerned about your levels of ……. We’ve already made arrangements for your hospital admittance. Please go to the hospital as soon as possible and we’ll conduct further tests.” My first thought was denial – this can’t be right.
I had been feeling tired and generally run down in the week leading up to that phone call. But there was a perfectly logical explanation. I had been working hard at the office and was doing a lot of activities with my daughters, so I wasn’t getting much sleep. It felt “normal”.
Two days later on Thanksgiving, I had my diagnosis – a rare type of leukemia. The next day, I started my treatment – seven days of 24 x 7 IV chemo in the hospital. Right away, my wife Carolyn and I went into “do” mode. What did we need to know and what did we need to do to beat this and get better? That was the “easy” part. The hard part was telling our three daughters, ages 9, 14 and 15 at that point. Our girls lived with my ex-wife about 90 minutes away.
Saturday November 26, 2005. Our girls visited me in the hospital – the first time I’d see them since entering the hospital. I told them everything and most importantly, I pledged to always tell them what was really happening. Carolyn and I knew that being truthful, open and inclusive was the only way to treat them. Even though they were young, it was the only approach that connected to our goal of raising them as strong, independent women. We never regretted it – and they appreciated it.
The most difficult moment was looking at their teary eyes and scared faces and trying to keep myself together. They were strong and brave. They only had one question for me – “Dad, are you going to die?” The “Dad” in me said “no”. The man inside me thought, “I don’t know, but I’m going to do everything I possibly can to not only survive, but live.”
I completed my chemo treatment and left the hospital after 11 life changing days. I spent the next ten weeks getting other treatments and tests, mostly recovering at home – quarantined from any “germs”. What I went through was hard on me – physically, mentally and emotionally. It was harder watching how difficult it was for the people around me – Carolyn, our daughters, and my parents and siblings in particular. I think what got us all through it was how we approached it together. No complaints, “no why me”, no feeling sorry for ourselves – plenty of positive thinking and attitude and “we will”.
Of course – the path to the finish line wasn’t a straight one. There were quite a few moments of doubt and worry along the way. Was my fever “normal”? Was I eating enough? How would we handle the Christmas and New Years holidays with my quarantine? Were we doing everything we could and should? The doubts were always there, but we did our best to push forward anyway. My favorite quote became: “Being brave doesn’t mean you aren’t afraid. It means you keep going even though you are afraid.” I began to wear a red wrist band with the word “Relentless” on it. I’m on my 7th band since then (they are only inexpensive plastic after all).
I found out in October 2009 that the leukemia was back. That news was rough. The fears and doubts flared up. Would I survive? Was I strong enough mentally and physically to fight through it again? How would I tell my family and my daughters, again? Since the leukemia was detected through my regular check ups, I wasn’t as “sick” as I was at the start of the first battle in 2005. The recommended course was to hold off on the chemo until it was impacting me day to day or until the blood test results said it was time.
It was a long year of balancing the pervasive strain of my lingering illness with trying to stay happy and strong. It was a draining year, but it taught me more about my mental, physical and emotional resiliency. I had the chemo treatment again in October 2010, with a similar recovery period. My 2005 experience made that easier to deal with (my older two daughters, away at college at the time, still hate the restaurant where I told them the news that my leukemia was back). I still get regular check ups and my health has been good since.
That time was life changing. It made me a stronger person – for myself and for my family and friends. It brought our family closer together. I vowed to appreciate life even more than I thought I did before. I tried my best to view every day as the gift that it was, especially the gift of the life saving chemo drug for my rare type of leukemia. Twenty years earlier and my prognosis was likely to survive only a few more years.
I’m sharing my story for a few reasons. First – it shaped the man I am today and how I approach life, my relationships with others, and the value I place on time. Second – directly facing my mortality gave me a sense of calm and inner peace. If I had to face the possibility of dying, what else could I face that I wouldn’t be able to handle. And finally, it installed a passion for wanting to leave a legacy of helping others. I promised myself that I’d find ways to make that happen, knowing that how I help other people would need to focus on what they need, not just on what I had to offer.
Starting my coaching business and my 2020 fundraising campaign are just two ways that I’m trying to help others.