The most triumphant moment in sports is the come-from-behind win. At a point in a contest when the scoreboard and the clock are as much an enemy as the opposing team, that is when a competitor makes a choice. It begins in the brain where in spite of the odds, the choice is made to fight no matter what the outcome yet never forgetting that victory is always the goal. The fighter mentally then transforms him or herself physically to where the body responds to the brain with almost subconscious accuracy and ability. At this point, the mind considers injury and exhaustion mere speed bumps as the body performs at almost superhuman capacity.
Sometimes the effort falls short. The rally caps are flipped over, the wide receiver crumbles in the end zone after feeling the football scrape the tips of his fingers, or the wrestler falls mid-scramble as time expires. Even in a loss, the fight is remembered and is memorialized among it's witnesses.
Then there are the victories. These are remembered by all, and quite often heroes are born from such stories.
In order to come from behind, there has to be deficit. There has to be insurmountable odds. Only by a missed shot can there be a rebound and a put back. Only through a lopsided scoreboard can there be a come-from-behind win. Only through the breakup of a great band can they reunite. Only through sickness can there be healing. Only through death can there be resurrection.
I think once again of our friends Rob and Bree-Ann whose young daughter Reese is undergoing chemo to clean up after a brain tumor that was surgically removed. Talk about being in the trenches. Of course I can make no guarantee, but in 10 years or so I see a beautiful young girl and her family with a come-from-behind story that brings indescribable faith and joy.
Ten years ago, I could have never imagined how my own odds would shape me. Three out four quarters were mild battles, fought methodically with each team claiming narrow leads on the scoreboard. Then in the fourth quarter, the opposing team struck with a vengeance and nearly claimed victory. But the game was not over, and the good guys brought out their secret weapon (Bone Marrow Transplant) in the fourth quarter.
And so here we are in the fourth quarter (at least of this game), and everyday we feel a little closer to just downing the ball and running off the field as we watch the last few seconds tick off the clock. My doctor here in Baltimore is confident that my previous conditions, Aplastic Anemia and PNH, are history and that I am now quite simply a Bone Marrow transplant patient. I am still taking some meds for a year or so but already, at day 44 post transplant, my blood counts are higher than they have been in years with all counts steadily increasing.
My sister has every right to be proud of herself for her bone marrow absolutely kicking butt in my body. Incidentally, here is an interesting fact about Bone Marrow donation. Since the donor is female, the chromosomes in my blood are now XX instead of XY. One of the doctors jokingly said I could commit a crime, leave blood at the scene, and blame Kari. I suppose I should start drinking Dos Equis beer and become "the most interesting man in the world."
My own come-from-behind story is still being written, and I would be cheating my creator if I did not give him thanks and praise for the miracle at work in me. I just hope the miracle does not end with the restoration of my body, but continues with the daily renewal of my faith and the faith of those around me.
