I'm cured. How are you?

I've thought it more times than I've said it when people ask how I am. It is a little quick and even flippant which is why I've restrained from saying it frequently, but it couldn't be more true. A year ago this month I took a day off school to get a blood transfusion so I would be ready to coach a middle school match that afternoon (note that I took school off and not wrestling). Now, I'm worried more about how long to marinate my steaks than I am about my health. Incidentally, three days in a teriyaki, garlic, and sesame oil marinade is magic with rib eyes and flanks.

Last night we celebrated a season finished as the Squalicum Wrestlers, their families, and the coaches participated in our end of the season banquet. This was no ordinary season with a changing of the guard for a head coach and my full return to coaching as an assistant. I made this season more about me than I will ever do again as a coach, but my selfish ambitions were robbed by a group of wrestlers that reminded me why I coach in the first place. This was a year of exceeded expectations, capped by a young lady that made it to the state finals when her season goal was just to wrestle on day 2 of the tournament and simply place in the top 8.

Not to bore you with wrestling details, but there is an indescribable feeling as a coach to be in a pressed shirt, a tie, and a pinstripe suit waiting for your wrestler to battle for a state championship.When I traveled to Baltimore, MD to visit with my doctor in January for a standard 6 month check up, I did my best to describe to him this feeling of coaching in the finals. He listened and patiently responded.


He told me that seeing me in his office...cured, is the same feeling we as coaches feel when all the months of hard work and preparation, sweat, and tears produce a champion.

So here I am, cured! I am back to teaching and coaching which means long hours and caring too much about my students and my athletes. It means that the precious few hours I spend with my family are in fact few, but God is faithful in guarding those times so my girls can enjoy a healthy dad and Kelly can love a healthy husband. It means that plans for our future contain fewer "ifs" and more "whens".

My life is very seasonal as a teacher and a coach, and unfortunately my walk with Christ is seasonal as well. There are times where I am committed to reading my bible daily and praying constantly, but now is not one of those times. I could blame it on schedule or the emotional recovery of an intense wrestling season but they are just excuses. A second lease on life should mean a renewal of faith and commitment to living for Christ, but I think I am still riding the emotional high. Anyone that has experienced an amazing season of redemption, whether physical, spiritual, or emotional, can ride the waves for a while but eventually the waves crash on the shore and the ride is over.

I need to renew my daily walk with my creator. Time in the word, time in prayer, time in worship, grounding myself for service, seizing opportunities to act in faith, praying for more opportunities. God allowed me to be cured because he is not done with me on earth, and that is the ONLY reason he didn't take me. Those that know, know how close it was.

I tell my athletes that practice is the most important time and place for success. You can only perform as good as you practice, and unless you have rehearsed winning in practice it will be nearly impossible in competition. It's time to take my own advice, and program my spiritual muscle memory to respond when the wave dies and the ride is over.

"Forgive me if I don't shake hands."

...says Doc Holiday in the epic Tombstone. I will shake your hand, but don't be offended when I break out the pocket sized hand sanitizer and apply. It's not you, it's me! I am now a germophobe.

It starts simple enough with bottles of hand sanitizer at every sink, plus several strategically placed throughout the house. One in each car, plus the aforementioned pocket bottles that travel with me. But it doesn't stop there. I've have said goodbye to buffets, potlucks, communal bowls of candy, and the box of donuts in the break room. Every door handle, faucet tap, table top, or chair arm poses unseen danger. The next time I take communion in church I will bring my own unleavened bread and flask of wine...er, grape juice. The tough one is shaking hands, because I really like that. So when I bathe my hands up to my wrists in 62% ethyl alcohol with aloe, don't take it personal.

Obviously, I have reason to be cautious as my immunity is rebuilt over the next two years. I will receive childhood immunizations all over again starting next July (one year after transplant) and then follow up shots throughout the the year up until two years out. As for my exposure to illnesses like the common cold, I need to go through the process of getting sick and allowing my body to build it's own defense, just like an infant would. That is why I will be able to return to work at the end of this month. I HAVE to allow myself to be sick so that I can be healthy. I only pray that any sickness I do experience in this next year will be mild and forgiving, allowing me to build my immune system but not wipe me out completely or worse, put my overall health at risk.

Post transplant life is good, freeing, liberating. I am no longer bound by blood counts or the lack there of. All numbers are higher than they have been in years and steadily increasing, but we are training ourselves not to watch them like a sports ticker. What we are watching is my kidneys and liver to make sure they are tolerating the meds and showing no signs of Graft vs. Host Disease or GVH. Another interesting precaution is sunlight. A sunburn can trigger severe GVH for the rest of my life, so come summer time I'll be the guy in the wide brimmed hat, wearing SPF 50, drinking beer under the umbrella at the beach. I suppose I live in the right part of the country to protect myself from sunlight.

With constant improvement and recovery, I am finally returning to work healthy for the first time in a year. Tomorrow I will be walking into Shuksan Middle School preparing to face the reality of spending my days with pre-teens. Fortunately, it is a staff work day tomorrow so I get to ease into my classroom and the school before students arrive. Shuksan Staff, I can't wait to see you guys again.

With my new found vigor, I have been training again. Training for what, I'm not sure yet but I'm pretty competitive so I'm sure I'll have to kick someone's ass at something down the road. On my training route the other day, I realized that in-spite of saying that I am thankful to God for my health, I hadn't actually told Him, "Thank You!" So in a brief moment of solitude on a path-side bench at Northridge Park in a cathedral of trees, I thanked Him. I praised Him for His greatness and His orchestration of the plan for my life. I praised Him for creation and that the beauty of the forest pales in comparison to His handiwork in us. I prayed that my new lease on life would be a testimony to His power, His grace, and His love for us. Amen

I usually don't take bone marrow, but when I do I prefer "Dos Equis."

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.

Moving Out

So, here's the thing about bone marrow transplants. They are BOOOOOORIIIIING! The word "transplant" conjures all sorts of images of doctors clearing the halls, knocking over trays of hospital food to get the precious marrow from the donor to the recipient in time. It couldn't be further from the truth. It's just a big red bag that hangs on the IV pole and drips away. The most exciting part of the day is the number of times the nurses check vitals looking for any reaction to the marrow.

The good news is that my stay here in Unit 5B of the Weinburg building has been boring from the beginning. The nurses like to say here, "Boring is good," which means no surprises, no complications, no major concerns and that has largely been the case. I battled a fever just a few days after the transplant that cooled quickly with aggressive antibiotics, but that has really been the only bump on a very smooth road. Even the effects of the chemo have been very tolerable with the worst behind me.

The next major step is seeing blood counts start to recover and that may not happen for at least another week. I haves lived with low counts for so long that I don't feel an empty tank, but I am no less excited about seeing blood counts start to come up. Once the counts start to appear, it will be easy to tell if it is the new marrow that is working and not my own trying to bounce back. Because my own marrow produced abnormal red cells, the new marrow will produce healthy blood cells which they can easily test for.

Now boring may be good for the transplant, but it's driving me nuts. Sure I'm reading, watching movies, taking naps, doing what I can to let time go by, but checking out and coming in as an outpatient is sounding better and better all the time. The good news is that barring any surprises, I will be checking out this coming Sunday to start the next phase of the recovery process. I'll stay in campus housing and come in just during the day for treatments. It doesn't sound very different, but getting out of this unit having a little more independence will make a huge difference for me.

I do need to recognize Kari, my sister, in this whole process. She was a trooper and in spite of her anxiety before, her exhaustion the day of, and her soreness during recovery, she gave cheerfully and willingly. Thanks to Lach who marched her around DC just a few days after the procedure, she recovered quickly (the doctors told her it is good for her to be up and moving). I love my sister, and I will never forget what she went through for me.

The waiting game continues, and prayers for continued patience are appreciated. Obviously we are praying that counts start to come up and that I can remain relatively free of complications, but waiting sometimes is harder than anything else.

Grace, Love, and Warm Cookies

Every once in a while, God throws us something special. It feels less like a divine moment and more like getting a full size candy bar while trick-or-treating or catching a free t-shirt that's been shot from a cannon at a college football game. He reveals to us exactly how and who he uses to answer our prayers. The prayer and the answer is between Him and me, but the message is universal. Our hope and our faith are justified in an instant when secret Santa stands up at the Christmas party and says, "It was me, I hope you like it...it had 'you' written all over it!"

It does confirm my faith in the Almighty, but that may not be God's only purpose. What God says to me here is that he loves me and he wants me to be happy. God is in no way proving himself to me. Instead, he is sending me a care package from heaven and the cookies are still warm. Like a father longing to embrace his son from far away, He just wanted to show me how much he cares for me.

So far this process has been uneventful and verging on boring...at least for me. "Boring," my nurse said, "is a good thing around here." I am tolerating the chemo well, although I am only two doses in and expecting my third this evening. It is amazing to me how such a little bag that takes only an hour to run can turn people upside down, physically and psychologically. So far, nothing has been as bad as I have anticipated. Whether that continues remains to be seen.

One of the positive turns in this process is that I may be released from inpatient to outpatient status much sooner than originally thought. That means I would live across the street in hospital outpatient housing and come in for daily treatments. Things need to continue to go as well as they have so far, but it is a possibility none the less.

"The Donor" is en route via road trip in a hippie hybrid car (just kidding Lach, I love that car) and should be in town Monday. According to the hospital staff, I'm being born again...again. They refer to transplant day as my new birthday. July 12 is easy for me, just another bag dripping from my IV pole but my sister has a rough go. She'll be under anesthesia, but recovery can be a little uncomfortable.

I can't sign off without thanking everyone for your prayers and support. Through all of you, God has revealed to me new measures of His love. I only hope each of you can experience the same Grace, Love, and warm cookies that God has shown me.

For Reese and the Gilfillans

I am not sure how to start this post. I desperately want to lift baby Reese and the Gilfillans in prayer and I suppose our prayers should be enough. We talk to the Almighty directly and he answers us. He has been faithful to me and my family, answering our prayers daily and even providing for unforeseen needs. However, here is baby Reese whose trials this past week seem insurmountable and Rob and Bre Ann whose uncertainty must feel torturous. As a father, it is hard for me to imagine a second of peace amidst that storm. It makes it hard to pray for something for which I lack faith of possibility. I believe that God can heal Reese, but I cannot imagine what the family is experiencing.

Lord give me the faith to believe you can do ALL things!

Another thing I feel is a sense of helplessness, knowing that only God can wrap his arms around that baby her family. It feels much like my own inability to heal myself, but seeing others suffer is much more difficult and has me faced with the human urge to "do" something. Maybe it's the masculine "fit it" mentality that has my stomach in knots. There is NOTHING I can do but pray, and it is hard when my lack of faith make God feel so far away.

Lord give me the discipline to pray for Reese and her family, even when my faith is weak. Heal her body. Give her parents inexplicable peace and rest, and let the world know you are God through the accomplishment of your will.

Praying for Reese

So far our time in Maryland has been relatively uneventful. This has mostly been a week of adjustments. The first and most significant piece of our new life is learning about the medical center at Johns Hopkins.

I flew solo on day one and began a series of scans and functions tests that determined my preparedness to handle the transplant process. Day two was much of the same but the family came along this time. A break during the days events allowed us to eat lunch at and tour Baltimore's inner harbor. The day finished for me with the ever popular bone marrow biopsy and we managed to beat the afternoon traffic on I-95 north.

In between scheduled appointments and various medical buildings in the hospital, I was able to familiarize myself with the campus and even start to feel comfortable there. The Weinberg building is an all in one cancer care center. Although I am blessed to not have cancer, my treatment falls under their realm of expertise, so the Weinberg it is. After an educational class Kelly and I attended on transplants, we actually were able to tour the floor where I'll be staying during the first 3-4 weeks of the process. I have to say it was pretty nice. It's definitely a hospital room, but built with comforts and amenities like a TV/DVD player, a dresser, a recliner, etc. Because of the risk of infection with transplant patients, the entrance to the room is like an airlock. You walk through two separate doors with a sink in between, insuring all those that enter and leave are washing every time. I may not be quite as excited about it after the novelty has worn off, but it was cool none the less.

So many of you have been asking about timelines, and we wanted to be sure of the schedule ourselves before releasing dates. I will be admitted to the hospital on Tuesday July 5 when I will start what will be 6 consecutive days of high dose chemotherapy. The chemo is intended to wipe clean the slate of my own bone marrow which doesn't work right anyway. Of course, most are familiar with the side effects of chemo and the joy ride that can be. On the seventh day I get to rest (sound familiar) and Tuesday July 12 is "Day Zero" or transplant day.

That brings us to the donor. My sister Kari is actually in Maryland for the weekend to do some testing of her own at Hopkins on Monday and Tuesday. She'll fly back to Houston Wednesday and not return until the day before transplant day. Although she will be under general anesthesia for the harvest, her procedure is outpatient and she be out of there the same day, although a little uncomfortable. The transplant team will harvest about 1.5 liters of bone marrow, filter it down to pure stem cells, and the drip it from a bag into my IV. The actual transplant is pretty uneventful for me, although Kari will have a big day.

Following the transplant they give me another two days of chemo, this time to prevent Kari's immune system in the stem cells from rejecting the graft which is the basis of graft vs. host disease. Then it is a waiting game, waiting for those stem cells from that little bag to take root and start cranking. With daily blood draws and constant monitoring, we may see progress within a few days, but it takes weeks to even consider leaving the room. When the white blood cells start to show up and my body has a fighting chance of defending itself outside a hospital room, I can move into an outpatient apartment on the hospital campus and just come in for daily treatment. That can go on for weeks as well, all depending on how quickly my body recovers.

Call it ignorance or naivety, but I grow increasingly more comfortable with the weeks and months ahead. I guess since arriving, and even in the days and weeks approaching our departure, God's hand in this adventure has been more and more evident by the day, providing for every need whether emotional, financial, and otherwise. I even feel a weird bubble of protection from getting sick as both girls have thrown up since leaving Bellingham. Once again, our confidence and faith in this process is confirmed daily and as this next week passes I hope for more of the same. The nerves will build but that keeps us sharp, prepared, focused and faithful.

In the midst of preparation, I am reminded of purpose. Whether or not I know the full extent, God has a purpose for the summer of Brian and I am convinced it is not limited to my healing. Nothing that we go through is by accident, and maybe someone who would have never softened otherwise to God's grace will experience it for the first time through the faith of God's people.

Thank you all for your continued prayers and your support. God has used you already in miraculous ways to bring us to where we are today.