To Arms! Let's Defeat Childhood Cancer.

When I was 12 years old, I lost my older brother to cancer.

(Awesome way to start a blog post, I know.)

Somewhere around 9 p.m. in the September of 1995, my brother Jason and I had climbed into our respective bunk beds (I was on bottom) and began chatting about sign language.  Jason had been taking a sign language class in high school because it counted for his language credit and it seemed easier than going with Spanish or French.  He tought me how to sign a few words and promised to teach me more the next day when he had his textbook handy.  Of course I can't remember if I was genuinely interested in sign language or if I was just excited about the prospect of doing something with my older brother that didn't involve a black eye or hurtful insults, but I was looking forward to it nonetheless.  To have such a civil discussion that lasted more than two minutes was a somewhat rare occurence in that point in our "brothership."

We went to sleep.

A few hours later at around 4 or 5 a.m., I awoke to the sound of something thrashing around on the top bunk.  I didn't know what was going on, so I immediately jumped out of bed and climbed up to see what my brother was doing.  His back was arched, his arms flailed and he was grunting as if he was in pain, though he didn't seem conscious.  Assuming he was just having a terrible dream, I tried hitting him and shaking him to wake him up, which in retrospect wasn't the best idea.

I ran to my parents' room and woke my mother, telling her there was something wrong with Jason.  It wasn't long after that he snapped out of it and we got him down from the bed and into the kitchen.  My mom called my dad, who was at work at the time, to tell him what had happened and to come home right away.  As we waited for my father to get there, my brother (who was aware he wouldn't be going to school that day) went into the livingroom and sat down at our then-brand-spanking-new Acer computer. 

As Jason sat at the computer, suddenly he collapsed.  His head fell forward and hit the wooden desk with a loud bang.  I pulled him back to the sitting position in the chair and he then realized he had trouble moving his right arm.  If there was ever a time during this morning to panic, this was it.  My mom called 911 and the ambulence arrived minutes later.  My dad still hadn't made it home yet and because the ambulence couldn't fit both my mom and I, we had to let them go without us and go to the hospital when my dad got home.

Thus began the most difficult 11 months any of us would ever endure.

On August 7th, 1996, after nearly a year of chemotherapy, radiation therapy and several surgeries, after a year of training myself to become almost completely emotionally detached, after 11 months of fighting the angry bitch that is Cancer with everything he had, my brother died at the age of 16.

No one should have to go through what he did, and that's why I'm asking for your help.

While I don't have the means or the knowledge to seek out new, more effective ways to treat cancer in children, the St. Baldrick's foundation does.

From their website:

"The St. Baldrick's Foundation is a volunteer-driven charity committed to funding the most promising research to find cures for childhood cancers and give survivors long and healthy lives."

Now that's something I can get behind.

For more info, visit www.stbaldricks.org.

You don't have to shave your head.  In fact, my favorite fitness guy, John Romaniello, has organized an effort to raise $10,000 for St. Baldrick's.  All you have to do is follow the link below and hit the donate button near the bottom of the post.  There is no minimum or maximum donation, but anything over $15 gets you a bunch of free workouts by some of the best trainers in all the land.

http://www.romanfitnesssystems.com/blog/baring-it-all-for-charity-help-me-fight-childhood-cancer

Read the post, watch the video, and please donate what you can.  Whether it's $1 or a million, everything helps.