Welcome to my Team In Training home page. You can read my story about why I want to help the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and also why I want to run a marathon.

Coating For a Cure

Garage Floor Coating Raffle

WE HAVE A WINNER ! ! !

Congratulations Martha B. of Frederick

Martha is the lucky donor who received a free epoxy floor installation courtesy of my company, Tri-State Concrete Coatings, Inc. Thank you to everyone who has already made a donation.

WE DID IT! ! ! !

Thank you everyone who so generously donated to this awesome organization, and encouraged me to complete the marathon. The race in Disney was challenging,the weather was bitter cold, but the reward at the end was unforgetable! I remember stumbling around thinking I just completed a MARATHON. Awesome, thank you Team In Training!

However,

the fight against blood cancer is not over. The LLS still needs our help to fund the research that will provide a cure and improve the quality of life of patients and survivors. I have been so moved by the stories many of you have shared with me during the past few months that I have volunteered to serve as a mentor for the next season of ordinary people setting out to accomplish extraordinary things through Team In Training. Please continue the journey with me.

Motivation . . .

Trey's Story. . .

Don Eugene Griffith, III, also known as Trey, was born on May 16th, 1999. He weighed in at a whopping 9 pounds stretching out over 21 inches. Trey was a very healthy and strong young man; in the delivery room, he was even able to lift his head while resting on his stomach just moments after he was born. His mom breast fed him until he was nearly 12 months old. He was an active toddler, very inquisitive and always loved to have a story read to him. When he was 18 months old, we noticed a small swollen gland on the right side of his neck. At each pediatrician's visit, we would ask about the swollen gland and each time we were told that it was normal to have enlarged lymph nodes so there was no need to be concerned.

On Thanksgiving Day, 2002, a relative had asked what that "thing" was on Trey's neck. Trey's swollen gland had grown from the size of a small pea to the size of a 25 cent gumball. It was on that day we started to worry. Trey was 3 1/2 years old. Events began to blur from that point forward as our fears grew stronger.

It was mid December when the biopsy was scheduled. The medical staff did a great job trying to get Trey comfortable with the face mask for the anesthesia. They had different scents for him to choose from to cover up the odor: chocolate, mint, cotton candy, and cinnamon were just a few. Trey was not swayed by any of their coaxing. He made it perfectly clear and stated emphatically: "No, no, no, no, I don't want no maskis!" (Maskis was his way of saying mask in the plural form.)

Just five days before Christmas we received the call confirming that the biopsy was not good. We were given the contact names and numbers for the Pediatrics' Oncology Department at Johns Hopkins Hospital and instructed to call them right away.

The New Year kicked off with a battery of doctor appointments, blood tests, and body scans at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. The PET scan was the most impressive and intense. An injection of radioactive dye was administered intravenously and we were instructed that Trey was to keep perfectly still and quiet for 45 minutes to allow the dye to filter throughout his system. He was then placed in the "spaceship" and scanned for about 30 minutes. I am still amazed and baffled that this active little boy was perfectly still AND quiet for the entire test without the aide of any medication to subdue him. It was later determined that an oversight was made by not having a sedative prescribed for this test, especially for a child of his age.

At the time of Trey's diagnosis, he was only 1 of 250 kids nationwide (aged 10 and under) being treated for Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Trey was admitted to Johns Hopkins Medical Center on January 23rd for the surgical procedure to have his chemotherapy port implanted in his chest and a bone marrow biopsy performed. The port was used to provide easy access to his veins instead of starting an IV each time the chemo was administered or blood samples taken. The bone marrow was tested by slicing a thin piece from the center of his hip bone at the joint to determine if the cancer had spread throughout his body. Fortunately, the cancer was isolated to the area of his neck.

When he was moved from the recovery room to his hospital room he made quite an impression on the entire nursing staff by singing Toby Keith's country music hit song of "Who's Your Daddy?" To this day I can't help but chuckle every time I hear that song and remember how Trey sang to all those nurses on duty as they stood around his bed that night and how they got the biggest kick out of our precious little boy.

It was 6am Friday morning, January 24th when Trey was hydrated enough to start his first cycle of chemo. On Sunday afternoon, he was thrilled to be discharged from the hospital. Chemo continued at home for a total of 10 continuous days.

Trey's mom learned how to give one medication by injection, once daily. She would have to rotate the location of the shot each time it was administered: one day in the right arm, the next day in the left thigh, the next day in the left arm, and the next day in the right thigh. Another drug (one of the many) was administered intravenously at the clinic for the first three days. For the following four days the drug was given at home orally. Unfortunately, Trey violently refused to take this drug. We tried to disguise the taste with marshmallow cream, sugar, and even chocolate syrup. No matter what we tried, he refused it so we (his mom, his dad, his granddaddy, and his grandma) would have to physically hold him down and force it down his throat. We had to use an eye dropper to squirt the drug to the back of his throat which forced him to swallow. If he was able to keep it down for twenty minutes, we didn't have to repeat the process. We had to do this twice every day for six very long days for each cycle. Even today, Trey still shies away from chocolate, when he tastes something that he finds totally disgusting; he says it tastes just like cancer.

Eating became another ordeal for Trey. He was too weak, too tired, or simply not interested in food. One day he asked for some mayonnaise on bread. We were all so grateful when he finally found something he would eat! Who would believe a parent or grandparent would be happy that the only thing their child would eat was a mayonnaise sandwich?

Just before his chemo started, we had his hair cut very short so it wouldn't be such a shock when he lost all his hair. Mid way through the chemo, Trey's hair started to fall out. He was on his mom's lap one evening and she was rubbing his head and noticed her hand was full of his hair. A few days later, he was completely bald. His dad went out and had his head shaved so Trey wouldn't be the only one without hair.

I remember cuddling beside Trey when he didn't feel well. I would often rub the lower portion of the back of his neck and tell him that it was the softest spot in the whole world as I leaned next to him and gently kissed it. Even today, whenever he has a really bad day, I'll rub his head and kiss the back of his neck and ask him if he knows what that spot is. He smiles and tells me "It's the softest spot in the whole world."

Three cycles of chemo over a three month period took its toll on Trey. Originally, the doctors planned on four cycles of chemo, but determined that research indicated that only three cycles were necessary. He became weaker and sicker with each cycle; I can't imagine how he could have survived one more cycle. He lost a total of ten (10) pounds during this timeframe, which may not sound like much, but it was 25% of his bodyweight.

He received a total of three (3) red blood cell transfusions and one (1) platelet transfusion. He was admitted four (4) times to Johns Hopkins and transported by ambulance 3 of those 4 times. To this day I still get cold chills and teary-eyed when I see a Life Star or Med Life Ambulance headed eastbound on I-70.

The pediatric oncology clinic at the hospital was wonderful. They had electronic games, board games, and toys for all ages. All the kids really loved their races in wheel chairs, relays with the IV poles (while tethered to the IVs), and group BINGO games. Trey actually looked forward to going there and made friends with those he saw on a regular basis. Nurse Miss Kim was Trey's first crush. A new friend named Zoe, was a beautiful little girl about the same age as Trey, and was being treated for a malignant brain tumor. Joey was Trey's first roommate, a 16 year old just diagnosed with Leukemia.

During one visit to the clinic, the social worker approached us and told us that Trey qualified for Make a Wish. I guess my initial reaction with a deer-in-the-headlight look expressed my shock sufficiently as she quickly explained that this organization was not only for terminally ill children, but for children with life threatening illnesses. Trey was given the opportunity to stay at Give Kids the World in Orlando, Florida with the whole family, including Grandma and Granddaddy.

Trey has been in remission for six (6) years which began officially on his 4th birthday. He continues with his annual visits to Johns Hopkins and is only mildly inconvenienced by the scans and blood tests. When we see a very sick kid in a wheelchair wearing a mask and a very worried parent headed to the oncology department I'll look at Trey and ask him if he remembers when he was that sick. I think it helps the parents to actually see a success story and it gives them a bit more hope that their situation can get better.

We have always told Trey that the scar on his chest is his badge of courage and he should be very proud of it. Sometimes when Trey goes swimming, kids will ask him what the scar is and he casually tells them that it's his cancer scar.