Racing to Save Lives

Thank you for visiting my Team In Training Fundraising Page! I am currently training to run a half-marathon in September to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. As you may know, the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS) is the world's largest voluntary health organization dedicated to funding blood cancer research, education and patient services. Rather than throw a bunch of numbers and statistics at you, I'd like to explain to you why I'm fundraising for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

Many of you have already heard my story and if you have not, I invite you to read it (located at the bottom of this page). My mother passed away from AML, a form of leukemia, in April 2009 - less than four months after she was diagnosed with the disease. She spent four continuous month in the hospital. She had blood drawn daily, she underwent countless bone marrow biopsies, harsh rounds of chemotherapy and endured unimaginable pain. My mother fought hard. She walked everyday - even when she felt sick and tired. She befriended everyone at the hospital she came in contact with - everyone knew her by her robe and pink baseball cap she walked the halls with.

The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society is fundamental in the search for a cure for blood cancer; however, their mission is so much bigger than that. The LLS also provides support for patients and their families. I know that sometimes when people ask for donations, it is hard to fathom where the money is going - especially in organizations that research cancer - research to a lot of people seems so cold and foreign. Necessary, yes - but unless you know someone with cancer, it seems sterile and distant. It is easy to say no to giving money when the idea of a "cure" is so abstract and hard for us non-scientists to wrap our heads around.

Google Gleevec when you have a second. The LLS is directly responsible, through their funded research, for this breakthrough cancer treatment. It has had fabulous success in treating blood cancers and has even shown promise in bladder cancer. This is all I'm going to say about research - it is fundamental. Period.

The LLS also directly helps patients and families dealing with a blood cancer. They provide financial help, emotional help and a wide array of information and services. There are so many costs that people don't typically think about when someone is ill. Parking costs, gas to and from hospitals, etc. We had to pay to park everytime we went to see my mom. We had to pay for our own meals when visiting her. We had to pay to drive from Raleigh to Durham anytime we wanted to see her. My mom was transferred from Rex to Duke - a very expensive ambulance ride that was not covered by insurace. These are the types of costs that the LLS helps families with. My family has directly benefited from financial aid from the LLS. And when you are dealing with a crisis, anything that can be done to ease that burden is so important.

The LLS provides free materials for cancer patients and their families. They also have a service where cancer survivors contact patients currently undergoing treatment to answer questions, provide support and to just give patients a caring ear.

The LLS is an amazing organization that my family has directly benefited from. I am running a 1/2 marathon to fundraise for LLS because I want to give back to the organization that helped my family when we were in need. I want other people to have access to the same benefits and services that we had. And I want blood cancer research - no matter how big or small - to continue to be funded. I want to be relentless for a cure.

I am running the 1/2 marathon in memory of my mother, Mary Cadwallader. My mother was a strong woman and she fought hard against her disease. Though the money you donate will go directly to the LLS to fund research for blood cancer, I am also running in memory and honor of anyone who has ever had cancer - whatever the type. Cancer is cancer no matter what the form and we all want the same thing - better treatments, more options and hopefully one day, a cure.

I am asking you to support my fundraising efforts and to give a donation to the LLS. Your donations are 100% tax deductible.

I realize that times are tough. But imagine being sick and hospitalized in this economic climate. Times are tough for everyone, but if you give up one lunch out this week you can positively impact the life of another human being. Any amount helps, no matter how small.

If you or someone you know has fought or is currently fighting a blood cancer, or a cancer of any sort, let me know if you would like their name(s) added to this page. I am running in honor/memory of everyone who has been touched by this terrible disease.

Here is a link to my blog to update you on my training progress. And if you are interested in a more detailed account of my mother's story, please continue reading below.

- Katherine

DONATION INFORMATION:

You may donate on this site using the secure donation system OR you may mail a check. If you prefer to mail a check, please make checks out to The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and mail them to me:

Katherine Cadwallader

404 Emerywood Drive

Raleigh, NC 27615

If you donate via this page you will get a receipt automatically upon completion of your donation. If you send a check to me I will mail you back an official receipt for your records and tax purposes.

In Memory/In Honor Of:

Jamilla Hicks

Herb Tschudi

"But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. I have taken a moment here to rest, to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance I have come..." - Nelson Mandela

2008 - 2009: A Medical Smorgasbord

The fall of 2008 was a rough fall for my family - my uncle, Robb Cadwallader, suffered a devastating brain aneurysm. He was hospitalized at Duke Hospital in Durham, North Carolina for weeks fighting for his life. The odds of surviving the type of aneurysm my uncle suffered were slim and the odds of returning to a normal life after surviving were also grim. Thankfully, after a long journey that still continues over a year later, my uncle has made an absolutely amazing recovery.

I remember in November 2008 getting a phone call from my mom the day of the aneurysm. I remember her words on the phone clearly because I knew something was wrong immediately after I answered the phone. She said, "nothing has happened to us [meaning her or my dad] but Robb is very sick." We spent a lot of time over the next month visiting my uncle in the hospital. When I think about it, I feel physically ill because the entire time we were in the hospital my mom was sick too but we didn't know it. Its hard to think that we were in a hospital, the same hospital in which she would later succumb to her illness, a hospital with medicine that could help her and we had no idea that she was even sick.

In December 2008, after finishing up my law school exams, I came home to Raleigh for Christmas break. My mother had been feeling tired all fall and had battled constant sinus infections and at the recommendation of her primary care doctor, she had an appointment set up to get a stress test done on her heart. I was supposed to drive her to the appointment. Before she was able to make it to that appointment, her doctor called with the results of some routine bloodwork. He told her that she was severely anemic and needed to get to an emergency room as soon as possible. December 18, 2008 - the day my life changed forever. I still remember being in the emergency room at Rex Hospital with my mom as she was given the diagnosis: leukemia. I couldn't breathe. I ran out of the emergency department and straight out of the hospital waiting room doors. At the time, it was the worst day of my life - but our journey - my mother's journey - was just beginning.

My mom was admitted to Rex Hospital that day and immediately started chemo. Luckily, I was on break from school so I was able to visit her daily, allowing my dad to keep his work schedule. The doctors were hopeful - we were hopeful. My mom even encouraged me to go on my annual Myrtle Beach trip with my friends for New Year's. After New Year's my mom received the results of her first round of chemo - it didn't work. At all. There was no change. The news was horrible - almost unbearable. My dad, brother and I sat in my mom's hospital with her holding her hand. I still remember she was trying not to cry as she said, "I'm so scared."

After weighing our options, my mother was transferred to Duke Hospital in Durham, NC in early January to undergo further treatment. More chemo. Her hair fell out, her skin was so dry, her stomach constantly upset. She underwent so many bone marrow biopsies that I lost count. But through it all she remained positive. She walked every single day. She befriended the nursing staff, nursing assitants, janitorial staff and anyone who walked into her room! She even let the nursing students come into her room while she was having her biopsies done because she figured they might as well get something out of her suffering. I mean, hospital rooms are tiny and she let 10 or so people cram in and watch a painful procedure so that they could learn from her illness.

It was hard - eventually her bone marrow biopsies showed no cancer cells, but she had NO good white blood cells, leaving her very succeptible to infection. We waited patiently for her white count to go back up so that she could get a bone marrow transplant. We waited, and waited, and waited. Every Friday afternoon I'd drive from school to Durham to hang out with my mom. We'd eat lunch together, walk together, watch TV, gossip. Sometimes we would just sit. She would fall asleep while we were talking and I would fall asleep in the recliner in her room. As horrible as it was that she was sick, both she and I really enjoyed our visits together. I am so grateful for these visits. I became so much closer to my mother and our relationship transformed into a genuine friendship - we were always close but the depth of our relationship just grew exponetially throughout her illness.

My mom battled infection after infection. She recieved blood transfusions daily. Eventually we had to wear gloves and gowns and masks to visit her because of her weakened immune system. She had one fungal infection in her lungs that she just couldn't seem to kick. Hospitals are dirty and she contracted a very aggressive infection that was resistant to treatment.

In March 2009, after spending over two months in Duke, the doctors recommended a lung biopsy to try to figure out what exactly was growing in her lungs so that they could better treat her. Her procedure was to be done around the time of my spring break. The first Friday night of my spring break I went out with friends to unwind. The next morning I woke up to a voicemail from my brother left at 4AM. He had rushed my father to the hospital early that morning with signs of a stroke. I immediately raced to Wake Med in Raleigh to be with my father and brother. When I arrove at the hospital, my father was definitely having difficulty speaking but was still alert and able to communicate. By that afternoon, however, he was completely unconscious having suffered a massive stroke. He was unconsious, unable to speak, paralized on his entire right side and suffering from seizures. I think that the absolute worst moment of my life was in the Wake Med TIA unit in my father's room - he wasn't even aware anyone was there - just breaking down with my brother. We just stood there and hugged each other and cried. My mom in one hospital and my dad in the other. And the initial prognosis for my father was not good. The doctors even gave us information on the first day about assisted living facilities - they were unsure that he would ever regain the use of his right side. Sometime in the middle of all of this I withdrew from school - I needed to be with my family.

Luckily, my father surprised the doctors and within a few days he was able to lift his arm and wiggle his leg. His speech however, was still almost nonexistant. The hardest thing I've ever had to watch was my dad trying to talk to my mom on the phone - each of them so upset that they could not be there for one another and the frustration my father went through trying as hard as possible to get out the words "I love you" for my mom. It was devastating. I spent several weeks driving back and forth from Raleigh to Durham to spend time with each parent.

On the day of my mom's scheduled lung biopsy I did not spend any time with my dad, who was in in-patient therapy at the time. I just went to Duke to hang out with my mom while she waited to be taken for surgery. It was a fairly non-invasive procedure, but risky because of her weak body. She warned me that she'd likely need help breathing after the surgery for longer than a healthy individual. She told me not to be alarmed if she came out of the surgery still on a breathing machine. That day we spent together looking at pictures and talking. She told me how sick she was and I told her that I knew. I cried. She told me that she could not have me leaving the hospital crying so she just let me cry on her lap while she pet my hair. They came to take her to surgery that afternoon and I cheated and took off my glove so I could hold her hand while they wheeled her away. I told her that I loved her and that I'd see her tomorrow. That was our last conversation. That evening they called me to tell me the surgery went fine and that she was recovering in the ICU. The next morning I went to see her and she was still on a breathing machine - it was hard to see her that way, but she was responsive when I asked if she was in pain she nodded no.

The following day I went to pick up my father who was getting discharged from in-patient therapy. He recovered faster than anyone expected. I dropped him off at home and drove to Duke to see my mom, but my mom was gone. I was met by a team of doctors and sat in a conference room with them, alone, while they told me that my mom was essentially not going to get better. She'd had hundreds of tiny strokes in her brain and that this was the end. They said that we needed to make a decision about when to remove her from life support. They were aware of my dad's situation so they were extremely helpful and generous and kind.

Not knowing what to do, I called my dad from the hospital after getting the news. I did not want to stress him, but it was just more than I could handle on my own. My uncle drove him to Duke where other members of my family had already come to support me. I don't even remember if my dad saw my mom that evening or not. I just remember sitting around a conference table with my family trying to call my mom's brothers to tell them the news and my dad suddenly telling us that he didn't feel well. He was having trouble speaking and having the symptoms of another stroke. It is hard to find words to describe what happened next - he was taken down to the emergency room at Duke. I have never been so scared in my entire life. I remember tyring to find the words to explain to the nurse that my dad had JUST been released from Wake Med that morning and that my mom was currently a few floors up dying. I honestly thought I was about to lose both of my parents.

But finally - a light in the darkness - my mom's last gift to us. The doctors at Duke were able to determine that my dad actually had a genetic condition that caused extra clotting in his blood. The blood clot in his brain had been building for years and years and years due to a condition he'd had his entire life, but didn't know about. Wake Med did the routine stroke work up, but my did not suffer a routine stroke. Duke had special imaging machines to see exactly what was wrong. They said that this second episode was inevitable and that had he been alone, he could have died. "Miracle" is not a word many doctors use. They are creatures of science and statistics. But one of my mom's doctors said that it was a miracle that my dad was at Duke when it happened. The doctors told us that if he had not been at the hospital when this episode happened, the results could have been devastaing.

My dad was then admitted to Duke on the neuro floor and my mom was still in the medical ICU. We wanted to wait for everyone who wanted to to be able to come tell her goodbye. We wanted to give my dad a chance to tell her goodbye. And in a unique event that both my mom and my dad's doctors said that they had never seen before, my dad was taken from his room up to my mom's room to sit at her bedside and hold her hand and say goodbye. He was not there at the very end - I was there though. My mom fought hard for four months and she spent 24 years loving me unconditionally. As hard as it was, I owed it to her to stay with her - she had never left me when I was sick or hurt or upset. I don't know if she could hear me. I don't know if she knew I was there. I think she knew. And even if she didn't, she knew how much I loved her. The last words I ever said to her that I know for certain she heard were "I love you, I'll see you tomorrow."

I miss my mother more than anything in the entire world. And I have hurt more than I ever knew it was possible to hurt. But I'm done being sad - if my mom was here she would have yelled at me long ago for sulking this long!! I could have lost both of my parents and I did not. I have so much to be thankful for. I had a great mother who I was lucky enough to know for 24 years of my life - some people never got that opportunity. Now I am running for my mom and for all of those who have been touched by this horrible disease and I hope that you will support me in my journey.