The Week That Was
The Belly Continues To Ache
Can't Sit Around And Weep
I Ate A Few Big Meals
And Got A Bit Of Sleep
A Short Stroll With My Liza
And Then One On My Own
Progress Is Being Made
No Need To Bitch And Moan
The In-Laws Took The Boys
Liza, Ruby and I Had A Date
Cancer We'll Be Beat
Big Plans for 2008
As If My Angel Liza
Needed More Upon Her Heap
Our Little Reed Decided
He Didn't Want To Sleep
So Liza Fed And Rocked Him
Until The Sun Did Rise
The Holder Boys Are Clearly
Three Very Lucky Guys
Stomach Pain And Nausea
Cancer's Just Plain Mean
It's Hard For Me To Imagine
Wiping My Belly Clean
Ambian Helped Me Sleep
If Only A Few Short Hours
A Well Deserved Massage
Refreshed Wonder Woman's Powers
Nine Inches Donated
Call Them Locks For Love
It's Clear That Some Are Born
To Be A Cut Above
We Made It Out To Temple
To Ring In The New Year
A Romantic Piece Of Pizza
I Shared It With My Dear
DLH Is On The Move
They'll Fight This With Their Wheels
Research Will Cure This Thing
And All Those Days It Steals
Your Pal In Positive Thinking,
Dr. Seuss & Friends (aka Rob and Mary K.)
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9 comments:
I too am David Holder, we seem to share a lot, our name, our religion (I notice your son "does" Matza), illness too (no cancer, but I almost lost my life to heart attack nearly 2 years ago when I was 36), I have a wife & 5 kids, maybe we should chat??? david.holder at pdtuk.com
I too am David Holder, we seem to share a lot, our name, our religion (I notice your son "does" Matza), illness too (no cancer, but I almost lost my life to heart attack nearly 2 years ago when I was 36), I have a wife & 5 kids, maybe we should chat??? david.holder at pdtuk.com
David, You don't know me but we have a lot in common and a lot of mutual friends. I'm a St. Paul's grad and Baltimore boy...Ed McCarthy told me about you this morning. I was diagnosed in July '05 with Burkitt's lymphoma...I got 20/80 odds on day 1 and yet I'm 30 days away from my cure date...The Barrolls and Weinfelds also mentioned you to me so I thought I'd reach out.
I read your blog and love your honesty. I was really scared and I'm not sure I was as brave. I just want you to know that I understand how scary your station in life feels right now and yet I want you to know that Hopkins saved me. I went from in-patient to swimming laps in 5 months. It's been a long road back but I am back indeed (for more depth on my story see below). This week a friend named Martin Knott (you might know him), just got a non-Hodgkins diagnosis and starts treatment with Dr. Ambinder on Friday.
I reached out to a guy in my dark days who had been to our abyss and came out the other end and it really helped me talking to him. Please let me know if you want to chat or if you like, I'll come sit with you during a chemo session (boy- those take long!). I can be reached via email or cell phone 443-255-2193. I'm trying to attach meaning to my illness through being a resource for others with our shared experience...I'd love to hear from you if you have the energy.
Your friend,
Brian Doak
443-255-2193
I wrote a post on a blog by an NPR correspondent named Leroy Sievers fighting our disease which spells out my story a bit...you probably know about his blog but if not, check it out.: ...he and I share the same Doc who caught some flak on tv show Ted Koppel did on Discovery channel called "Living with Cancer" ....check that out online too.
My Blog Post:
When I was diagnosed with stage 4 Burkitt's Lymphoma in July 2005, my life turned upside down. At death's door, I was quickly whisked into the care of the Weinberg Cancer Center on the campus of Johns Hopkins Hospital.
I was told that my outlook was very grim (48 hours to live?) but that a Dr. Yvette Kasomon had been doing her research on my rare form of cancer and had created a new protocol to treat this demon growing inside me (doubling in size every day). Would I be open to a trial? (who says no to that?...not me). I was scared, really scared.
Shortly after being admitted to my room that would become my home for the next two months I met the man that would hold my hand through the treatment process, Dr. Christian Meyer. He first struck me as just the guy you want your doctor to be . He guided me through the hell that revolved around internment, chemo, surgery and, what most people don't realize about cancer treatment, the hundred other things that break down as by-products of this disease and the drugs that treat it. Things like, hip infections, blood clots, e-coli infection and, worst of all, 45 days without food and water except what could be mainlined into my ever-fading veins (IV needles hurt just as much the 99th time as they do the first).
This was hell on earth.... I was definitely going to make it. I was sure I was going to die.
The inflection point of my recovery was the day, 50 days in maybe, that Dr. Meyer came to present me with the good news that my tumors had melted away under Dr. Kasamon's high-dose chemo portion of her protocol. Feeling my first sense of the tide turning I blurted out a question I came to regret..."So Dr. Meyer, what are my odds now". His unhesitant response was "Oh maybe 50-50". Crestfallen..."50-50?...a coin toss...after all this?". I felt some anger in that moment and when he left I said to my wife and my mother "How could he say that"...Dr. Meyer, in that moment, changed the calculus of my recovery mindset. He made it real...and terrible...and scary...and, well you get me...I was pissed, frankly...
Dr. Jerome Groopman (on the bestseller list now) said in a previous book, "The Anatomy of Hope", that hope is very different from optimism...He postulates that optimism is a blind trust that all will be okay often irrespective of the facts. Hope, however, is a sober understanding and acceptance of the truth and the obstacles that are before us. However, practical examinination of these truths bring a profound belief that those obstacles are surmountable; that we can inform ourselves of what lies ahead and make a reasoned judgement that a favorable outcome can exist.
I later came to realize that until that moment I was running on my own mythology of what my cancer "recovery" was going to be. Frankly, I never thought that much until then about really dying...the kind of dying where my body stops and my heart doesn't beat. The pain and fear I had felt until that moment two months into treatment was centered around my desperate reluctance to give up my future. I had to see my kids grow up (didn't I?)...My wife Wendy and I had the world by the tail and like everything else in my blessed life, it had to work out (didn't it?).
I thought I knew the scariness of my illness and yet, in that moment of good news, I was letting myself start to to think that maybe, just maybe, I had the upper hand now. I was in denial about the state of me and while you might think ignorance is bliss, that conscious objection to the facts makes it harder -not easier- when the road ahead became full of many more heartbreaking and life- threatening moments (which I didn't then know). Had I been lied to (let's call it what it is) and told "Hey, you are doing splendidly", I would have had no mental defense from the fundamental fact of cancer recovery; there are no easy days. How would my family have felt if, full of false hope, they came to expect my recovery only to see it fail. I, and they, needed the honesty at that moment because those truths formed the foundation of my hope.
Dr. Meyer saved my life through his skilled and thoughtful care and yet he also demonstrated the importance of honesty in treatment. I've often wondered that people drive by that medical campus every mintue without any idea of the world-changing events that occur inside those walls one cancer patient at a time. As Lance Armstrong says, we will all be touched by this disease sooner or later which makes having dialogue about honesty in treatment a vital part of our understanding of and treatment towards cancer patients.
4-15-07
Brian C. Doak
Baltimore, Maryland
p.s. I am 18 months in remission...just 6 months from my cure date and looking forward to my future as a survivor.
My previous post blocked out my email address so here it is:
bcdoak1@aim.com
443-255-2193
Dear David,
I am so sorry to hear that you are sick. I feel so awful for you and your beautiful family. Your wife and kids are just so adorable. i really enjoyed your photos.
I wish i understood life and why bad things seem to happen to the good guys. (If you haven't already read this, please read "Tuesdays with Morrie" by Mitch Albom) As you know my dad died at 58, exactly two weeks before becomming a grandfather for the first time, and my older sister, JOdi, (who I've always worshipped and love to death) was dianosed in 2004 with stage 4 Her 2 Neu, the most aggessive and deadly form of breast cancer. Since then it's spread to her liver, lymph nodes, to her brain, and somewhere near her stomach. JOdi was dianosed after having her 3rd child. She, like you, has the most perfect family. i hate this awfulness happening to her and her family.
I can imagine how scared (and perhaps guilty) Elizabeth may be feeling. I just got her e-mail address so I'll send her a note.
As for you, I'm so proud of your strength and determination to fight this awful disease. Just like the little blue engine says...on your sad days...just keep thinking ..."i think i can..I think i can...I think i Can..."
I think recovery consists of both good doctors giving you new medicines and a lot of positive mental attitude that comes from you. Since You want to get better, you will. So continue laughing as much as possible.
And lucky for you that you have such a wonderful support system of caring and loving people who will root for your speedy recovery.
Feel free to give me a call or shoot me an e-mail if you ever want to talk. (dbunting@comcast.net)
So... keep fighting, laughing, and enjoying your super family and friends. We're all thinking of you and wishing you to get well SOON!
With love, Danielle
p.s. As for as Ted Koppel's piece that Brain talked about, I watched and recorded it if you want me to send you a copy. ANd i also know Brain. He's a wonderful guy and think you would really like talking to him.
I was very touched to read the notes from Brian. And then Danielle. Thank you so much for connecting.
On a completely different note:
A dear friend who is connected to the Hubble Space telescope sent me the following website.
www.galaxyzoo.org
Very exciting. Anyone can participate in finding,identifying and nameing new galaxies. There are so many in the skies that Astonomers are asking the public's help.
I was going to suggest blog readers going on line and naming a new galaxy found, "David Holder." Now I would like to add Brian C. Doak, and Danielle's sister Jodi.
Again: www.galaxyzoo.org
Thank you to all for your heartwarming support of David, Liza and our whole family.
Love. . .David's mother, Nancy
Dave, I'm sure you enjoyed reading about the delymphomanization (love that word!) of Brian. I also loved the poetry. And agreed, Liza's hair looks fabulous. The Holder boys are lucky indeed, and not just because their girl is so pretty! Glad you have a La-Z-Boy (or the moral equivalent). You'll never go back. Take it from a girl from small town Oklahoma! Perhaps you and Liza should get his and hers. Keep putting one foot in front of the other. You're doing great! love, Dana
P.S. I just checked out your photos. Am expecting to chuckle for days over the one of Eli as smiley Snow White. I think that picture is so damn funny. You should carry it around, although since you're prone to tears due to joy, it could be a trigger!
Hi David,
We may be strangers to you, but you are not so to us. We are very good friends of Marsha and your Dad. As loyal friends do, we share the good times as well as the difficult. We were excited about the birth of your children and love to hear about Eli's visits to Baltimore. Now, we try to empathize during this difficult period.
A few years ago, my 24 yr. old niece had follicular non-Hodgkins. After her clinical trial treatments, she is now bold and beautiful! She would tell you that her faith in religion, support from family and friends, and her inner positive strength carried her through.
Hoping that sincere thoughts from yet-to-meet friends can offer you and Liza a bit of comfort.
Sincerely,
Christine and Ernie Flax
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