My Brother: Kicking Cancer's Butt for Eighteen Years! (UPDATED)

This post is revived from five years ago. I decided it was time to share our story, again.

There we are... ages three and one. Aren't we cute?

Eighteen years ago, my brother, "Bubba," was diagnosed with erythroleukemia. He was 17 years old.

Erythroleukemia is a rare type of leukemia that accounts for only 3-5% of new acute myelogenous leukemia (AML) cases. It differs from most forms of leukemia in that it affects the red blood cells, rather than the white.

Although we were different blood types (he was O+ and I was A+), testing showed that our chromosomal match was close enough for me to donate bone marrow for my brother.

You may have heard that donating bone marrow is a painful process. I won't lie. You heard right.

When I came out of my general anesthesia-induced sleep, I felt like the victim of a blanket party. My hipbones were literally black and blue from the pressure exerted upon them to withdraw the marrow.

I'm not sharing these details to make me look like a hero.

The real hero was several floors above me, receiving 850 ccs of my bone marrow through a Hickman line. (He was so hip he had a "triple Hick," with three tubes, so he could get the orange Kool-aid colored chemo mix, a blood cocktail and a beer, all at the same time.)

On the pain scale, I rank donating bone marrow with giving birth. It's the kind of pain that I never thought twice about because the result was so valuable. Sure, it may be uncomfortable for a few days or even a few weeks... but what would you sacrifice to possibly save a life?

My brother's blood type is now the same as mine (A+). Our blood DNA is the same. If you placed blood samples from each of us side-by-side and examined the DNA structure, they would be identical.

I've had eighteen more years with my brother because I was a viable match for a life-saving bone marrow transplant. He truly is my hero, and I love him more than I can say.

Would you do the same for someone who needed a bone marrow transplant? Would you be more inclined to do so if it didn't cost you anything?

Be the Match Registry (formerly known as the National Marrow Donation Program (NMDP) Registry) provides marrow typing and registry, which can match you with a recipient to potentially save a life. The online registration process consists of a few basic questions. Once you apply, the Registry will send you a cheek swab kit to complete and send back for typing so that you may be added to the Registry and matched with potential recipients.

Please, consider registering. You may save a life... I did.

If you'd prefer not to register or are unable to because of medical conditions that prohibit your registration, please consider making a donation to the Registry. It costs about $100 to add an individual to the registry, and the program ends up providing about half the cost. Contributions are necessary to grow the Registry and find matches for those needing life-saving bone marrow transplants.

My brother is my hero. Will you be someone's hero?

Please comment to let me know when you join. Time is running out for some recipients. I'd love to celebrate your decision with you!

If you have the ability, please share this post on your own blog or social media account (click on "Share This" below this post) or email the link to your contacts. Let's see how many people we can get to register in the next 60 days!

I'll leave you with my favorite photo of my brother and me, taken in 2000 - four years post-transplant:

UPDATE! UPDATE! UPDATE!

See the comments section for news on how people are helping. Please pass on any action you take or hear of so that I may add it! Thank you!

“Words that Sound Normal to Us, but Not to Others” - Please Help Detric!

Note: I am posting this week's Gonzo Mama column a couple days early, in order to help publicize the opportunity to help a young local cancer patient this weekend at the rodeo.

One of my e-friends, Mindi Finch, posted this tweet on Twitter: “Words that sound normal to us, but not others: ‘Go ahead and unhook yourself.’” She was referring to her son’s Gastric Tube (G-Tube).

Four-year-old Gregory Bibb is battling Juvenile Myelomonocytic Leukemia (JMML), and his mom, Mindi, is chronicling his journey at http://thegreginator.livejournal.com. In addition to caring for Gregory’s extensive medical needs, Mindi makes time each day to connect with and advocate for families facing childhood cancer.

I thank the Lord that the most unusual phrases heard in our home are “Stop licking the dog” and “The toilet plunger is not a toy,” but I remember the changes my family went through when my brother was diagnosed with Erythroleukemia at age 17.

Massive doses of iron prepared my body for the donation of bone marrow to replace my brother’s. Post-transplant, the annual Christmas tree was replaced with an artificial stand-in and fresh fruits and vegetables were banned from dinner plates due to bacterial concerns. Salt was eradicated from the kitchen because of adverse effects of immunosuppressant medications. No one with even a sniffle was allowed within fifty feet.

Here in the Wright household, we’ve had our fill of “-ists.” We’ve seen neurologists, speech therapists, physical therapists, occupational therapists, sensory therapists and cognitive therapists… and those were just for Curlytop! At times, I only knew what day of the week it was by the office we walked into. Add in Snugglebug’s asthma and dietary issues, Pockets’s allergies, the collective broken bones of GirlWonder, Pepper and The Dude, and we’ve collected more -ists than I can shake a stick at.

To be clear, shaking a stick at the -ist du jour is considered poor form, no matter how frazzling the week has been. Trust me on this.

I am grateful for the absence of “oncologist” from the list above, and my heart is broken by the fact that for so many, “pediatric” must precede the title. As Mindi Finch says, I hate, hate, HATE childhood cancer. It steals away childhoods. It pushes parents to the breaking point. It frightens and frustrates siblings, who need care and attention, even though they’re well. It financially devastates families.

Warriors and advocates like Mindi give me hope. My brother’s 14-year post-transplant recovery gives me hope. Imagining a world without childhood cancer gives me hope.

Seeing the courage of kids like our valley’s own Detric Hernandez gives me hope.

Seven-year-old Detric has been diagnosed with Stage Four Lymphoma and Leukemia. You can help Detric and his family with his brave fight by donating at a local business, purchasing a Rodeo Lake Chelan t-shirt at the rodeo this weekend (all proceeds go to support Detric’s family) or by volunteering your time and talent.

Call Detric’s benefit campaign coordinator, Karyl Oules, at 509-682-9155 or email karyl.o@verizon.net to find out how you can make a difference. Visit http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/DetricHernandez to leave words of encouragement online for Detric and his family.

Above all, please pray. Pray for complete recoveries for Gregory, Detric, and children like them. Pray for the families who have lost children to childhood cancer.

Please, pray for a cure.

Photo from Detric's Caring Bridge photo page.