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Standing Tall

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Contents

Introduction...................................................................................5Chapter 1 It's Back............................................................................7Chapter 2 Rock My World........................................................................11Chapter 3 Dad, I Have Cancer!..................................................................15Chapter 4 Planes, Trains and Automobiles.......................................................20Chapter 5 Serendipity..........................................................................25Chapter 6 A Miracle Phone Call.................................................................31Chapter 7 Meet the Doctor......................................................................36Chapter 8 Chemotherapy.........................................................................46Chapter 9 A Light at the End of the Tunnel?....................................................65Chapter 10 Faith—Courage—Strength—Hope.......................................70Chapter 11 The Gathering.......................................................................79Chapter 12 Our Holiday Miracles................................................................90Chapter 13 The Perfect Cancer..................................................................108Chapter 14 A Life Well-lived...................................................................129Chapter 15 At Peace............................................................................138Chapter 16 Paying it Forward...................................................................142A Reflection—Meaningful Coincidences and How We Won by Standing Tall.....................149Finding Help...................................................................................155

Chapter One

I slowly closed the back door, listening for the gentle click of the handle as I left. The house was dark - too early for my wife, Sally, and our two daughters, Carly and Katie, to be up yet.

Walking to my truck, I felt the crisp morning air brush my face. It's much colder this morning, I thought. Unusually cold for a late February morning in Phoenix. As I started the engine, I looked at the outside temperature on the dashboard. Forty-one degrees. It felt much colder.

I backed out of the driveway and shifted into drive and as the engine started to accelerate, it seemed the truck knew the task at hand: Drive to Banner Good Samaritan Hospital—as we did every morning that Andrea was there–for "morning briefings," as they had come to be known. Instead of tuning into the morning news program to hear about what happened overnight in faraway places, we would huddle around a hospital bed and listen to the latest findings of Dr. Alan Gordon.

From the parking garage, it was a short walk to the hospital's main entrance, but just long enough for the warmth I had felt in the truck to evaporate. I exchanged hellos with the valet gent, Jim, who greeted me each morning.

"Pretty cold this morning," he said with a comforting smile. I nodded in quick agreement as the warm air of the hospital reception area greeted me. Past the information desk, the radiology department, past the gift shop and then the coffee shop, where I exchanged a quick wave of the hand to Todd, the coffee concierge. Around the next corner was the chapel, where my visits almost always started. But this morning was different—I was running late, which meant I was "MIA" upstairs. I skipped the chapel and headed straight for the elevators.

The elevator knows I'm in a hurry, I thought, as it inched its way up the elevator shaft, stopping on each floor while hospital workers and visitors got on and off in silence. Finally reaching the twelfth floor, the doors opened with the familiar ding and I crossed the threshold with out missing a step, then through the double doors marked "C", where the nurses and their assistants greeted me with their usual smiles. I saw Dr. Gordon just entering Andrea's room and I hurried to catch the door, following on his coattails. When I entered Andrea's room, I received a weak, "Hi, Dad." And with that, the morning briefing began.

I stood and listened to Dr. Gordon relate his findings of Andrea's latest exam. I began to shudder as I could feel the muscles in my shoulders and my neck tighten. My heart pounded as I tried to look calm and reassuring to Andrea. I stood on one side of her as her husband, Eric, stood on the other.

It was back. Not again, I thought. It was the lightning strike that I had been bracing for. How much more could Andrea withstand?

Andrea looked up, smiled weakly, and asked, "What do we do now?"

Only Andrea would calmly ask that of her medicine man. We waited for his answer. How would Dr. Gordon answer this young woman with whom he had bonded so closely? Did he have any magic left? He shook his head and started to leave the room, when Andrea, in a much firmer voice, said, "Hey, Doc, don't you give up on me."

Gordon smiled, "I won't. I need to make some calls. We'll talk after I check into some things." And with that, the door slowly clicked shut.

* * *

Andrea was not used to doors closing on her. The ability to open doors was one of her greatest strengths.

Just a few years earlier, Andrea had joined Glaxo Smith Kline (GSK) as a medical detail representative. It was her dream job and she loved calling on the doctors in her sales territory. She had established a warm and friendly relationship with her clients. A couple of years after she had started with GSK, she was promoted, and her territory changed. This meant calling on new docs. She was working with a new drug that GSK had developed, presenting it in her new territory.

At one point during that time, she had difficulty connecting with one of her doctors who had an extremely busy practice. After several failed attempts to get an appointment with him, Andrea was finally able to schedule a one-on-one meeting in his office. Andrea intended to discuss this new GSK medication that this particular doctor was not yet prescribing.

As the meeting started and they began talking, Andrea's eyes were drawn to an old wooden baseball bat standing conspicuously in the corner of his office, just an arm's length away.

"Did you play baseball?" Andrea asked.

After listening to him list his many accomplishments of a successful, yet interrupted, college career, she said, "Well I didn't play baseball, but I did play college softball at New Mexico State University."

His eyes quickly sized up her slight 5'2" frame, but Andrea headed him off, saying, "Believe me, there was some speed and power in this body when I played."

Then, to Andrea's delight, he asked, "How is it that the left-handed batters do that funny, running swing out of the batters' box?"

"It's called slapping. I was a slapper." Andrea blurted.

He reached for the bat, grabbing its handle, and pointed it at Andrea, saying, "Show me how it's done."

"Right here in the office?" Andrea asked.

"Sure, move those chairs there's plenty of room."

After rearranging the furniture, she gripped the bat handle and, as she stepped into an...