- Published on
Last week I had the pleasure of performing in a budding New York institution, the Cranky Cabaret. The night featured a wonderful collection of angry, snippy, and just plain bitchy "Songs of Vexation and Discord."
I performed "N.Y.C" from Annie, re-written to be about cancer, and "Part of Your World" from The Little Mermaid, re-written to be about an usher who wants to be an actor.
I hope you enjoy the clips!
I performed "N.Y.C" from Annie, re-written to be about cancer, and "Part of Your World" from The Little Mermaid, re-written to be about an usher who wants to be an actor.
I hope you enjoy the clips!
Big thanks to everyone who came out to support me, pianist Dave Koenig, and producers Jessica Morris and Kris Holz!
- Published on
Before I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia, I was a running, non-smoking, rarely drinking, meditating, vegetarian. How and why the hell did I get blood cancer?
The following is a list of reasons told, or sent, to me by a wide range of people (none of them doctors) during my illness:
I got cancer because of:
The following is a list of reasons told, or sent, to me by a wide range of people (none of them doctors) during my illness:
I got cancer because of:
- Genetics
- My DNA
- The need to heal the pain of my ancestors
- The need to release old energy
- The need to shift my energy in moving to the United States
- Karma
- God's plan
- The fact that I “deserved it”
- Holding a deep hurt
- Holding deep-seated resentment
- Carrying hatred
- Being born premature
- Suppressed issues from my childhood
- Dealing with issues from my childhood
- There being too much yeast in my system
- Being a vegetarian
- Being too skinny
- Drinking milk/eating cheese/eating food
- Not drinking milk/eating cheese/eating food
- Eating food from the place that had the sign about carcinogens six years before
- Too much exercise
- Not enough exercise
- Chemtrails
- City air
- My school being under a power line
- Living next to a highway
- Running along a highway as a teenager
- Potential cancer clusters in my high school
- Potential cancer clusters at my university
- Too much plane travel
- Too much stress
- Bad luck
According to Sloan Kettering,
"Most people who develop leukemia have no known risk factors."
Photo, and cushion, by Paula Fleischer
"Risk factors" for AML include exposure to high doses of radiation or benzene, smoking, previous radiation or chemotherapy (yup, the cure that saved my life could also one day kill me. Fun!), and a family history (parent, child, or sibling. Most people who are diagnosed with AML do not have a direct relative with the disease).
I haven't been exposed to high doses of radiation or benzene, I was never a smoker, and I don't have a direct family member who has had AML.
I haven't been exposed to high doses of radiation or benzene, I was never a smoker, and I don't have a direct family member who has had AML.
Here’s the real reason I got cancer:
We don’t know... yet.
This is why we need to fund further research into understanding, and treating, leukemia.
I’m not magical or special. I was really lucky. I was in the right place at the right time for a shitty thing to happen to my body. I had access to one of the best cancer hospitals on the planet.
I'm incredibly fortunate to be in remission, and strong enough to be able to run a marathon. But fear of relapse is very real. According to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, only 26.8% of AML patients survive five years beyond diagnosis.
Medicine, science, and the hard work of many dedicated doctors saved my life when I got cancer. We still don’t know why I got it in the first place. Or if I will be one of the people who survives beyond five years.
There’s still time to donate to Fred’s Team before I run the NYC Marathon on November 5. The funds we raise will go towards furthering leukemia research at Sloan Kettering.
If you’ve been inspired by my runs, if you want to help kick stupid cancer’s butt, if you want to know why a healthy 29-year-old woman was diagnosed with a disease that usually affects men in their sixties, please make a donation today. Even small contributions can make a big difference!
Will you help me make cancer history?
- Published on
This post was supposed to go live on Friday, but a glitch meant it didn't publish. And then I got a message from my BMT doctor that my white blood cell count was a little high and I needed to have my blood work done again.
Cue epic relapse anxiety, imagining my imminent demise and wondering how long it would take to sort through all my (now) redundant stuff.
I did a bunch of cooking. I cleaned. I taught a lesson. I had the blood test. I went to work.
I was able to check the lab results online tonight, and the white blood cells are back in normal range. Phew! Imminent demise by stupid cancer is held off for another day.
Here's the original post from Friday. Thanks for the reminder, body...
I have a confession to make. For all the posts I make about being a cancer survivor, in the past few months it has been easy to “forget” that I was ever very close to death thanks to blood cancer. Almost three years post-transplant, after a long and difficult slog, I finally feel like my old healthy self.
Today I had a check-up appointment with the Sloan Kettering Survivorship Team. Chemo and radiation, along with early menopause, have put me at risk of osteoporosis so bone health will continue to be a part of my annual physical. I had blood tests and vitals checked (everything is looking good), and a bone density scan.
Unlike bone marrow biopsies, bone density scans are painless, quick and easy procedures. Despite being physically pain free, the testing brings up a lot of feelings. Oh, right. I was really sick and now it will affect me for the rest of my life.
Even “quick and easy” hospital visits take several hours. They’re draining, and bring up a lot of uncomfortable and downright distressing memories.
Unlike three years ago, Aaron doesn’t need to practically carry me home afterwards. This morning I ran a half marathon! And tonight I’m going to work! I’m doing SO. MUCH. BETTER.
I continue to be incredibly grateful to my team at Sloan Kettering. They saved my life, and continue to ensure I stay healthy. It feels so good to be giving back by running the NYC Marathon with Fred’s Team and raising money for leukemia research at Sloan Kettering.
Maybe one day the treatments for leukemia will not be so invasive and debilitating. Maybe one day the treatment will not put women into early menopause. Or put people at risk of secondary cancer. Perhaps we’ll be able to figure out what causes AML and prevent it all together.
Cue epic relapse anxiety, imagining my imminent demise and wondering how long it would take to sort through all my (now) redundant stuff.
I did a bunch of cooking. I cleaned. I taught a lesson. I had the blood test. I went to work.
I was able to check the lab results online tonight, and the white blood cells are back in normal range. Phew! Imminent demise by stupid cancer is held off for another day.
Here's the original post from Friday. Thanks for the reminder, body...
I have a confession to make. For all the posts I make about being a cancer survivor, in the past few months it has been easy to “forget” that I was ever very close to death thanks to blood cancer. Almost three years post-transplant, after a long and difficult slog, I finally feel like my old healthy self.
Today I had a check-up appointment with the Sloan Kettering Survivorship Team. Chemo and radiation, along with early menopause, have put me at risk of osteoporosis so bone health will continue to be a part of my annual physical. I had blood tests and vitals checked (everything is looking good), and a bone density scan.
Unlike bone marrow biopsies, bone density scans are painless, quick and easy procedures. Despite being physically pain free, the testing brings up a lot of feelings. Oh, right. I was really sick and now it will affect me for the rest of my life.
Even “quick and easy” hospital visits take several hours. They’re draining, and bring up a lot of uncomfortable and downright distressing memories.
Unlike three years ago, Aaron doesn’t need to practically carry me home afterwards. This morning I ran a half marathon! And tonight I’m going to work! I’m doing SO. MUCH. BETTER.
I continue to be incredibly grateful to my team at Sloan Kettering. They saved my life, and continue to ensure I stay healthy. It feels so good to be giving back by running the NYC Marathon with Fred’s Team and raising money for leukemia research at Sloan Kettering.
Maybe one day the treatments for leukemia will not be so invasive and debilitating. Maybe one day the treatment will not put women into early menopause. Or put people at risk of secondary cancer. Perhaps we’ll be able to figure out what causes AML and prevent it all together.
In a time where so many people are in need,
and requests for donations seem a daily constant,
thank you for being here.
and requests for donations seem a daily constant,
thank you for being here.
- Published on
Photo by Shannon Bailey
“This was a real, truly live place. And I remember that some of it wasn’t very nice, but most of it was beautiful…”
We spent the past two months
Making art and teaching and being a part of
A glorious artistic commune in the woods
Our merry old land
That “miraculously” appears every summer in the Connecticut woods
Where 6 summers ago
I fell in love with my husband
Beneath shooting stars and wrapped in the smell of peppermint.
For the first time in eight summers I dreaded coming back
All my fears were confirmed, and then some
But it was still Buck's Rock.
During team building
We built statues from cardboard and string
A perfect metaphor for the way all the shops come together
To create something
Out of nothing
The temperatures were mercifully milder
It rained on more Saturdays than I can remember
We only had 2 or 3 lunches on the lawn
The gong fell off its hinges
My super power of being immune to mosquitos was temporary
I was eaten alive and covered in large red welts and bites
I still can't quite believe we staged a full-scale production of The Who's Tommy in 19 days from start to finish.
I still hate the musical, but I love our show
Especially our glorious team.
At the end of sitzprobe, a bunch of campers came up to me,
Grinning from ear to ear
Ecstatic at having sung with a rock band
They hugged and thanked me for getting them there,
In all my shows at Buck’s Rock,
That has never happened before.
Our cast were tight-knit and weeks after the show had ended
Could be found singing the songs with ukuleles on the lawn.
I can't believe what an uphill battle it was to put together The Wizard of Oz.
I thought it would be easy.
It’s The Wizard of Oz. Who doesn’t know The Wizard of Oz?!
Turns out, lots of people.
Not having a full cast until the week of the show
Not having a full pit until the day before the show
Having to deal with difficult behavior from grown-ups.
I'm so proud of the kids for whom this was their first time on stage, ever.
The kids who came up to me and told me they were scared to be in the musical but now they can't wait next year because they want to do it again.
Seeing kids learning to express themselves
Helping them find their voices
Teaches me so much about myself
As a person, as a performer.
The cliche is unbelievably true
If you become a teacher,
By your pupils you’ll be taught.
I loved the evening activities
The hilarity of the slip n’ slide
The fierceness of thumb wars and staring contests
Having my tea leaves read by an earnest and beautiful camper
A multitude of plays and concerts and recitals
Inspiring, funny, moving, intense.
The honor of being a CIT-assist
Going to snack on the basketball court
Being able to go to the Falconridge Folk Festival
Watching kids learn to adult,
They stumble and fall and fly
My secret santa, Nate
Gifted me the most beautiful portrait
I desperately wish it could be my headshot
It is exactly who I want to be.
Days off, a welcome break from the intensity
Picnicking at Lake Warramug
Ice cream in Kent
Camping in Housatonic State Park because Macedonia Brook was closed
When we’re surrounded by pine forest
I want to abandon everything and
Build a cob cottage and
Become a park ranger and learn about eco systems and soil and
Be the kind of person who can identify all the different kinds of fungi
This summer,
I ran just over 190km through the Connecticut woods.
I taught voice lessons.
I sang with an orchestra.
I played in a flute choir.
At night
Fireflies danced in the dusk
Bioluminescent bums twinkling
I would fall asleep to a
Calamitous frog and cricket choir
If someone had told me, almost ten years ago,
That I would still be coming back
Year after year
And be married to a Buck's Rocker
I wouldn’t have believed them
I am so lucky to have found this place.
And here we are
And then, it is gone.
The end.
Making art and teaching and being a part of
A glorious artistic commune in the woods
Our merry old land
That “miraculously” appears every summer in the Connecticut woods
Where 6 summers ago
I fell in love with my husband
Beneath shooting stars and wrapped in the smell of peppermint.
For the first time in eight summers I dreaded coming back
All my fears were confirmed, and then some
But it was still Buck's Rock.
During team building
We built statues from cardboard and string
A perfect metaphor for the way all the shops come together
To create something
Out of nothing
The temperatures were mercifully milder
It rained on more Saturdays than I can remember
We only had 2 or 3 lunches on the lawn
The gong fell off its hinges
My super power of being immune to mosquitos was temporary
I was eaten alive and covered in large red welts and bites
I still can't quite believe we staged a full-scale production of The Who's Tommy in 19 days from start to finish.
I still hate the musical, but I love our show
Especially our glorious team.
At the end of sitzprobe, a bunch of campers came up to me,
Grinning from ear to ear
Ecstatic at having sung with a rock band
They hugged and thanked me for getting them there,
In all my shows at Buck’s Rock,
That has never happened before.
Our cast were tight-knit and weeks after the show had ended
Could be found singing the songs with ukuleles on the lawn.
I can't believe what an uphill battle it was to put together The Wizard of Oz.
I thought it would be easy.
It’s The Wizard of Oz. Who doesn’t know The Wizard of Oz?!
Turns out, lots of people.
Not having a full cast until the week of the show
Not having a full pit until the day before the show
Having to deal with difficult behavior from grown-ups.
I'm so proud of the kids for whom this was their first time on stage, ever.
The kids who came up to me and told me they were scared to be in the musical but now they can't wait next year because they want to do it again.
Seeing kids learning to express themselves
Helping them find their voices
Teaches me so much about myself
As a person, as a performer.
The cliche is unbelievably true
If you become a teacher,
By your pupils you’ll be taught.
I loved the evening activities
The hilarity of the slip n’ slide
The fierceness of thumb wars and staring contests
Having my tea leaves read by an earnest and beautiful camper
A multitude of plays and concerts and recitals
Inspiring, funny, moving, intense.
The honor of being a CIT-assist
Going to snack on the basketball court
Being able to go to the Falconridge Folk Festival
Watching kids learn to adult,
They stumble and fall and fly
My secret santa, Nate
Gifted me the most beautiful portrait
I desperately wish it could be my headshot
It is exactly who I want to be.
Days off, a welcome break from the intensity
Picnicking at Lake Warramug
Ice cream in Kent
Camping in Housatonic State Park because Macedonia Brook was closed
When we’re surrounded by pine forest
I want to abandon everything and
Build a cob cottage and
Become a park ranger and learn about eco systems and soil and
Be the kind of person who can identify all the different kinds of fungi
This summer,
I ran just over 190km through the Connecticut woods.
I taught voice lessons.
I sang with an orchestra.
I played in a flute choir.
At night
Fireflies danced in the dusk
Bioluminescent bums twinkling
I would fall asleep to a
Calamitous frog and cricket choir
If someone had told me, almost ten years ago,
That I would still be coming back
Year after year
And be married to a Buck's Rocker
I wouldn’t have believed them
I am so lucky to have found this place.
And here we are
And then, it is gone.
The end.
- Published on
I’m a city girl born and bred. I’ve been running concrete roads since I was thirteen and have learnt to navigate the dangers of urban outdoor exercise. Always run when it’s light, stay in well-populated areas, be aware of your surroundings, keep an ear out for cars/predatory assholes.
The idea of running in the Connecticut woods seems idyllic. Dirt trails through pine forests that open up to paved roads through rolling green hills, pastures dotted with pretty red and white barns and farmhouses, and more delicious pine forest.
For the past month, I’ve been loving my runs in New Milford, Connecticut. Apart from the humidity and those rolling green hills — they feel so much steeper when you’re running them — my training runs through the woods have been a true delight.
Except for one thing. Bears. Or at least the possibility of them.
In the spring, my friend Bev, New Milford local and resident Unlocking Litchfield blogger, posted about running with a can bear spray. Uh oh... Do I need to add bear spray to my list of running essentials?! When I arrived at camp, I asked how safe it was for me to be running on my own. Bev said if I played music out loud while I ran, the music should be enough of a bear deterrent.
Then last Monday, Aaron and I were driving along 202. It was the middle of the day, with plenty of cars around, and we spotted an enormous black bear pacing up and down the side of the road.
It’s one thing to see a bear from the (relative) safety of your car. It’s entirely another thing to imagine seeing one when you’re out trying to enjoy an early morning jog.
I managed to get out for an 8.5km run on Tuesday, but I was anxious the whole time about encountering that bear. With my terrible long distance vision, every large mailbox along the road was a bear waiting to leap out and wreak havoc on my pace.
There were several bear sightings last night, and this morning I was even more nervous for my long run. I managed another 16.5km, and except for signs indicating Bear Hill Road, Little Bear Road, and Bear Lane, there were thankfully no bears in sight.
Throughout my runs I've been keeping a steady stream of show tunes blaring from the phone in my pocket. Whether it's the noise of me huffing and puffing down the road, or the fact that bears just don't dig the Lin Manuel Miranda mixtape at 7.30 in the morning, let’s hope my training continues to only involve Lyons and timers!
The idea of running in the Connecticut woods seems idyllic. Dirt trails through pine forests that open up to paved roads through rolling green hills, pastures dotted with pretty red and white barns and farmhouses, and more delicious pine forest.
For the past month, I’ve been loving my runs in New Milford, Connecticut. Apart from the humidity and those rolling green hills — they feel so much steeper when you’re running them — my training runs through the woods have been a true delight.
Except for one thing. Bears. Or at least the possibility of them.
In the spring, my friend Bev, New Milford local and resident Unlocking Litchfield blogger, posted about running with a can bear spray. Uh oh... Do I need to add bear spray to my list of running essentials?! When I arrived at camp, I asked how safe it was for me to be running on my own. Bev said if I played music out loud while I ran, the music should be enough of a bear deterrent.
Then last Monday, Aaron and I were driving along 202. It was the middle of the day, with plenty of cars around, and we spotted an enormous black bear pacing up and down the side of the road.
It’s one thing to see a bear from the (relative) safety of your car. It’s entirely another thing to imagine seeing one when you’re out trying to enjoy an early morning jog.
I managed to get out for an 8.5km run on Tuesday, but I was anxious the whole time about encountering that bear. With my terrible long distance vision, every large mailbox along the road was a bear waiting to leap out and wreak havoc on my pace.
There were several bear sightings last night, and this morning I was even more nervous for my long run. I managed another 16.5km, and except for signs indicating Bear Hill Road, Little Bear Road, and Bear Lane, there were thankfully no bears in sight.
Throughout my runs I've been keeping a steady stream of show tunes blaring from the phone in my pocket. Whether it's the noise of me huffing and puffing down the road, or the fact that bears just don't dig the Lin Manuel Miranda mixtape at 7.30 in the morning, let’s hope my training continues to only involve Lyons and timers!
In July 2014, I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia. Three years post-transplant, I’m running the NYC Marathon to help raise research funds for the team that saved my life. Can you donate to Fred’s Team and help me raise $5000 towards making cancer history?
- Published on
Imagine you have just moved to New York City. You are excited to try out all the restaurants, go to the theatre, and ride in a hole in the ground!
And then you get cancer. And even though the treatment will be done by Christmas, you will be told that for 100 days following your stem cell transplant, you are not permitted/able to do any of the following:
You are constantly tired. Small tasks, such as getting out of bed, utterly fatigue you. If you would like more information on your energy levels during this period, check out the Spoon Theory.
All food must be cooked at home to ensure it is thoroughly washed and cooked. Raw food is strictly prohibited. You are allowed the occasional pizza, but you must ask the pizza place to leave the pizza unsliced (less chance of contamination).
Anyone who visits you must not have been sick in the previous week, or been in contact with anyone who has been sick.
When you have the energy and will to leave the house, you must wear a mask covering your nose and mouth. You are bald from your recent chemo and radiation treatments. People will stop you in the street and supermarket to ask if you are sick.
During this time, you will be required to visit the hospital on a weekly basis for blood work and check-ups. At each appointment you will be poked and prodded and assessed. If your counts dip, further appointments may be required for extra tests or blood transfusions.
This is life for the first 100 days or so after a stem cell transplant. The 100 days is an approximate marker of the when the immune system starts to adequately recover and function again.
The recovery of my immune system took a little longer. From November 2014 to around May 2015, I was living in a bubble that consisted of our apartment, and the hospital. It was like I had been taken to the greatest candy store in the world and told I had to wait outside.
Nearly three years later, I am so grateful to be back to “normal.” I can work! I can eat at all the restaurants! I can see all the shows! I can ride in a hole in the ground! I can go to summer camp and hang out with germ-ridden children!
MSK continues their incredible research into improving treatments for leukemia. Just this week, new developments in the understanding of bacteria and antibiotics were announced.
Today is 100 days until the NYC Marathon. I'm running with Fred's Team, MSK's athletic fundraising program. Thanks to your amazing generosity, we have already smashed my goal of raising $3500 towards leukemia research at MSK.
Can we make it to $5000 and potentially make life in the 100 days post-transplant easier for the next person?
Visit http://mskcc.convio.net/goto/luisalyons to make a donation!
And then you get cancer. And even though the treatment will be done by Christmas, you will be told that for 100 days following your stem cell transplant, you are not permitted/able to do any of the following:
- Eat take-out
- Ride mass transit
- Be in spaces with crowds of people
- Earn a living.
You are constantly tired. Small tasks, such as getting out of bed, utterly fatigue you. If you would like more information on your energy levels during this period, check out the Spoon Theory.
All food must be cooked at home to ensure it is thoroughly washed and cooked. Raw food is strictly prohibited. You are allowed the occasional pizza, but you must ask the pizza place to leave the pizza unsliced (less chance of contamination).
Anyone who visits you must not have been sick in the previous week, or been in contact with anyone who has been sick.
When you have the energy and will to leave the house, you must wear a mask covering your nose and mouth. You are bald from your recent chemo and radiation treatments. People will stop you in the street and supermarket to ask if you are sick.
During this time, you will be required to visit the hospital on a weekly basis for blood work and check-ups. At each appointment you will be poked and prodded and assessed. If your counts dip, further appointments may be required for extra tests or blood transfusions.
This is life for the first 100 days or so after a stem cell transplant. The 100 days is an approximate marker of the when the immune system starts to adequately recover and function again.
The recovery of my immune system took a little longer. From November 2014 to around May 2015, I was living in a bubble that consisted of our apartment, and the hospital. It was like I had been taken to the greatest candy store in the world and told I had to wait outside.
Nearly three years later, I am so grateful to be back to “normal.” I can work! I can eat at all the restaurants! I can see all the shows! I can ride in a hole in the ground! I can go to summer camp and hang out with germ-ridden children!
MSK continues their incredible research into improving treatments for leukemia. Just this week, new developments in the understanding of bacteria and antibiotics were announced.
Today is 100 days until the NYC Marathon. I'm running with Fred's Team, MSK's athletic fundraising program. Thanks to your amazing generosity, we have already smashed my goal of raising $3500 towards leukemia research at MSK.
Can we make it to $5000 and potentially make life in the 100 days post-transplant easier for the next person?
Visit http://mskcc.convio.net/goto/luisalyons to make a donation!
- Published on
I was a non-smoking rarely drinking vegetarian who exercised regularly and meditated. On July 23, 2014, six weeks before my 30th birthday, I was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia. A fast acting blood cancer that more commonly affects men in their sixties.
Although there have been improvements, the treatment for AML has not changed much in the past thirty years. It is painful and debilitating, requiring endless needles, scans, and constant monitoring.
Following a life-saving stem cell transplant at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center (MSK) in November 2014, I underwent a long and difficult recovery period. I lost weight, gained it all back and then some. I went into early onset menopause. My fingernails fell off one by one. I developed sores on the soles of my feet. I had depression, anxiety, and fits of rage. I lost my libido. I couldn't work. I couldn't ride the subway. Couldn't eat take out. Couldn't go to the theatre. I lost an octave in my singing voice. A lot of the time I just felt really fucking tired.
For much of the past three years I have felt robbed. I did all the "right things" and I still got blood cancer. It took me out of commission for almost two years. The emotional and mental side effects are an ongoing battle.
While the five-year survival rate for leukemia in general is over 60%, the five-year survival rate for AML patients is currently at about 26%. We still do not know what causes leukemia.
I am alive today thanks to the amazing work of my team at MSK. Their research is ongoing, and expensive. Imagine if we could find a way to test marrow without painful needles? Or provide treatment that isn't so debilitating? What if we knew what causes leukemia in the first place and could prevent it from occurring again? What if we could make leukemia a disease of the past?
This is why, on November 5, 2017, a week after the third anniversary of my transplant, I’m going to be running the NYC Marathon. You can support me by donating to Fred's Team. Your donation will ensure the amazing folk at MSK can continue their research in making leukemia history.
Will you join me?
Although there have been improvements, the treatment for AML has not changed much in the past thirty years. It is painful and debilitating, requiring endless needles, scans, and constant monitoring.
Following a life-saving stem cell transplant at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center (MSK) in November 2014, I underwent a long and difficult recovery period. I lost weight, gained it all back and then some. I went into early onset menopause. My fingernails fell off one by one. I developed sores on the soles of my feet. I had depression, anxiety, and fits of rage. I lost my libido. I couldn't work. I couldn't ride the subway. Couldn't eat take out. Couldn't go to the theatre. I lost an octave in my singing voice. A lot of the time I just felt really fucking tired.
For much of the past three years I have felt robbed. I did all the "right things" and I still got blood cancer. It took me out of commission for almost two years. The emotional and mental side effects are an ongoing battle.
While the five-year survival rate for leukemia in general is over 60%, the five-year survival rate for AML patients is currently at about 26%. We still do not know what causes leukemia.
I am alive today thanks to the amazing work of my team at MSK. Their research is ongoing, and expensive. Imagine if we could find a way to test marrow without painful needles? Or provide treatment that isn't so debilitating? What if we knew what causes leukemia in the first place and could prevent it from occurring again? What if we could make leukemia a disease of the past?
This is why, on November 5, 2017, a week after the third anniversary of my transplant, I’m going to be running the NYC Marathon. You can support me by donating to Fred's Team. Your donation will ensure the amazing folk at MSK can continue their research in making leukemia history.
Will you join me?
- Published on
photo by Lou Dempsey
My Grandpa passed away this week
It makes the land of my childhood
Feel even more far away
We weren’t close
Grandpa and I
He believed in a particular life path
University. Marriage. House. Job. (Babies?).
I think my decision to be an actor
Puzzled and perplexed him.
We didn’t agree on politics.
We didn’t discuss our feelings.
Beyond family lunches and events
We didn’t really do things together.
I wonder if our relationship would have been different if Grandma hadn’t died when she did.
He was the first person I knew with personalised number plates
“RLL”
I remember his car being very tidy
Always with that new car smell
Always with jazz music playing.
When we were little
I remember that, because he had worked for Streets ice cream,
Peters Blue Ribbon ice cream was verboten in the house
I remember he often photographed or filmed family events
Less so in the later years.
When I was twelve
He came to a cross-country meet
He filmed the finish line and said
“Well done.”
He was the one that told me I’d been accepted to uni
He had checked the morning paper
Found my name, and called to congratulate me.
I found his older brother’s service records
On the Australian War Memorial website
We printed them out together.
He went quiet, and got a little teary
We never spoke about it again.
He came to one of my shows
Found there was no parking, and anxious about being in wilds of Strathfield,
Turned around, and drove all the way back to Wahroonga
Without having seen the show.
His emails were short and sweet,
Sometimes cheeky,
After I congratulated him on becoming a great-grandfather, he said
“Shucks! It was nuthin’”
He always ended his emails with
“Love, GPa”
I last saw him at Abuela’s funeral
I had a feeling I wasn’t going to see him again, so
I hugged him extra tight and
Told him I loved him.
It was hard to see him become frail
Struggle to zip up his jacket or hold a cup because of the
Tremble in his hand
I think of him
Wearing his akubra
Legs stretched out in front of him
Arms crossed
Watching the cricket
He had lovely blue eyes
And a crinkly mischievous smile
We may not have been close
Or seen eye to eye
But he was my grandpa.
You had a good innings G’Pa,
Sleep well, and goodnight.
It makes the land of my childhood
Feel even more far away
We weren’t close
Grandpa and I
He believed in a particular life path
University. Marriage. House. Job. (Babies?).
I think my decision to be an actor
Puzzled and perplexed him.
We didn’t agree on politics.
We didn’t discuss our feelings.
Beyond family lunches and events
We didn’t really do things together.
I wonder if our relationship would have been different if Grandma hadn’t died when she did.
He was the first person I knew with personalised number plates
“RLL”
I remember his car being very tidy
Always with that new car smell
Always with jazz music playing.
When we were little
I remember that, because he had worked for Streets ice cream,
Peters Blue Ribbon ice cream was verboten in the house
I remember he often photographed or filmed family events
Less so in the later years.
When I was twelve
He came to a cross-country meet
He filmed the finish line and said
“Well done.”
He was the one that told me I’d been accepted to uni
He had checked the morning paper
Found my name, and called to congratulate me.
I found his older brother’s service records
On the Australian War Memorial website
We printed them out together.
He went quiet, and got a little teary
We never spoke about it again.
He came to one of my shows
Found there was no parking, and anxious about being in wilds of Strathfield,
Turned around, and drove all the way back to Wahroonga
Without having seen the show.
His emails were short and sweet,
Sometimes cheeky,
After I congratulated him on becoming a great-grandfather, he said
“Shucks! It was nuthin’”
He always ended his emails with
“Love, GPa”
I last saw him at Abuela’s funeral
I had a feeling I wasn’t going to see him again, so
I hugged him extra tight and
Told him I loved him.
It was hard to see him become frail
Struggle to zip up his jacket or hold a cup because of the
Tremble in his hand
I think of him
Wearing his akubra
Legs stretched out in front of him
Arms crossed
Watching the cricket
He had lovely blue eyes
And a crinkly mischievous smile
We may not have been close
Or seen eye to eye
But he was my grandpa.
You had a good innings G’Pa,
Sleep well, and goodnight.
- Published on
Today is the sixth anniversary of my leaving Australia
The plan was to go to drama school in London
Live there for a few years and then
“See what happens.”
What happened was that
On the way to drama school
I fell in love
With an American
Six years later we’re married and
Living in New York
The choice to live in the United States
Has always been met by my fellow Australians with a kind of
Bemused wonderment.
“Why do you want to live in America?
[Insert concern about healthcare/politics/guns/beaches/coffee]
It’s so… American.”
In the wake of the election and inauguration,
Friends and family have asked
“When are you coming home?”
My response is
I am home.
The land of the free, the home of the downright crazy.
I know the insane the state of
Healthcare/politics/guns/beaches/coffee
And when I talk about it with Americans, I say
“Who’s the crazy one? I chose to live here.”
We are/were lucky enough to be able to choose
Where we wanted to live
We toyed with the idea of Fort Collins
We considered Richmond
We looked into living in Amsterdam or London
But in the end, it was the Big Apple the beckoned
Broadway for me, philosophy and tai chi for Aaron
Brooklyn Chinatown for the both of us
Inside the Statue of Liberty
It is written
Everything is bigger in America
Even the peas
And it’s true
Everything is bigger
The food portions
The cars
The houses
(unless of course, you live in New York…
“itty bitty living space!”)
The inequality
Show business
In Australia, as of today, there are 6 commercial musicals currently playing
In the whole country
Six. In. The. Whole. Country.
In New York, as of today, there are 30 commercial musicals currently playing
And that’s just a on a fifteen block radius in Manhattan,
Forget about counting the tours, the regional productions, the non-union gigs...
It just doesn’t compare
It’s got nothing to do with quality
It’s just a numbers game
I’ve earned more money as an actor in six months in New York than I did in my entire life in Australia.
It’s not easy.
Finding a day job that pays a living wage and doesn't suck the life force out of you via your nostrils is nigh impossible
There are more auditions
But there’s also more competition
Health insurance is a terrifying bureaucratic nightmare
Yet some of the best doctors in the world
Work right here in New York
I am incredibly grateful I had access to Sloan Kettering when I did
From the moment I first landed in New York
I knew I was home
The frenetic creative energy
Everyone is a writer, an actor, a musician, a dancer
An artist
Art is celebrated here
It’s on every corner, in every subway car,
When I get to perform in Carnegie Hall or work on the sets of world-famous television shows
It feels worth it
If Broadway went away
If I were no longer a performer
Would I still choose to be here?
I fell in love with a person who, by chance and luck,
Was born an American citizen.
If he were someone else
From some other place
Perhaps I wouldn't be here at all.
So, why do I choose to live in a land of
Shitty health insurance/politics/guns/beaches/coffee?
Because I live in a place that sleeps, eats, and breathes theatre.
But most of all,
I get to spend my life with a
Patient, kind, and wonderful human being
Whose goal is human flourishing
Why do I choose to live here?
Because
Love.
The plan was to go to drama school in London
Live there for a few years and then
“See what happens.”
What happened was that
On the way to drama school
I fell in love
With an American
Six years later we’re married and
Living in New York
The choice to live in the United States
Has always been met by my fellow Australians with a kind of
Bemused wonderment.
“Why do you want to live in America?
[Insert concern about healthcare/politics/guns/beaches/coffee]
It’s so… American.”
In the wake of the election and inauguration,
Friends and family have asked
“When are you coming home?”
My response is
I am home.
The land of the free, the home of the downright crazy.
I know the insane the state of
Healthcare/politics/guns/beaches/coffee
And when I talk about it with Americans, I say
“Who’s the crazy one? I chose to live here.”
We are/were lucky enough to be able to choose
Where we wanted to live
We toyed with the idea of Fort Collins
We considered Richmond
We looked into living in Amsterdam or London
But in the end, it was the Big Apple the beckoned
Broadway for me, philosophy and tai chi for Aaron
Brooklyn Chinatown for the both of us
Inside the Statue of Liberty
It is written
Everything is bigger in America
Even the peas
And it’s true
Everything is bigger
The food portions
The cars
The houses
(unless of course, you live in New York…
“itty bitty living space!”)
The inequality
Show business
In Australia, as of today, there are 6 commercial musicals currently playing
In the whole country
Six. In. The. Whole. Country.
In New York, as of today, there are 30 commercial musicals currently playing
And that’s just a on a fifteen block radius in Manhattan,
Forget about counting the tours, the regional productions, the non-union gigs...
It just doesn’t compare
It’s got nothing to do with quality
It’s just a numbers game
I’ve earned more money as an actor in six months in New York than I did in my entire life in Australia.
It’s not easy.
Finding a day job that pays a living wage and doesn't suck the life force out of you via your nostrils is nigh impossible
There are more auditions
But there’s also more competition
Health insurance is a terrifying bureaucratic nightmare
Yet some of the best doctors in the world
Work right here in New York
I am incredibly grateful I had access to Sloan Kettering when I did
From the moment I first landed in New York
I knew I was home
The frenetic creative energy
Everyone is a writer, an actor, a musician, a dancer
An artist
Art is celebrated here
It’s on every corner, in every subway car,
When I get to perform in Carnegie Hall or work on the sets of world-famous television shows
It feels worth it
If Broadway went away
If I were no longer a performer
Would I still choose to be here?
I fell in love with a person who, by chance and luck,
Was born an American citizen.
If he were someone else
From some other place
Perhaps I wouldn't be here at all.
So, why do I choose to live in a land of
Shitty health insurance/politics/guns/beaches/coffee?
Because I live in a place that sleeps, eats, and breathes theatre.
But most of all,
I get to spend my life with a
Patient, kind, and wonderful human being
Whose goal is human flourishing
Why do I choose to live here?
Because
Love.
- Published on
I have always loved running.
Three years ago I was training for a half marathon
And then I got cancer.
A year-and-a-half ago I was signed up to run a 5km race
Then had to drop out two days before because my counts dropped too low.
Nine months ago I signed up with a personal trainer
She whipped my butt but she got me moving again.
And on Saturday
After 23 weeks of training
I ran a half marathon
And it felt So. Damn. Good.
The past few years have been such a rollercoaster.
Not just physically, but emotionally too
Depression and anxiety have been slaying me
I have had trouble getting out of bed
And then I had panic attacks before heading out the front door.
But I always feel good when I’m running
The aches and pains that bother me when I’m not moving
Seem to go away when I’m running
(Knock on wood)
I’ve been training with the Nike+ Run Club App
It’s such an incredible resource (and free!)
You plug in the date of your race,
Your level of fitness and experience
And it builds a training program
That adapts itself as you complete (or miss) the runs.
It got to me a level of fitness I’ve never had before.
Mid-way through the training
A friend sent me a copy of Born to Run
It was a game changer
It got me thinking about running in a whole new way
I went from enjoying running
To being passionate about it.
Race day was so thrilling
The sea of people in active wear
The people who come to cheer on their friends and family members and perfect strangers
The homemade signs
You’re running better than our government!
You’re almost at Nathan’s! and
Tap to Power Up! beneath pictures of Mario Kart mushrooms and stars
The volunteers at the fluid stations
Pouring cups of water and gatorade
Cheering the runners as we zip through
Looking great runners! Keep it up!
The bands dotted sporadically throughout the course
Rock bands and jazz bands, and at one point, a lone fiddle player
The way the runners encourage each other
As we passed mile markers, a runner would call out the mile number
And everyone would cheer.
In the last 800m of the race
My playlist switched to “Put on Your Sunday Clothes” from Hello, Dolly!
Out there, there’s a world outside of Yonkers!
I got so emotional
I’m doing the things! Running feels amazing again!
I’m healthy and I’m here
It feels like forever since I've felt this good.
I was tired at the end
Needed a nap and two dinners,
But I wasn’t dead
I could actually walk the next day without pain and
Two days later I was ready for another run.
Yesterday, I did my first training run for the NYC Marathon.
Bring it on.
Three years ago I was training for a half marathon
And then I got cancer.
A year-and-a-half ago I was signed up to run a 5km race
Then had to drop out two days before because my counts dropped too low.
Nine months ago I signed up with a personal trainer
She whipped my butt but she got me moving again.
And on Saturday
After 23 weeks of training
I ran a half marathon
And it felt So. Damn. Good.
The past few years have been such a rollercoaster.
Not just physically, but emotionally too
Depression and anxiety have been slaying me
I have had trouble getting out of bed
And then I had panic attacks before heading out the front door.
But I always feel good when I’m running
The aches and pains that bother me when I’m not moving
Seem to go away when I’m running
(Knock on wood)
I’ve been training with the Nike+ Run Club App
It’s such an incredible resource (and free!)
You plug in the date of your race,
Your level of fitness and experience
And it builds a training program
That adapts itself as you complete (or miss) the runs.
It got to me a level of fitness I’ve never had before.
Mid-way through the training
A friend sent me a copy of Born to Run
It was a game changer
It got me thinking about running in a whole new way
I went from enjoying running
To being passionate about it.
Race day was so thrilling
The sea of people in active wear
The people who come to cheer on their friends and family members and perfect strangers
The homemade signs
You’re running better than our government!
You’re almost at Nathan’s! and
Tap to Power Up! beneath pictures of Mario Kart mushrooms and stars
The volunteers at the fluid stations
Pouring cups of water and gatorade
Cheering the runners as we zip through
Looking great runners! Keep it up!
The bands dotted sporadically throughout the course
Rock bands and jazz bands, and at one point, a lone fiddle player
The way the runners encourage each other
As we passed mile markers, a runner would call out the mile number
And everyone would cheer.
In the last 800m of the race
My playlist switched to “Put on Your Sunday Clothes” from Hello, Dolly!
Out there, there’s a world outside of Yonkers!
I got so emotional
I’m doing the things! Running feels amazing again!
I’m healthy and I’m here
It feels like forever since I've felt this good.
I was tired at the end
Needed a nap and two dinners,
But I wasn’t dead
I could actually walk the next day without pain and
Two days later I was ready for another run.
Yesterday, I did my first training run for the NYC Marathon.
Bring it on.