Breast Cancer 3-Day: Day Three

A day late and a dollar short...

NOTE: This is the third part of a three part series detailing the Breast Cancer 3-Day walk from a Walker Stalker's point of view. I recommend you read the first and second parts to have the full appreciation of the third...

The walkers' day began early. Most of them woke between 4 and 5 a.m. During breakfast, they persuaded Ashley to take it easy. Her feet, you see, were a mess. And however much her heart told her to go, her feet and her friends suggested otherwise. Julie called Maggie who went to pick her and Fernando up at 6:45. The rest of the team boarded school buses at Marymoor and proceeded to the University of Washington on the other side of the water. This was the final day. The final 20 miles. And they would spend it west of the lake.

Joseph called me to tell me what was happening. I got up, showered, ate, and called Maggie. They were going back to Maggie's house to make sandwiches. Meanwhile Maggie suggested I buy more water for the day. I proceeded to Safeway and bought another 7 gallons. That was over 20 gallons of water in three days.

I then drove into Seattle Center to park so that I could be ready after the closing ceremonies. Maggie and crew picked me up, and away we went.

We met the Pink Buzz at the second pit stop. Twiggy and Joseph wore their pink pirate hats. In fact, Twiggy, with that hat, looked like the second coming of a pink-garbed Errol Flynn, the epitome of a swashbuckler. Those hats would be our key to identifying them for the rest of the day.

They had three miles until their next stop. They walked and we drove. We decided we would go half way and set up our water, candy, and spritzing station. We discovered that half way was at Green Lake, a favorite spot to walk for Seattlites. On that day, Green Lake doubled as the largest cheering station we had seen. We circled the lake and chose a spot to stand. Maggie, meanwhile, went to retrieve her mother from Seattle Center.

We whooped, hollered, and hooted. We offered water, candy, and spritzing to thankful passersby. And as others discovered why we were there, they joined us until we became a cheering station unto ourselves. At one point, I reflected on how this dastardly disease brought random strangers together to cheer on these amazing walkers. There really aren't words for it.

Maggie arrived a short time later with her mother, another survivor, and after more cheering we made our way to Woodland Park. Fernando and Ashley would leave the ranks of the Walker Stalkers at that pit stop and walk the remainder of the trail. Joseph had his shin splints wrapped with plastic wrap. And the team used foot powder, mole skin, and countless bandaids to care for the myriad of blisters appearing on their feet.

It was also at that stop that a young, beautiful woman approached me randomly and asked if she could record my testimonial. I thought she was asking all three of us - I was standing with Ashley and Fernando at that point - but she was only asking me. I've never done particularly well in front of any kind of camera, but I couldn't deny this request. And so, when she began, I told her that I was supporting my partner and the Pink Buzz as a Walker Stalker. And that I was participating in memory of my godmother. I felt flushed as I finished. She thanked me.

From there, we went to find out where lunch would be. Gasworks Park. You could see Seattle across Lake Union from that park. Then we doubled back and did the candy, water, spritzing thing.

Lunch came and the team said they wanted to push it a bit more to get to Seattle Center by 3:30. We had about 20 minutes to eat - again the wonderful vittles prepared by Maggie - and then off we went. Yes, we. I had decided that I wanted to walk at least a short distance with the team to show solidarity and to encourage. From Gasworks, across the Fremont bridge, and down to the southwest corner of Lake Union, I walked with Joseph and Katrina. Along the way, people outside a supermarket in Fremont cheered for us. There was a cheer squad just before we crossed the bridge. And there was a random guy in a Seahawks jersey cheering us as we exited the bridge. There was a woman walking back to her car thanking us. There was an older gentleman sitting in a deck chair with a Scooby Doo stuffed animal sitting in an adjacent chair. There were kids offering Starburst and Skittles. There were two men with multiple facial piercings encouraging us onward. There was a small station handing out Dixie Cups of iced Gatorade. There was a guy with a hose just spraying. There were so many people. And I thank God I walked that short distance because I understood what the whole walk was about. It was about the walkers, yes. But it was about those random, voluntary acts of kindness being displayed at - literally - every corner.

Maggie, her mother, and Tammy - one of Julie's long-time friends - were standing in front of McCormick & Schmick's (a Seattle restaurant that I recommend). I decided to join them as Joseph and Katrina walked on.

After a quick stop at Starbucks, we set up for the last time and did the candy, water, spritzing as the walkers came up Fairview. We then followed the route through Seattle and down to just north of Pioneer Square. We took a right and found ourselves near the piers. We traveled adjacent to the Sound following the walkers until we came to the Sculpture Park. And then we decided that we would be best served parking near Seattle Center and cheering the team into the final stretch.

We parked, went into QFC, and Maggie purchased a huge butterfly balloon - which turned out to be a rather ingenious idea since that's how they saw us in the stands - for the closing ceremonies. We proceeded to the final stretch, meeting Julie's and Maggie's father as well as a couple of Fernando's friends. After seeing the team into the holding area, we went into Memorial Stadium - a football stadium - where the closing ceremonies would be held.

We sat in the sun, waiting as the stands became more and more crowded. On the field, extending from one end zone to the 50-yard line was what looked like the outlines of the Breast Cancer ribbon. It was an enclosure into which the people would be walking. Imagine, if you will, a giant fenced area in the shape of a ribbon on the outside. Then there is a smaller fenced area inside of that giant area. And then even a smalled fenced area inside that. And finally, a circle inside which there was a platform with a flagpole.

The inspirational music began. The volunteer crews dressed in green, orange, and red lined both sides of the path that the walkers would take into the largest of the enclosures. After they had outlined the path, the walkers, dressed in white, proceeded into that large enclosure. They kept coming. And coming. And coming. Over 3000 walkers. I felt the chill run down my spine. I felt my eyes welling at the catharsis of the moment.

Following the walkers were the crew. They in their multiple colors filled the second enclosure.

Finally, the survivors - maybe about 100 women - walked out proud and garbed in pink. Their arms interlocked. They share something I hope most of us never have to endure. As the speaker said, they share the memory of that pain that cancer causes.

And it was then that I realized that a few days of walking 60 miles, or in my case a few days spent supporting and cheering and waiting on these walkers, was nothing. Is nothing. As compared to what these men and women must endure. God, we need to eradicate this thing called cancer.

As the speaker spoke, I think most of the stadium reflected. And cheered. Wow, did they cheer. Such an uproar.

The ceremonies ended and we made our way as a team to West Seattle to have beer and pizza. The Pink Buzz could hardly walk. And do you blame them? They were exhausted.

And I must admit that never have I been prouder of my Buzz. Maggie, my partner in stalking. Elaine, the Pink Buzz adoptee. Twiggy, the Uncrustable eating swashbuckler. Fernando, the bellowing single-man cheer squad. Katrina, the rabbit-eared, tell-it-like-it-is strong woman. Tara, the focused, recycling go-getter. Ashley, the bad-footed, golden-hearted walker. Julie, officially one of my heroes. And Joseph, my charismatic and unconditionally loving partner.

If it's true that you win as a team and lose as a team, then the Pink Buzz just won BIG!

Thanks for reading...

Breast Cancer 3-Day: Day Two

NOTE: This is the second part of a three part series detailing the Breast Cancer 3-Day walk from a Walker Stalker's point of view. If you haven't read the first part of this series, you may get a little lost...

Day two. I woke up at 8 and made it over to Maggie's house by 9. With cooler in hand and with the ten gallons of water we had purchased the day before, we made our way to I-90, crossed the lake, and exited in Kirkland.

First stop, an espresso stand - tough to believe they actually still exist in the Pacific Northwest - to load up on caffeine. Next stop, we wanted to backtrack and find the team. We found the walkers - it's tough to miss an endless line of approximately 3000 people wearing pink. Next, we drove the opposite direction the walkers were walking in order to find the team. On the way, we honked, hollered, waved our pom-poms, and otherwise cheered on the walkers. And they waved back. Once we made it to the trail from where the walkers were emerging - not on the street and not accessible by car - we texted and called the Pink Buzz Team to find out where they were. They hadn't yet made it that far, they told us. So, we drove up and back again honking... and well, you know.

When they did emerge, we parked and said good morning. Ashley and Katrina had taken the bus to lunch, their feet sore from the day before. Joseph, Elaine, Julie, Fernando, Tara, and Twiggy were at least bright-eyed if not fully bushy-tailed. But they had devised a cheer and a catchy one at that. Two taps to the chest with both hands while they said 'Whoop Whoop' and then there arms extended to the sky while they yelled 'Whoo'. A catchy little cheer that men and women were mimicking up and down the walking route. We would hear it from them and others all day.

After meeting with them, we made our way to a parking lot up one of the many, many hills the walkers would have to traverse. We turned the stereo up and offered water and Tootsie Pops. Same as yesterday. The walkers were grateful. Men and women from all over the United States. Texas, Virginia, New York, Massachusetts, Michigan... All over.

After the team passed, we got back into the van and headed out to Fred Meyer. Two spray bottles, mayo, and two bags of assorted candy later, we were back on the route figuring out what to do next. The team had reached a pit stop, so we stopped there. Then Maggie and I went to retrieve Ashley and Katrina from the lunch spot so they could help us cheer. And we set up shop in front of a behavioral health center, hoping we wouldn't be accosted.

The four of us - Maggie, Ashley, Katrina, and I - handed out water and the assorted candy. In addition, we spritzed. Oh, the spray, the walkers raved. We love the spray. By that time, it was already in the low 70s and these walkers were hot and sweating. To hear them tell it, there was nothing better in the world than two random people spraying them with water from generic spray bottles.

After we sprayed our team - and a few more of the teams that followed - we packed up the van and moved on to lunch. We dragged the cooler, the blanket, and a few chairs into a shady area near the lunch spot. Maggie had told me earlier that she had made nine sandwiches of turkey and havarti - and one of peanut butter and jelly for Twiggy who doesn't do turkey. But that wasn't all. She also bought lettuce, tomato, and onion. Still not all. She packed grapes - purple and white - and carrots. And, finally, she fried up some bacon. When the team saw the food, they almost fainted with joy (since the previous day's lunch had been a frozen chicken patty on dry bread). Applying the mustard - both dijon and regular - as well as the mayo we had retrieved from Fred Meyer, the team feasted.

After some stretching and foot care, the team was once again ready. The walk, Elaine announced, was half over. 'Go Pink Buzz!' followed by 'Whoop Whoop, Whoo!'

Maggie and I drove to a particularly sunny spot and spritzed away. We drove to the next pit stop and found the team stretching, eating, drinking, and using the bathroom. They looked tired. To tell the truth, they were tired.

It was during that pit stop that Joseph told me a story from the night before. There had been a girl on crutches during Day One. I noticed her. Well, everyone noticed her. And everyone gave her as much support as she could handle. Every once in a while, we'd drive to the back of the walker line and see her crutching along. Joseph told me that she was the final one to camp last night. She had made it 20 miles ON CRUTCHES. Remarkable!

We departed from the pit stop and came across a woman with her arms crossed. Since the thumbs down signal wasn't working as well the day before, the volunteer crew had decided to use the crossed arms signal to mean someone wanted to go to the next pit stop. We told them we weren't a sweeper van but that we were willing to transport. The woman who wanted a ride shrugged her shoulders and said, I'm getting in. So she did. We picked up another along the way. And then we pulled over to what we thought was a pit stop. We later discovered that it was only a cheering station - no drink, food, bathrooms, or medics - but when we returned we didn't see them there. Another sweeper must have retrieved them, we hoped.

We set up again as a spritzing station. People loved it.

We then went to the next pit stop. People were starting to drop more rapidly. Joseph's shin splints were hurting. Feet were blistered. Ankles were swollen. And the heat was getting to everyone. We packed Ashley, Katrina, and Fernando into the car. When we started moving, we received a call telling us to come get Joseph. The shin splints were too much. Sixty miles ain't no joke.

The five of us set up another spritzing station next to a horse farm. (I almost stepped in horse manure. Joseph did.) 'Whoop Whoop, Whoo!' We were almost a pit stop unto ourselves. Well, except for the medic and the bathrooms. But we did have water and candy; it was something.

From there we proceeded to the final pit stop before camp. The team caught up and we said our goodbyes. Joseph and Ashley wanted to go to camp; so we took them. The others continued on.

I'm tired right now, but I can't imagine how the walkers are feeling. And if I'm right, they shouldn't be feeling much right now except for the comforts of a blanket and a pillow.

Check back for tomorrow's final 20 miles.

Breast Cancer 3-Day: Day One

For the next three days, this blog will detail the 3-Day walk to cure breast cancer from a Walker Stalker's point of view.

A few things before I begin.

• The Breast Cancer 3-Day is a 60-mile walk over a 3-day period.
• Each walker MUST raise $2200 to walk. (NOTE: Click the link to the top right side of this blog's screen and donate to a VERY worthy cause.)
• Anyone can walk. But you have to sign up for the event first. There are survivors. Family members and friends of loved ones who have survived. And of those who have died. Even people who feel a sense of solidarity with attempting to eradicate breast cancer but who have not been personally affected by breast cancer.
• Walkers usually create teams composed of friends, family members, co-workers, and acquaintances.
• The walkers walked 20 miles today on the East Side (Bellevue, Redmond) and will then continue with 20 miles both Saturday and Sunday. They will finish at Seattle Center (where the Space Needle is) on Sunday afternoon. Each night - tonight and tomorrow night - they sleep in tents at Marymoor Park.
• Every 2-3 miles the walkers must stop at 'pit stops' to eat, drink, refill their bottled water, and go to the bathroom. If each walker doesn't do each of these things at each pit stop, it means there is most likely a problem.
• During those 2-3 mile 'hikes' there are white vans available to 'sweep' people who are unable - for whatever reason - to make it to the next pit stop. Those people are therefore transported to the next pit stop and can decide if they'd like to continue walking or be transported to the following pit stop.
• In addition to all the volunteer staff working at the pit stops and in the vans, there are Walker Stalkers. These Walker Stalkers are engaged in any assorted number of activities throughout the day including, but not limited to, honking and cheering from the car, refilling water bottles during the 'hikes', carrying team members who would like to rest for part or all of a given 'hike', run to the supermarket for requested items, playing loud inspirational music... well, you get the idea.

With that information, some of what I will tell you will make more sense. So, without further adieu...

The Team: The team I coached this past year was named the Buzz. (And yes, that story will come, but not tonight.) On the Buzz there played a woman named Julie, who happens to be a Breast Cancer survivor. Well, because the team was so close, a core of them decided to do the walk together as a team. They call themselves the Pink Buzz. Who else is on the Pink Buzz? So, some of these names may mean nothing to you, but here they are anyway... Elaine, Twiggy, Tara, Ashley, Fernando, Katrina, and Joseph. Yes, my partner Joseph. They are, as I type, slumbering down in their tents in Marymoor Park. There are two full time Walker Stalkers - at least there were today - Julie's sister, Maggie, and me.

The Day: Joseph awoke at 4 a.m. He left at just before 5 and made his way to West Seattle - where Julie lives - and took a limo with the Pink Buzz walkers to the East Side. I tried to sleep in, but the dogs were up and so was I. I had breakfast and surfed the web until about 8:15 when Maggie arrived. With the pink and white window paint as well as with the other accessories, we decorated her mini van. And off we went. At Safeway, we got water and gas. And we were on our way. We finally arrived at the first or second - I don't remember - pit stop and found the team at approximately 10.

We found them in the midst of some morning angst, that anticipation of a grueling, but emotionally fulfilling day. After a short talk and after they unloaded some of the items they didn't need, they were off. And we proceeded on down to the next pit stop honking and flailing pom-poms along the way. Can you imagine me with a pink pom-pom? Well, it was for a great cause so I didn't care.

We drove to the next pit stop. Then to the lunch spot - a beautiful park. We doubled back and cheered the walkers. Then we turned around again - a lot of that today - and set up in a random spot about a mile before the next pit stop. We offered water and Tootsie Pops to appreciative passersby - including our team members. It was at that stop that a volunteer - who was monitoring crossing at a smaller intersection - came up to us and asked us to take a gentleman to the next pit stop. Sure, we said and we began to rummage through the items in the back seat, making room. Then the volunteer asked Maggie to call it into Command 1. Huh? Aren't you a Pick Up Van, he asked. Oh, no, we're not, but we can take him. Oh, he said, you can't. I thought you were a sweeper van. The flushed gentleman retreated to the shade as the volunteer aplogized. Maggie and I traded glances and shrugged. Must be the liability, we agreed.

We met the team at the next pit stop. They ate, drank, refilled, and went to the bathroom. Just as they were supposed to do.

They started again. And we continued doing what we were doing. Tootsie Pops and water. In addition, every once in a while, we saw, as we passed walkers, people giving us the thumbs down signal. Did they want us to stop hooting and hollering? Maggie and I weren't sure. So we continued on.

Then we started to get it. They weren't turning their thumbs down at us because they were upset. That was the signal for a ride. They, like the volunteer and the flushed man to whom we spoke earlier, thought we were a sweeper van. But there was no way we could tell all of those people that we weren't a sweeper van. Maggie and I wondered if we should just go park somewhere and cheer. Or if we should just go to pit stops. But, no, we agreed, we were Walker Stalkers and we were going to stalk.

So we did. We met up with the team as well as some of Julie's co-workers, friends, and even her father at lunch. The walkers weren't particularly impressed with their lunch. Julie's friend, Beth, had supplied lunch for Maggie and me, which I must say was rather good. I felt a little bad. But Maggie and I agreed that we would provide better lunches tomorrow. The job of the Walker Stalker.

After lunch, Katrina decided that she needed a little time away from walking. We took her in the car and continued our stalking. Still, we saw multiple thumbs down. We didn't stop. We let Katrina out to meet back up with the walkers and then set up shop passing out Tootsie Pops and water yet again.

Back in the car. We needed more water. Ten gallons from Safeway. And gum. Julie and the team wanted gum. So we got gum. We met back up with them at another pit stop. Fernando and Ashley wanted to join us in the car. So they did and off we went to scope out the next pit stop. On our way, we saw a group of women turning their thumbs down at us. There had to be at least 15 women sitting there. No shade around. No pickup van in sight. We traveled a bit more down the road talking about how that was just a travesty. And after we had worked ourselves up enough, we agreed that we were going to help, if only a little. Maggie turned the car around and we went back to the group.

We took three of them. We explained that we weren't really a sweeper van, and they couldn't have cared less. Just help us out. Okay, then hop in, we said. And away we went.

That next pit stop, we later discovered, would be our last for the day. We took pictures and ate Uncrustables. (They're rather good.) We then loaded Ashley, Fernando, and Katrina into the car and headed for the next pit stop. But we were right by Microsoft. And it was Friday. And it was 4:30. Imagine 95 in southern CT or the 91-95 interchange at rush hour - for those of you in CT - and you'll understand what happened. We doubled back and stopped for the last time. Tootsie Pops and water. With the three walkers in the car, we all made an executive decision to bring them to Marymoor Park, where they would be sleeping for the night. And so we did.

With traffic only getting worse, we called up the rest of the team and told them that we were going home. And so we did.

I will leave you with some of my favorite t-shirts, stickers, and slogans of the day:

• T-shirt: Help Save These! Ask How!
• Slogan: I Fight Like a Girl
• T-shirt: Help the Beaver. Save Her Two Friends!
• Team T-Shirts: Breast Friends
• T-Shirt: I'm Here for the Boobs
• Slogan: Save the Ta-Tas!

And finally, my favorite:

• Save Second Base

More tomorrow...

A Plea: Fight Breast Cancer

It never rains, but it pours.

I could review, play by play, the Giants convincing win over the conference rival Redskins. How the defense functioned rather well without last year's bookends, Umenyiora and Strahan. But I won't.

I could analyze John McCain's speech. Acknowledge him, perhaps, for his criticisms of not only the Dems but his own party. Critique him for his inability to stay in touch with the working class as 'maverick' as he may think he is. But I won't.

Instead, I have a more important topic. One that touches Democrats and Republicans and Independents. I have a story more gripping than the Giants' spectacular run to the Super Bowl last year. I have a plea to the few of you who read this blog. Of course, I can't say what that plea is immediately. That would be poor drama. Instead, I have a story.

For me, the story begins at birth. In fact, I think this story began some time after I was conceived and before I was born. My mother and father, as responsible Christians, were tasked with naming godparents. For me, their first son, they chose my father's younger brother, Karl, and my mother's first cousin, Lynne. In my family, godfathers were rather easy to come by. My father has two brothers. My mother has two brothers. And there are a bunch of male cousins to go around. As for females, well, there aren't as many. And Lynne was the closest person either my mother or father came to having a sister. In retrospect, they couldn't have made a better choice.

Lynne Murray, the only daughter of the union of my grandfather's older brother, Walt, and his second wife, Dottie, was a fiery redhead. Never hesitant to speak her mind, she had a rare charisma that drew people to her. A strong woman in the vein of her grandmother, my great grandmother, Lynn exuded grace and unconditional love in anything and everything that she did. I personally regret that I did not spend more time with her as I grew, but I knew she was always there. For Christmas. For my birthday. For Easter. Every year until my 18th birthday, she would send a card and a gift to whichever address I happened to call home at the time. Reminding me that she was there for me. Reminding me that she loved me...

I remember her at my First Holy Communion. At my Confirmation. Encouraging me on my road to the priesthood. Not a holier woman have I met in my time. She was not the overly pious Bible thumping show-off that some 'holy' people can seem, but a down-to-earth, day-by-day worker. For peace. For justice. For love. For hope. For faith. For all those attributes that Jesus considered the basics of charity that should be shown to God and to each other.

Although I can speak only from the fringes of her magnificent existence, I know that she became the center of her nuclear family. She took in her ailing mother at the same time that she was raising her two children. She was a loving wife to her husband, Dave, working through all of those ups and downs that any relationship endures. But not only was she there for those who lived within her house. She was an aunt, and perhaps better stated, a mentor to her nieces and nephews through significantly difficult times in their family. A loving niece to my grandparents, she would always call them to see how her favorite - and only - uncle was doing. A loving cousin, she always had time to talk to my mother, my uncles, and the countless others that sought a loving and listening ear.

And this doesn't do justice to her charity. I know that St. Barnabas Church knew her to be the fiery redhead who got things done. One of my spiritual directors, Father Bob, was at that same parish during her early years, and when I told him that she was my godmother, he couldn't stop praising her faith and fervor. I can only imagine what those who worked with her or what those who were her friends thought of her. But I can guess the following. She ain't no pushover. And she just has so much love in her heart.

I don't remember exactly when I heard. I don't even remember the exact date of the diagnosis. But it was some time in the late 1990s or early 2000s that my grandparents called me and told me that she had cancer. Breast cancer. I called Lynne. You'd never know that she was just diagnosed. And, what's more, she didn't let on. As if it hadn't even happened. Oh sure, she knew what was happening. But, in her mind, what was the use of giving that damned disease any kind of power. It wasn't in her. She said as much. 'What am I gonna do, lay down and die? I still have things to do.' And she did. She had her treatments, and she kept going. Working when she could, thankfully for a good and understanding company. Ensuring that her son and daughter had everything they needed as they went from high school to college and out into the world.

At first, the treatments seemed to be working. She said she was feeling better. But looks can be deceiving, especially when it comes to the greatest evil this world has seen. After a time, the doctor told her there was nothing more they could do. They gave her the time limit. No doubt, she cried in the comforts of her home. No doubt, she spent hours praying to God asking why such a thing could happen. But never in front of her family. She was the strong one. And so many people relied on her. She kept going. She kept going...

I can only claim to have had limited communication with her since I moved to Seattle. Because I was too self-involved with my own issues. But I did receive e-mail every once in a while from her. One on October 3, 2004 just said 'Hi David, I was thinking of you all day yesterday but did not have a chance to email. A belated Happy Birthday. Hope your day was all it could be. Wishing you much happiness and good health in the coming year. Again HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! Love ya, Lynne'. She always remembered my birthday.

And then, the last one I have saved was a forwarded e-mail. I usually delete forwarded e-mail. But because it was from her, I opened it. And I prayed to St. Rita of Cassia, the Saint of the Impossible.

Soon after, I received word from my grandparents that Lynne had passed away. It was expected, they said. Yes, I know, I replied. She was a good woman, they said. An understatement, I returned. We love you very much. I love you too. And that was it. I had lost my godmother. Worse yet, an aunt and uncle had lost their niece. Cousins, their cousin. Friends, a friend. A husband, his wife. And children, their mother. On earth, that is. But what a wonderful advocate we have in heaven...

And so, I now enter my plea with you. From 9/12/08 - 9/14/08 a few of the softball players I coach - including a breast cancer survivor - as well as my partner, Joseph, will be walking 60 miles in the Breast Cancer 3-Day. Although I will not be walking - with my severely flat feet and various other foot issues - I will be what they call a walker stalker. Encouraging, coaching, helping in any way possible. We collectively need your help. I'm not much of a salesman, to be honest, because I don't particularly believe in most things that need to be sold. But in this... in this cause I believe. I need to sell to you the hope that Breast Cancer - and all cancer - can be cured. And if you have faith that we, as intelligent beings, can continue to fight this, the greatest of all evils, then I would ask that you help us with anything that you can spare. Finally, after you've contributed or even if you are not able, please pass this blog post on to anyone and everyone who has faith that we can win this fight. You need do no more than refer them to this post and have them take a few minutes to read the story.

If you are interested in donating or if you have any questions, please feel free to contact me at giants75@hotmail.com

For Lynne Murray Jermine

Thank you for reading.