I sat down yesterday to write an entry for my Team in Training blog. The words just flew out onto the paper and it seemed so natural to tell my story and that of my loved ones. But, then, it vanished into thin air on my computer and I was left once again just with my thoughts. This is my second attempt at putting those thoughts into written word. Please bear with me. My journey with Team in Training is a long and evolved one. My story is also long and complex.. Feel free to read all of it or simply some of it. First though, please consider making a donation to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society in support of research and patient services for those in need:
http://pages.teamintraining.org/rm/yourway16/cculligan
It has been 13 years since my father died. In many ways, it seems like forever and in others it seems like only yesterday. There are days when I wake up in the morning and I swear that I just had a conversation with him. And, then on some really hard days, I search desperately for some sign that he is close by so I can grab onto some little piece of his humor, strength and sage advice. I lost my Dad at a pivotal moment in my life. But, first, we lost Greg’s Dad.
Many of you have heard this story before. If not our story, then perhaps one just like it. Sadly, stories like ours happen all over the world every single day. What is our story, you ask? It is the sad truth behind losing a loved one to a disease which does not yet have a cure. Greg and I lost both of our fathers within a year to the blood cancer Acute Myeloid Leukemia. It was devastating. One of the hardest parts for us was a simple reality- we were young, newly married and trying to have a family of our own. Neither one of us had ever lost a loved one and we simply were not prepared to lose two so quickly in such a short period of time. We were not ready to say goodbyes when we felt like a new stage of life was just starting that we wanted to share with our fathers. We were not ready. But, most importantly, I know that our fathers were not ready to say final goodbyes.
This year marks the 20th anniversary of my first race with Team in Training. I have been doing events to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society consistently since I was 25 years old. It started out as a great opportunity to give back to a great cause, meet new people, train for an endurance event and have some fun. As I became more involved, it became something much bigger and brighter and stronger for me than that. I met our Team Heroes – I met the people both young and old who were battling blood cancer courageously and were out there on the race course cheering us on because they believed in us. They hoped that our efforts might make a difference in their treatment, prognosis, their life. They believed in the mission of Team in Training and that of LLS. The LLS mission: Cure leukemia, lymphoma, Hodgkin’s disease and myeloma, and improve the quality of life of patients and their families. LLS funds lifesaving blood cancer research around the world and provides free information and support services. So, hell yeah. I ran my booty off twice for LLS at the Honolulu Marathon in 1996 and the San Diego Rock and Roll Marathon in 1998 for the team.
Not long after I crossed that finish line in San Diego, I came back home to Colorado and visited some friend in Vail for the weekend. As luck would have it, I met a special man who would become my special “one” that weekend. It was one of several life changing moments which happened in a series of five years. Time passed and we eventually moved to San Francisco. We got engaged and married within a few years. Life was great- happy, exciting, full of adventure. We were trying to have a baby and focusing on our future as a family.
But, then, one Sunday afternoon in August a year after we were married, the phone rang. Greg’s Dad had been admitted to the hospital in St. Paul with abnormal bloodwork and extreme fatigue. I heard the term “mylodysplasia” for the first time in my life. But, it would not be the last time. Greg flew out immediately to be home with his Dad with promises to call me and keep me up to date while I went back into the classroom with my students for the week. News came back from Greg with a voice full of hope – and perhaps a bit of denial- white cell count had exploded. “What does this mean?”, I asked. “We will see. Leukemia, I think.”, he responded. My husband is a man of strong faith and we prayed for health and strength for his Dad. We hoped for the best. We had never been through the worst.
Sadly, we lost Greg’s Dad just a few days later. Greg was with him at his bedside in St, Paul. I was across the country in San Francisco. We simply did not realize how quickly something like this could happen. I left my classroom and walked into the school parking lot and sobbed. I did not get my chance to say my goodbyes. I was simply so grateful that Greg was there to say his. I remember vividly thinking, “What kind of impact would that have if Greg had not been there with his Dad at that moment?”.
Greg and I navigated the next few months in a bit of an emotional fog. Greg took his father’s death hard. But, being a strong man in general, he did not always let on how badly he was hurting. We focused on our continued efforts to start a family of our own. It was not happening as easily as we had hoped and that compounded our grief. For the first time as a young couple, we were facing the realities of hardship in life – grief, frustration, anger, disbelief. We felt cheated. We started infertility treatments at USF in the hopes of increasing our chances of having a baby. It became a desperation on my part. I wanted a child so badly. Stress, grief, fear. It was a tough time.
I remember calling home one afternoon in tears wanting to chat with my Mom. My Dad answered. “Courts, she’s at the grocery store, sweetie. What’s wrong? Can I help?” I poured all of my emotions out on that phone call – sobbing – and I am sure my Dad was scared to death. But, being the wonderful man that he was, he listened and reassured me. “Honey, you and Greg will have a baby. It will happen. And, I am so looking forward to that day for you.” My Dad was great that way. He was rational, kind, supportive. He did not always understand my turbulent emotions. But, really, what father ever really does with a daughter. I remember getting off the phone that day and thinking about how truly lucky I was to have my Dad in my life.
Greg and I celebrated the holidays that year back in the Midwest. We were in Minnesota for Thanksgiving and Ohio for Christmas. We decided to take a break from the infertility treatments and focus on the happiness of the holidays with family and friends. In January, we were thrilled to find out that I was pregnant after a final round of treatments in the New Year. Nervous about sharing the news too early, we decided to wait for a few weeks until we had an ultrasound and could hear and see the baby’s heartbeat. Around this same time, my father started having some progressive health issues. Extreme fatigue, pneumonia. In February, my Mom called to tell us he had been admitted to the hospital with possible congestive heart failure. My father had had open heart surgery several years earlier, so we were always a little worried about his cardiac health. Greg and I decided to fly back to Cincinnati to be with him.
It was on this trip home to Cincinnati that I heard the word “mylodysplasia” for the second time in my life. It came from my father’s primary care physician as he was explaining my Dad’s blood work to my Mom and the rest of us. I looked over at Greg – grief stricken – but I did not speak. Surely, this is not going to lead down the same road as Greg’s Dad. No. No. No. I put the thought out of my mind and went back to my Dad’s hospital room to share some news with him. He was going to be a grandfather. I hugged him, sat on his bed and shared the exciting news. It was the small glimmer of joy I could throw into the day and a good distraction for all. He smiled and was thrilled for us. And, then he asked me to get the nurse so he could have some lime Jell-O. He loved lime Jell-O.
For my father, his decline in health was not as rapid as Greg’s Dad’s had been. Initially, keeping him stable meant blood transfusions every 3 weeks at the hospital to regulate his red blood count which kept dropping to lower than average levels. His white blood cell count remained in the normal range. I kept up to speed on his condition from San Francisco by talking to his hemooncologist and trying to get a feel for what direction my Dad’s health was going. I planned to come back in April to see him when I had Spring Break from the school where I was teaching. Around this same time, I started having some issues with my pregnancy. My Ob/Gyn was concerned about a few issues and had sent me on to a perinatologist to monitor me more closely. By March, it was suggested that I do not travel unless it was a real emergency. I was discouraged and nervous by this news. Worried for our baby and also very worried about my father. I wanted to fly back to Cincinnati and see him. But, I also did not want to jeopardize my pregnancy in any way. My Dad of course said, “Courts, there is no decision. Do not be silly. I am fine! Take care of my grandchild and stay put. I do not want you traveling. At all.” So, I stayed put in California. And, I still have regrets about that decision.
By June, I was put on bed rest- complete bed rest, do not get out of bed bed rest, watch movies until you are so bored you want to shoot yourself bed rest – but bed rest that you do happily and willingly because it is for the safety and health of your baby. So, as I was in bed in San Francisco and my baby was getting bigger and stronger, my Dad was in bed in Cincinnati and growing weaker and weaker. There was nothing easy emotionally about this situation for either of us. I talked to Dad every day. I did not have much news to share though- “Hey, Dad. Just called to tell you how much I love you. I’m watching Jerry Maguire again today for the 27th time. What are you doing?” By August. I was getting close enough to my due date that I was feeling really hopeful that the baby would make it to full term if I could just push through the next month emotionally. Dad seemed to be stable with the blood transfusions and if I could just deliver this baby safely, then I could fly home and put this grandchild into Dad’s arms. That was my focus and my hope going into those last two months.
I wish I could say that this is the way the story ends. But, sadly, this story does not have a fairy tale ending. After taking a turn for the worse, my father was admitted into ICU at the end of August. His platelet counts had dropped so low that there was a constant worry about internal hemoraging and his white blood count levels had exploded. He had blasted into Leukemia. I was still on bed rest and there was no way for me to travel to be with him. My Ob/Gyn was trying to keep me as stable and calm as possible for the baby’s sake but I was falling apart emotionally. The ICU nurses were kind enough to put the phone up to my father’s ear every day so that I could talk to him. He was sedated and on a ventilator so he could not respond. But, they reassured me that his eyes lit up when he heard my voice. I tried to think of everything I wanted and needed to say to him but the words never came easily. My final goodbyes came on September 2 when my older brother called. “Court, I need you to have Greg with you and I need to know that you are sitting down. I am putting the phone up to Dad’s ear and I want you to tell him everything you need to say. It is time to say goodbye. I am so sorry, Court, but we are at the end here.”
People often ask me these days how I manage to balance my life with a family of five, teaching, coaching, racing and fundraising for non-profit organizations like the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I think the answer boils down to prioritizing your time and your desires. It is dependent on life experiences and how you have responded in the past to adversity and how you choose to work through emotions to find a comfortable balance in your life. It depends on who you are, what you feel passionate about and your level of self-belief and motivation. After we lost both my father-in-law and my father to Acute Myeloid Leukemia, I made a conscious decision to be involved in the journey to find a cure for blood cancer. That is a personal choice which has propelled me and kept me true to this cause.
Greg and I went on to have three baby boys in four years. Connor was born just weeks after my father died. My Mom came out to San Francisco after my father’s funeral to be with me and help me work through not only my grief but also the celebration of a new birth in the family. It was both the happiest of moments for all of us and also the most painful. But, it was a true example of the circle of life. For me, continuing on in my father’s memory and staying connected to this cause has allowed me to stay true to him. It helps me feel close to him. He and I shared a mutual love for sports and it seems only fitting that I continue on in that field and dedicate these efforts to his memory and in the journey for a cure for Leukemia and other blood cancers.
I do an event for Team in Training every two years. To date, I have raised almost $50,000 for LLS through the Team in training program. This year, I hope to raise an additional $10,000. This year is especially important because it marks the 20th anniversary of my first event for Team in Training. I am dedicating two events in 2017 to this cause and in memory of my father, Murray Shipley Monroe, and my father-in-law, David Emmett Culligan. The first is Ironman Costa Rica 70.3 on June 18, 2017. The second is the Ironman 70.3 World Championships in Chattanooga, TN on September 9, 2017. Please consider making a donation to LLS in support of my efforts. I sure would love to have you on my team as I focus on my training and my fundraising in preparation of these two exciting events this season.
Much Love and Peace,
Courtney
TriAptitude Coaching 
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